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

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

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

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

You know how when things are going OK and you’re actually kind of loving life and then you’re asked for the millionth time why you’re not married and have you started looking for a house and hey, don’t you need a new car? And hey, what are you doing with your life? And then suddenly you feel like fucking killing yourself, so thanks for the reminders? It’s been like that the last few days. Because it’s always the negative that people want to focus on. Hearing that someone is “doing well” just makes some people poke and prod and scoop out your emotional guys with a melon baller until you’re left second-guessing everything you thought was “happiness.”

Apparently, it’s not what I’m doing that matters, it’s what I’m NOT doing. Too bad I know better at 34 than to buy into that bullshit negativity. You know what I think? I think people are AFRAID of those of us who do what the fuck we want rather than connect the dots of life. Oh noes, I had a kid before marriage? I didn’t graduate college? I’M NOT LIVING MY LIFE IN THE GOD-GIVEN ORDER?! Get the fuck over it.

Besides, I got some good advice last night from my friends Rick & Tammy and I know that at the end of the day, I’m the only one who can change things—if that’s what I want. So instead of waiting for the next disaster, maybe I should start thinking about finding a way to become two steps ahead. Um, anyone know how to do that? Haha. J/K. I know most of us are in the Same Boat sailing down Shit Stream.

Jesus Christ, did I fuck up. Or…did I? There may not be a ring on my finger but I still feel pretty fucking happy so…

On that note, HAPPY FUCKING MONDAY.

*(Coincidentally, we were just talking last night about how Henry can make screen doors. Maybe that’s my destiny? Opening a screen door store with him? Because it sure as fuck isn’t festering working in an office.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(^^^a joke.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

Kid, I know the feeling.

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

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

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

Erin & Chooch

A Snowdrift

Cleveland, OH

Whatever Zip Code

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are the other 4?” he asked.

“Nothing you made,” I retorted.

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

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

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

My compact is missing though.

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

K bye!

• I have all of these moderately important things to do, but I just got the Christmas update for Simpsons Tapped Out and have basically done nothing but collect gift cards and presents from my neighbors and plant hedges strewn with Christmas lights for the last hour. Disgustingly, obsessively stoked for this!
• Speaking of Christmas, my friends Gina and Elissa had a Christmas party at their house on Saturday and it took an unexpected turn into murder/mystery territory. It all started with a handmade record shelf…
  • And you know, the company and food were top notch, but the highlight for me was learning that there is a store called THE APPLE CASTLE. It sells all things apple!! Why didn’t anyone ever tell me this!? So thank you, Gina and Elissa, for hosting a party that potentially changed my fucking life, OMG.
• One of my co-workers thought I went to see Steve Winwood on Friday night, because he was evidently playing a very poorly-promoted show at the other Carnegie Music Hall. It’s really not that far of stretch to think I’d have gone see him though conidering his was one of the first records I ever bought when I was in elementary school. I really liked “Back In the High Life Again,” OK? U MAD?!
• Obsessed with Alex & Sierra.
• Secret Santa starts tomorrow here at The Law Firm! I can’t wait until it’s over so that I can talk (and blog) freely about it because I hate hate hate keeping secrets. It’s been hard enough not showing every last motherfucker our Christmas card photo before I send the damn things out! Fuck, I need to chill.
• So, Paul Walker died and all these people on Facebook were like, “STOP POSTING ABOUT PAUL WALKER OMG!!!” and it scared me because I had posted a picture of Paul Walker Glenn so I was like, “OH NOES am I being lumped in with this group? God forbid I should annoy people on the Internet!” So then Nelson Mandela died and I quietly made my Nelson Mandela Glenn and didn’t share it with anyone and then it was all, “NOT ENOUGH PEOPLE ARE POSTING THINGS ABOUT NELSON MANDELA!” and I’m like “WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT!?!?” Haven’t enough people posted photos of him with quotes plastered across it? What if I post one with a too-popular quote and then it’ll be all, “DAMN everyone be posting the same fucking Mandela quote SMH.” Can’t we just go back to the days when people went on Facebook to catch up with friends and family and bitch about Farmville invites? Now every last motherfucker is trying to make people feel like shit for what they are or aren’t posting and I’m like, “IT IS JUST FACEBOOK, YOU ASSHOLES.” Maybe utilize that handy “hide” feature sometimes. It works great. And I know that because I JUST USED IT ON YOU.
  • And yes, I understand that crying about it on my blog is just as bad. But I never claimed to be the mature one.
• Earlier tonight, I made a cup of coffee and the Keurig was all, “PLEASE ADD WATER” and you know what I did? Well, I’ll tell you what I didn’t do! ADD WATER! BECAUSE I’M IN A BAD MOOD! FUCK YOU AND YOUR BOSSY ASS, KEURIG!!
• Can someone please buy me all four of these for Christmas?

• Laura and Mike are moving to Dallas next week! I’m super stoked for them and also jealous about all the good Texas foodstuffs they’re going to put in their mouths.
• My house is still relatively clean from all the Thanksgiving cleaning Henry (and I!!!) did. And of course no one has randomly stopped by because that only happens when Henry leaves a week’s worth of socks on the floor and there are puddles of cat pee right inside the front door. And you can’t see the top of the coffee table or dining room table because Henry and Chooch are competing to see who can have the tallest pile of refuse. (IT’S NEVER MY STUFF, OK!?)
• Found out that Sada & Whitney from The Real L Word are going to be on VH1’s Couples Therapy, fuck yes! I’m sure Henry is thrilled. I follow pretty much the whole cast of The Real L Word on Instagram and then say things to him like, “I’ve been looking at too many pretty lesbians on Instagram; let’s make out.”
• I was just trying to explain something to a secretary on the phone and she literally said, “Oh OK” and hung up. WHILE I WAS STILL TALKING. I mean, I know I’m boring, but fuccccck. Now I know how Henry feels when we’re on the phone and I complely DGAF.
• Thank god for acronyms.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When I like something, I REALLY LIKE IT.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Here, let me help you with that:

Oh, and guess who got that poster?

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

****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Have a good weekend! OR ELSE.

It’s not often my love of horror movies and music come together, but tonight will be one of those rare occasions because Henry and I are going to see Goblin at the Carnegie and I AM SO EXCITED I DON’T KNOW HOW I WILL MANAGE TO MAKE IT THROUGH WORK TODAY!! They’re an Italian prog rock band from the 70s and this is literally the first time they ever toured North America. Pittsburgh wasn’t even originally supposed to be a tour date, but their initial fall tour was so well-received that they decided to do a second leg, THANK YOU GOBLIN.

Of course, Henry is “whatever” about it, but Suspiria is one of my all-time favorite horror movies, and the music had so much to do with it. I remember being so excited in the late 90s when one of my Darkchat friends sent me the Suspiria soundtrack on cassette, haha.

I’m just so appreciative and grateful that I get to see them perform live tonight, you have no idea!

Sorry for the incoherent ramble.

I’M JUST EXCITED OK. I hope I have nightmares tonight!!

Chooch and I were DELIRIOUS by the time dinner was over. What else is new? It’s not like we’re going to keep it classy just because it’s a holiday.

Chooch suckered Corey into playing Mousetrap and Corey was thrilled that “Stacy’s Mom” came on Pandora literally minutes after he wrongly accused another song of being “Stacy’s Mom.”

(That song and all songs that sound like it suck, btw. If I was a writer for a music magazine when that song came out, that would be the extent of my review.

What else can you really say about it?

“Fuck that song with a flaming pine cone” is using more words than that song deserves.)

Chooch decided to start Googling pictures of Ted Nugent, since we love talking about the time Henry went to see the Nuge in the 1980s, you know—the time he pushed over some broad in a wheelchair! Earlier that day, while Henry was still cooking, Chooch put Ted Nugent on Spotify and was cracking up really bad. He decided that he loves the song “My Bow and Arrow” (WTF? I know nothing about Ted Nugent). But then some spoken word-ish song about HUNTING came on and I almost broke my neck in an effort to turn it the fuck off. I don’t want to hear things about hunting, you guys. It was so graphic!!! Now every time my friend Alyson talks about Ted Nugent’s Meat Emporium (Palace of Flesh? What do you call it, Alyson!?), it will make much more sense to me.

Anyway, having his fill of Ted Nugent, Chooch decided to take requests. Corey immediately shouted, “LILLIE MCCLOUD!

” because that was his favorite contestant on X Factor. My request was for “butt unicorns” which made me start laughing so hard I almost peed all over my wheelchair. I didn’t even look to see what came up other than a picture of a butt with a unicorn tattoo.

And then there was a point where everyone except for Mike pulled out their phones so we could discuss the merits and frustrations of Simpsons Tapped Out.

It was literally the most serious time of the night. Look at Chooch’s consternation!!

Fuck you and your lame Springfield, Henry.

So, this was moments before Chooch took an extreme close-up of Janna and then started laughing so hysterically that he barfed all over the floor. This happens often. God only knows what he puked up since he literally ate zero things for dinner.

While Henry mopped up the puke, Chooch posted the puking catalyst on Instagram. It was a good night.

This last week has been TRYING as far as parenting goes. I definitely feel like I’ve been screaming at Chooch more than anything else, because he is so fucking bull-headed (i.e. SO UNLIKE ME). The whole “There goes another Christmas present!

” tactic totally doesn’t work anymore, by the way. I guess I’m going to have to swap out “Santa” for “Satan.”

“SATAN’S WATCHING YOU, YOU LITTLE ASSHOLE!”

And he definitely still believes in ghosts, so I can always go that route too.

Mornings and late evenings are especially bad. Sometimes he wakes up as Contrary Chooch and will battle me on EVERY LITTLE DETAIL down to the SOCKS I laid out for him to wear. My response is usually, “YOU ARE FUCKING 7 YEARS OLD STFU AND GET DRESSED.” Sometimes I try to kill him with kindness or make jokes, but in the end, I usually end up losing my temper and yelling.

I hate power-struggles. I HATE PARENTING!

Last Wednesday night, I was walking home from CVS and he was outside waiting for me. I KNEW he was going to try to bombard me with snowballs so I sternly said, “Do NOT throw snowballs—the snow is too icy!” But that son of a bitch whaled one right at my fucking face and it slammed hard into my temple. I instantly started to cry because that HURT, OK?

And once Chooch saw that I was straight sobbing (I’m pretty good at embellishing), he got scared. He knew he done fucked up, but god forbid he should apologize. Instead, he starts making excuses and laughing nervously, and by the time we fought each other to storm through the front door, we were both SCREAMING hysterically and Henry came out of the kitchen like, “WTF?”

I stood in the middle of the living room screaming, “I THINK I’M LOSING MY EYESIGHT AND HE DOESN’T CARRRRRRREEEE!!!” and Chooch is yelling, “SHE HATES ME!!!!!!” simultaneously and the neighbors probably have their fingers poised to dial that last 1 in 9-1-1.

It’s been that kind of week.

But then there are really sweet moments, too. And wine. And those are the things that keep me from getting that artists loft that I keep dreaming about. Like the one BO BRADY had in the 80s on Days of Our Lives. But seriously, how great would that be? I’d fill it with old mannequins and pretend like they were my friends. :(

Oh, right. Sweet moments. Like last night when Chooch was talking about the Santa Shop that’s happening this week at school. He wants to get something for our friend Andrea, but he became very perplexed because “it’s not like they’re going to have any death there.” Henry and I started cracking up but Chooch was very serious. He should write a letter to the paper about how the Santa Shop discriminates against people who collect dead things in jars.

Unless one of us kills the other before then, Chooch and I are going to see Never Shout Never next Wednesday in Cleveland. Henry isn’t sure if he can go because his job is stupid and I am PANICKING about this. Chooch and I haven’t gone further than like, 50 miles away without Henry. And that’s probably a gross exaggeration. Maybe closer to 25 miles? Sometimes it’s just really hard for me to get into Responsible Parent Mode. I like it better when Henry can just deal with that and I can skip around being flighty and immature. Because that’s my true nature.

If you live in Cleveland and see two dummies flailing about in Lake Erie, send the Coast Guard because I clearly drove off the map.

(PLEASE DO YOUR RELIGIOUS SPELLS SO THAT HENRY IS ABLE TO GO WITH US, OMG.)

Look, no one wants to put their kids on blast, but it is important for me to write about the lows and not only the highs. Because having shit like this to look back on makes me appreciate the highs that much more. This is real life.

We argued the whole time we were in the cemetery on Sunday. But then by that night, we were able to co-exist peacefully on the couch and watch the mid-season finale of The Walking Dead together. (OMFG THAT SHOW IS KILLING ME.) And then the next morning, we were walking to school behind our Morning Nemesis and she was SCREAMING at her kid for pretty much no reason and that kind of made me take a step back and appreciate that at least Chooch and I can walk to school together without putting our disputes on display. That’s a small victory, right?

So no, things aren’t perfect around here. But I guess they’re not really THAT bad either. And when I do start to lose the will to parent, I just go back and look at pictures of Chooch being, well, Chooch. And then it’s not so bad.

(That fucking snowball did really hurt though!!)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

REAL.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 This is normal at our house.

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

I wish I had some right now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Also, because I’m obsessed with it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is this the symphony version of ‘Titanium’?

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

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

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

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

It was something like this:

SEE THE BEAUTIFUL COLOR!!

SWIRL WITHOUT SPILLING!

SNIFF THAT SHIT!

SAVOR THE FUCK OUT OF IT!

I was pretty bad at swirling.

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

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

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

Roberto has a WIFE :(

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

(?)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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