Last night was Parent/Teacher Conferences, f/k/a Open House, at Chooch’s school. Chooch kept mouthing off last week about how it was actually on Monday and I was like, “Yeah right, shut up, kid. What do you know?” Because, really. Who listens to an 8-year-old, amirite? Kid has gotten his seat moved like 18 times since the beginning of the school year, so I figured he was trying to thwart any chance of a Parent/Teacher powwow.

Henry and I got to the school a few minutes early. Like any other time we’ve gone to these things, the door to the school was wide open and the hallways were lit. A giant WELCOME PARENTS banner hung in the hallway.

Which was empty.

Typically, there’s a bake sale table set up right inside the doors and parents milling about. But that night, it was eerily quiet.

However, the door to Chooch’s classroom was open and the lights were on, but no one was there.

“Maybe she went to get dinner,” Henry suggested. So we continued to walk up and down the hallway, looking at all the artwork (in my case, making fun of it because I’m a dick), until I noticed that it was now 5 minutes after we were scheduled to meet with the teacher.

“Are you sure it was tonight?” Henry asked me for the 87th time; I was very indignant and sure of myself the first 58 times he asked me, but I have to admit that I was now beginning to doubt myself.

“I mean, that’s what I chose!” I cried defensively. A paper was sent home and I circled “Thursday” and “6:30.” I WAS SO SURE OF IT UP UNTIL NOW.

Just then, a lady burst through the doors and ran up to us.

“Where is the library?” she wheezed from her heroic jog.

We shrugged, so she asked the janitor who told her to follow the signs. I noticed those signs but didn’t think anything of them, but when we asked the janitor if there were conferences going on that night, she told us, “Yes, in the library. Follow the signs.”

That’s weird that the signs wouldn’t blatantly say that, I thought to myself. They said something else that related to parents, Parent Nation or something, so I guess good old Open House was going through its third name change. Good to know. I guess the library was like the meeting place? We’d meet the teacher and she’d escort us back to her classroom? Seemed stupid. But then again, all school things seem stupid to me.

We walk into the incredibly small library just as the school principal is in the middle of talking about the best methods of approaching other parents. Everyone looked up and gave us a warm welcome, and one lady stood up and made a huge commotion over rearranging seats at the table to give us room to sit.

This must be Chooch’s teacher, I thought. She seemed so happy to see us!

There were 8 other people there, sitting at this table, and they all seemed pretty enrapt in the discussion. Some people were even frantically scribbling notes (and not just doodling; I checked).

I figured it was a mix of other teachers and parents, that this was some kind of program we’d have to sit in for a little while before conferences began.

Chooch’s teacher happily slid some handouts to us from across the table. Those, in conjunction with another woman complaining about how hard it was to get the principal at her school to respond to complaints, made me eyes start to glaze over.

And then—wait, why was this lady speaking about another school?

Chooch’s teacher seemed to be doing most of the talking and all I heard was “INVOLVEMENT! COMMUNITY! CHILDREN!” Basically three things that I’m not about.

They started talking about a food drive at one point. And a Latino Parents Group.

After about 20 minutes of this, Henry spoke up and asked, “Excuse me, but is this the parent teacher conference?”

Everyone turned and stared at us.

The principal repeated the question back to Henry and said, “No….those were Monday.” And then he said what this thing was but I can’t remember now because I didn’t care enough.

“You’re welcome to stay!” Chooch’s Teacher who clearly is not actually his teacher because his actual teacher was probably home watching the HOCKEY GAME WHICH IS WHAT I SHOULD HAVE BEEN DOING, said warmly. “And please stay!”

“Yes, stay!” everyone said collectively like it was a fucking cult. A cult of parents! The worst kind!

“Well, we’re here now, so why not!” Henry said with a laugh, at the same time I was beginning to stand up to leave. So I sank back down in my uncomfortable chair and side-eyed him menacingly.

We got more handouts.

Then people got to ask questions.

“Boy, there are so many issues to comment on, it’s so hard to pick!” laughed the Asian dad next to me and I was like STFU this is dumb. This is around the time I began to notice the broad ethnic spectrum in the room. I guess it was some urban parents’ group, I don’t know, but there was a lot of concern about crime and violence within the schools. Apparently, this was some kind of monthly round table and this month it just happened to be hosted by Chooch’s school.

I thought this meant we were nearing the end of the thing, and I was getting especially eager to leave. My face was still flushed with the horror of having eyes on me and I felt like my scarf was slowly choking me. Also, it was really hot in that room and I wanted food. But not their food. It looked weird and meaty.

Then some dumb lady with a baby started firing off questions about how Chooch’s principal handles bullying in the school, and that part of the night was actually supremely interesting to me. I also liked hearing how much the principal enjoys interacting with the kids there. For Christ’s sake, he knew we were Chooch’s parents as soon as we asked him about the conference.

Since we were on the topic of bullying, one of the ladies who had been studiously scribbling notes piped up about the program they’re doing at her school for bullying. “We’re doing these skids,” she kept Skids? Like skidmarks? That’s all I could think about, and I was trying not to laugh but everyone was just nodding earnestly. “Parents are going to get on stage and be bullied in these skids,” she said.

OH. SKITS.

“OK, we’ve only got about 30 minutes left, so I’m going to hand it over [some other lady] for the trivia portion of the night,” Not Chooch’s Teacher announced. She started passing out sheets of fluorescent paper and I was like, “No, I’m not doing this. Peace out, bitches.” So I kicked Henry under the table and we politely excused ourselves.

“Well, it was nice meeting you all, but we’re going to have to leave now. Only got the babysitter for an hour!” Henry said jovially. OK MR. PERSONALITY.

The principal walked us out to the hallway and we had a nice conversation with him about Chooch and how he’s doing but then Not Chooch’s Teacher came running out with a clipboard and said, “I know you guys were here accidentally, but we would love it if you gave us your name and number so we can contact you about future events!”

And because I just can’t say no, I signed the dumb thing and didn’t even put down Planned Parenthood’s phone number instead of mine.

Then Chooch’s principal (whose name I’ve apparently been mispronouncing for the last year) promised to tell Chooch’s teacher that we were there and would still like to talk to her.

“Yeah, I just don’t want her to think that we, you know, blew her off,” I said matter-of-factly and the principal laughed nervously like saying we blew someone off is suddenly edgy and provocative.

***

When we got home and told Henry’s mom what had happened, Chooch stood up and cried, “I TOLD YOU CONFERENCES WERE ON MONDAY!!!!” He was one smug little fucker.

Things got interesting today when my brother Corey sent me this text:

Immediately, I turned around and recited the text to Glenn, because he clearly cares about everything that goes on in my life.

“OK,” he said,

“AMISH PEOPLE, GLENN!”

He just shrugged and went back to “work.”

But then Corey started texting me pictures and I was practically falling out of my seat. Mean Amber shared my joy in this, surprisingly! I guess we have Amish people in common.

I think at some point Glenn tried to offer some boring Amish People anecdote, but I fell asleep. They built a chair for someone he knew, I’m sorry, but my eyelids are crashing down and my ears are set to LALALALA.

Then Corey said that they were blasting Christian rock and country music, but our dad said that there was a third guy with them who was not Amish, so this Secular music blarin’ was OK.

THIS PICTURE IS EVERYTHING!!!

By the time Corey sent me the second photo above, I had officially lost it.

“WHO IS TAKING THESE PICTURES?!” Glenn the Amish Photograph Police Officer demanded to know.

“My brother,” I said in a ‘duh” tone. “He’s basically exactly like me, but 24.”

The look of horror that spread across Glenn’s face was priceless.

“OMG HERE’S A PICTURE OF THEM ON MY DAD’S ROOF! THEY’RE ON.MY.DAD’S. ROOF GLENN!” I cried excitedly.

“Well, if they’re building a roof, then of course they’re eventually going to be on the roof!” Glenn yelled in Glenn-fashion, which is mostly just a slightly louder mumble.

Fuck, I miss everything while I’m at work.

(Of course, now I’m embroiled in an internal Amish or Mennonite quandary.)

UPDATE!

It is now Friday, October 17th and Corey has sent me photos of my future Amish husband. I CAN’T WAIT TO CUT A HOLE IN A SHEET!

OMG THIS ONE.

Thank god Henry had the foresight to actually research where we were going, because I sure as fuck didn’t. Once I bought the Riot Fest tickets, I was like, “YAY! WE’RE DONE! EVERYTHING IS PLANNED! WE’RE READY, LET’S GO!” Meanwhile, Henry was the one who was diligently looking at maps and finding hotels.

This is how he knew that there was no parking around Humboldt Park.

Still, nothing about this statement registered with me.

So Henry decided to re-word it in terms that I might understand: “We will probably have to take public transportation there from our hotel.”

RECORD SCRATCH.

Guys, I can barely take public transportation in my own city! I’m marginally OK with the trolley, but I have only taken the bus ONCE IN MY LIFE AND THAT WAS “FOR FUN” WHEN I WAS 18 AND IT WAS DECIDEDLY NOT FUN AND I HAD TO CALL MY MOM AT 2AM AND HAVE HER PICK ME UP ON THE SOUTHSIDE AFTER I DECIDED I DIDN’T LIKE THE GUY WHO I HAD LITERALLY JUST MET OVER THE PHONE WHEN I WAS A TELEMARKETER FOR OLAN MILLS AND I WENT TO HIS APARTMENT BECAUSE THAT’S WHAT I DID WHEN I WAS 18 AND 19 AND 20 AND….Well, and so on.

Thankfully, the gates didn’t open until 2pm on that first day of Riot Fest, so Henry decided to take a trial run to Humboldt Park in our car. Our shitty Econo Lodge was about about 10 miles away, but the road we needed to take was Sketchville. It was all abandoned shops, check cashing places and liquor stores. And the buses we passed did not look fun to be on at all. And they were very slow.

So Henry was like, “Fuck it, we’re just going to use Uber,” and promptly turned around and drove back to the hotel.

This too gave me pause.

“Oh great. This is going to be so uncomfortable! You know those drivers are going to want to engage in small talk and I DON’T DO SMALL TALK!” I cried.

“So, you’d rather take the bus?” Henry asked.

“What? NO!” I cried.

And that is how we ended up using Uber all weekend.

As we stood outside the Econo Lodge waiting for our first Uber ride, another hotel guest was just checking in. Because I’m good at stereotyping, I knew immediately by his clothes and facial hair that he was also in town for Riot Fest.

“Are you guys waiting for a shuttle or something?” he asked us on his second trip back from unloading his car. (I held the door open for him on his first trip in, because sometimes I’m a sweetheart.

)

“Yeah, we’re waiting for Uber,” Henry quickly answered, eager to talk about all things transportation with a complete stranger.

“Are you here for Riot Fest, too?” he asked, and I blurted out an excited, “YES!!!”

We introduced ourselves and learned that his name is Mikey and he drove in from Iowa just for the first day of Riot Fest. “I’m here mostly to see Circa Survive,” he said. “They’re my favorite band.”

“THEY’RE IN MY TOP 5!!” I cried, and Henry was like “FML.

” Then we learned that Mikey used to live in Pittsburgh!!! After a few minutes, we parted ways and Henry said, “See? You were doing fine having a conversation with a stranger.”

“Um, yeah. Because he’s one of my people,” I scoffed. If I could talk to everyone about music, maybe they would see that I’m not actually some uninteresting, socially awkward idiot. Sigh.

Finally, after watching our Uber chauffeur Marilyn drive around aimlessly via the Uber app, she rolled up to the Econo Lodge and we began a really uncomfortable commute to Humboldt Park.

Marilyn

I knew as soon as we shut the doors that Marilyn was going to be a talker. She was middle-aged and nice enough, but I didn’t want to talk! I just wanted to sit quietly and breathe deeply. But after Marilyn asked us how we were doing while plying us with mints and bottled water, I made the mistake of reciprocating the inquiry.

“I’m fine,” she said, with moderate enthusiasm. But then, “No, not really. I just buried my husband last week.” I made contact with her eyes in the rear view mirror and saw that they had begun to well. FUCK.

Henry and I both bumbled over awkward, obligatory sympathies in tandem and I shot him an angry look. This is why I hate small talk!  Because of people trying to “connect” with each other. Ugh, just ugh forever. So then we drove a few blocks in strained silence, before I made some canned comment about the cold weather.

“Oh I know!” Marilyn cried. “Although, I’m kind of glad for the chance to turn off the AC. I had to crank it last week because it was so hot,” she added, and while she could have easily stopped there, she went on to add, “and I had so many people in my house on account of my husband dying.”

OMFG.

And then dumbass Henry started asking her questions about being an Uber driver and she started off really enthusiastic, stating that since she can make her own schedule, it gives her time to spend with her grandkids. Again, not knowing when to stop talking, she went on to say, “I used to work for GM for 22 years, but then they laid me off. So…I have to do something to pay the bills, you know?”

And then she went on to explain IN GREAT DETAIL the whole sordid tale.

By the time we arrived at Humboldt Park, I had a headache and felt absolutely exhausted. The whole process of “human connection” is so goddamn draining.

We used a Riot Fest coupon code to get a free ride, but Marilyn had conveniently cancelled our order by “accident” as soon as we got in the car, and Henry was so concerned that she wasn’t going to get paid that he gave her money before we got out of the car and I was like, SHE WAS SUCH A HUSTLER, HENRY! God, maybe if he spent  more time on the streets like I do, he would know this.

I will say that I liked that she offered us complimentary waters and peppermints. NICE TOUCH, MARILYN.

Quiet Foreign Guy

On the way home that night, we lucked out with a quiet Asian man who played the Mexican radio station for us and took us back to the hotel via the highway and not a road with 963984792847 stop lights. Thank you, Quiet Foreign Guy.

Patricia

“Oh, she’s going to be a talker,” Henry laughed, showing me Patricia’s user picture on the Uber app after our order was picked up by her the morning of the second day.

“Goddammit,” I mumbled, tired already.

Patricia turned out to be a talker, but at least there was moderate compatibility.

“I’m going to Humboldt Park, too!” she said enthusiastically, and I cried, “OMG REALLY? FOR RIOT FEST?!”

She said no and explained that she was planning on staying in that area because she knew a lot of people were going to be using Uber.

“Oh,” I said, trying to muffle my disappointment.

“I might be going tomorrow, though! If my friends give me their extra ticket.” And then she told us that she really want to have gone the night before to see Rise Against, so I was like, “OK, she’s alright.” Until she mentioned that Weezer was the main reason she wanted to go the next day.

Then she asked us lots of questions about Pittsburgh and told us things about Chicago that only Henry would care about (like, things about road work), but the one good thing about Patricia is that she turned off a different road as we got closer to Humboldt Park and while she explained that we were in the Hungarian/Polish section and made my stomach growl with her talk of all the restaurants we should try, Henry noted a RIOT FEST PARKING sign and saw that it essentially would cost us the same amount as one Uber trip and I praised the lord that Sunday would be free of Uber.

Anyhow, Patricia wasn’t too bad. I mean, I didn’t friend request her, but she was alright.

Shady Kid Who Probably Wasn’t an Uber Driver 

Saturday night, we were roaming around the outskirts of the park, trying to find our Uber driver. That’s the fucked up thing about Uber: they tell you the make of the car that’s coming to get you, but the driver doesn’t have any details other than a location. It’s a perfect recipe for missed connections. Every time we would get a driver through the app, they would cancel our order and it was so frustrating. I was so cold and my feet hurt so bad and Henry was being soooo annoying. Eventually, some car stopped in the middle of the road and rolled down the passenger-side window. He asked us where we were going and was like, “Cool, get in!”  Of course, Henry got in on the sidewalk side and made me go out into the road where I was almost sniped by a dozen speeding cars.

Sure Henry, having half of body ripped off will definitely make me skinnier, but it ain’t gon’ look pretty. Asshole.

Shady Kid told us that he was actually looking for a different customer/passenger/order, and had been driving around the block for awhile, so he decided to just cancel them and service us instead. (Not the good kind of service, unfortunately.) So Henry was all, “OK great, should I just re-request a ride then?” Shady Kid quickly said, “No! Because you know, what are the odds that you’ll actually get me as your driver…” So this was the second ride that we took that Uber had no record of, which was fucking fantastic because we were supposed to use another coupon code for a free ride. So now, we were going to have to pay this guy directly because Henry is an idiot and needs to join a gang ASAP so he can learn about the real world and know when he’s getting screwed. (This is the same man who thinks that our landlord is a nice guy. He is not a nice guy. He’s basically a slum lord.)

Meanwhile, Shady Kid had the windows rolled down, Top 40 playing just slightly too loud, and was careening down the streets of whatever scary scary town that sprawled in shambles between Humboldt Park and our shitty hotel. I naively mistook this place for a boarded-up ghost town in daylight when clearly it was hotbed of after-hours activity. This town was poppin’ off with miscreants and unsavories. It was fantastic when Shady Kid decided that all of the cars in the city-recognized streets were going too slow and CREATED HIS OWN ROAD OUT OF THE PARKING LANE. I kept looking at Henry with saucer-eyes that screamed WE ARE GOING TO DIE BECAUSE OF YOU. But Henry just sat there, calmly scrolling through Pinterest on his phone.

Shady Kid almost went through a red light, and by doing so, he came close to taking out a horde of townies en route to the most jumpin’ liquor store I’ve ever seen, so every last occupant of the car got screamed at and threatened. THANK YOU, SHADY KID.

“Well, looks like we’re here,” he eventually said, and was going to dispose of us on some random street corner that was nowhere near our hotel. Then he acted put out when he realized our hotel was farther away than he originally thought. God, fuck you.

Surprisingly, we made it back unscathed and then Shady Kid conveniently didn’t have change, so stupid Henry, who was over it by this point and just wanted out of the car, overpaid him. If you ask me, we shouldn’t have paid him at all! I’m glad I got mud all over his car, that’s for sure.

I tweeted about the reckless driving when we were still in the car, because I was afraid we were going to die and I figured that was the most efficient way to leave the truth out there. The next day, UberPittsburgh replied to me and expressed their concern and wanted to know his name so that they could “take care of it.” I wish I had his name. The whole thing was shadier than the time a taxi driver propositioned me in Australia.

Uber really took us for a ride, that’s for sure.

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Things are heating up over at my desk/funeral parlor this week! (OK. Not really. I still have to lure people over by convincing them that I have Really Great Prizes under my desk.) The first week+ was more of just an exhibit of funeral shit. I was just getting my feet wet. My co-worker Colleen one day was like, “I mean, is this it?” and then apologized when my face fell and said, “No, it’s just that we all expect more!” And I understood. I gotcha.

So I came up with a way to make it interactive. Because who doesn’t like getting free shit? Even if it’s just dumb shit like candy and Glenn activity books. Basically, gross Glenn is robbing graves again and hiding severed fingers around the department. There are clues on the back of department-specific prayer cards (RIP Natalie’s Pizza Rolls that were stolen from the freezer) and anyone who finds a finger and returns it to Erin’s Funeral Parlor gets the aforementioned prizes! OMG!

Printer 39 had to have major surgery yesterday. :( It was real touch-and-go but he’s back and only jammed for me once today….although, I think I only printed to it once.

I know. It’s kind of dumb. But I just like making people happy!

Glenn actually laughed real laughter when he read about his latest dastardly deeds, and he has been excitedly telling people, “You have to get a prayer card to get a clue! Did you read the newspaper article? IT TIES EVERYTHING TOGETHER!”

OK, he only actually told one person this. But still! He seemed excited!

One of the prizes is The Great Glenn Activity Book. I was sitting here at work last Thursday when it hit me: GLENN COLORING BOOK. But then I was like, “No we need activities, too!” And then Mean Amber (new nickname in the works) said that a Where’s Glenn would make her really happy. ASK AND YOU SHALL RECEIVE:

“It’s nice to know that my favorite band is Village People,” Glenn mumbled last week when he found the extra crossword puzzle I accidentally left on the printer.

The next phase was to bake funeral biscuits. Obviously here you will read between the lines and know that this means Henry baked the funeral biscuits. It was a Victorian tradition to give these gingersnap-esque cookies away at funerals. So basically what I’m saying here is that my Halloween theme is educational, OK?

They’re made with molasses and I’ve had to listen to Henry bitch for two days about how disgusting molasses is after he presumably chugged it straight from the bottle.

(Yes, I used food coloring markers, thank you for your concern!)

Some prizes!

Henry and I watched reruns of Dexter while packaging the cookies last night. Each one is individually-wrapped in a paper pouch, sealed with wax and wrapped with a black ribbon. Funeral biscuits don’t just get plopped naked on a tray! Respect.

My work-friends seemed pretty skeptical at first, but once they found out that Henry baked them, they were like, “Fine. We will eat one of your dumb cookies.” Everyone is still alive, you guys!

Of course The Shiny One got a skull and then made me take a picture of her before she went around gloating to people. Sandy got a skull-less cookie and immediately blamed Henry.

THAT WAX SEAL, THO.

Henry has been a pretty good sport about all of this. Even when we had to go out of our way on Sunday to get the dumb wax seal stamp. (My choices were a fleur de lis or wedding bells.) He’s been on the ball with the Great Glenn Activity Book one-man printing press.

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

 “How much time did you spend on all of this?” Jeannie asked me in her typical “you need help” tone.

“I mean…let’s just say I haven’t been cleaning or washing the dishes lately,” I answered. I always joke that I have too much time on my hands, but the reality is that I don’t have enough. Not nearly! And I get so caught up in ridiculous ideas and projects that other things suffer.

“She hasn’t fed her kid in a week,” Glenn joked when someone was commenting on all of the details I’ve put in around my desk.

He’s not entirely wrong…

A few months ago, my friend Kristy asked for two volunteers to be a part of her Zombiefest 2014 costume. I stepped forward (you know, as best as one can on Facebook) and offered my person to be costumed without even asking questions, that’s how much trust and faith I have in Kristy’s brilliant mind. She is hands down the most enthusiastic zombie-lover that I have ever met. She makes all others look like posers, you guys.

Turns out, her idea was the Golden Ghouls!  She had already claimed Dorothy, and her 5-year-old daughter Sarah was Sophia. I chose Rose, because she’s the one I could relate to most. This left Kristy’s friend Bethany as Blanche, and she pulled it off excellently!

Here is a quick recap and photo dump!

This was me, pre-wigging.

And I made this pin to help people decipher who I was supposed to be. It was especially helpful anytime I wandered off without the rest of the Ghouls.

Kristy was hit on by this tiny zombie right away. We learned his name is Solomon and his…handler? showed us a picture of what he normally looks like and it was basically a photo of some Chippendale-esque man. What a transformation. (His middle name is Azrael, in case you were wondering.)

Kristy ripped one of the shoulder pads out of Bethany’s “Blanche blazer,” leaving it to jut out subtly. It was such an awesome touch! Almost as awesome as the yard flamingo impaling Dorothy. I think that was my favorite part of the whole ensemble. OK, tied with Sarah’s impression of Sophia.

Since Betty White is still alive, I happily got to go as a non-zombied Rose. (I’m really weird about having fake blood, etc on my face!) If this jinxes the universe and something happens to Betty, BLAME KRISTY!

One guy came up to me and asked, “Dolly Parton?”

“No, Betty White,” I explained, pointing to my pin. And he still asked to have his picture taken with me. Every part of me wanted to say no, because you know how I hate having my picture taken. \But he seemed like a nice guy, so I indulged him. Henry took the picture for him and then smirked at me for days afterward.

I was just happy that I somehow fit into a petite-sized dress. How the hell…? (Something creepy happened when I found it at Goodwill.)

Cheesecake Defense.

There was one guy who knew who I was, even when I was split up from my lanai-lounging ladies. He was behind one of the vendor booths and, as I was browsing the selection of skull rings, he said, “You arent’ from St. Olaf, by chance?” I was like YES OMG THANK YOU. And then I came back and bought two rings and a pendant because their stuff was wonderful. Go look!

Originally, I thought this would be a good opportunity for Chooch to finally wear that dreaded post-apocalyptic Claw Machine costume that the rain thwarted last Halloween, but then Henry pointed out that we wouldn’t be able to fit it in the car. So it was a game time decision to just stuff his head into a clown wig. Thank god our house is basically just one big prop closet.

We’ve been to some other zombie events but this was our first time attending Zombie Fest. It was the downtown convention center this year and I guess this was also the first time that they charged admission to get in. Judging by their event page on Facebook, the majority of the hardcore zombies were NOT happy about this, the location, or really anything. I didn’t really have any violent opinions either way. Sure, it was kind of boring, but I do get bored easily, so one should not gauge the liveliness of Zombie Fest by my boredom compass. I guess it was expensive? I wasn’t paying attention. All I know is that I got a great deal on a bunch of adolescent jewelry.

Henry went as himself/Faygo expert. Big surprise.

I kept imagining that Duff Goldman was underneath that Ronald McDonald suit.

Ran into Patty and Tim!

These two were my favorites! I love gnomes gso gmuch.

Chooch, after he sweated off most of his makeup by playing soccer with a blow-up brain.

Wiggin’ out over water.

Side of brains, aka tasteless mac n cheese.

I loved these guys! Colonel Eagleburger’s Something Something Band? I can’t remember. Bu they made me feel super festive. Weird Paul was there too, but he played before we got there. I saw him sitting at his merch table and wanted to ask him if he remembered when he brought pretzels and Uncle Wiggly to one of my game nights. 

Alas, that required energy I did not have.

At least that OTHER GUY was stoked to have his picture taken with me. Christ.

All in all, it was a pretty fun time! Thank you, Kristy!

Hey fellow viewers today i’m going to  tell you about The Zombie Fest 2014. First,We had to take forever because daddy couldn’t find a parking spot dumb him lol. So yeah that’s really bad.

Next, We found a parking spot YAY!So we got in and talked to Kristy and her 5yr old Daughter Sarah. We had to wait forever for Kristy’s Friend Bethany. I was a Zombie Clown Mommy was Rose from The Golden Girls, Kristy was Dorthy from The Golden Girls, Bethany was Blanche from The Golden Girls, Sarah was Sophia from The Golden Girls.

Last,  Bethany finally got here and we went into the convention and when we were walking in i saw Foxxy from 5 Nights At Freddy’s a horror game its very scary. I told mommy i wanted to say ” I like your 5 Nights At Freddy’s Foxxy Costume but I was Scared of him. So we got in there were Rita stands, Games, other stands like Zombears, necklaces, Um that’s really it for that. Kristy bought or won an inflatable brain and me and Sarah and Bethany played soccer with it I won obviously. So then Mr.Claus and Mrs.Claus, 6 elves, and 3 daughters were giving out presents a lot of people were taking pictures with them. One of the elves wanted to take a picture with me so bad. So i guess I had to. All in all, Now you know all about The Zombie Fest 2014 Convention in Pittsburgh,Pennsylvania USA.

Here’s a funny video of me pretending to be a zombie when i was 4 years old. I hope you enjoy it!!! I’m acting like a drunk stripper LOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOL!

This is happening right now. Marcy must be really cold if she’s resorted to sleeping that close to Chooch.

Going through old haunted house journals for research (seriously, my life has zero point; if you could have seen the shit I wasted time on after work today, you would have been like, “Bitch, find some direction, this is much sad, very get help”), I found some old photos from 1998, back when I thought it was a great idea to bring a 35mm camera to haunted houses with me and then spin around to take pictures without warning. I’m sure the volunteers at these haunted houses would also agree it was a great idea after they blinked away the stars that the flash left in their eyes.

Anyway, this picture was my favorite picture for a really long time! I took it at the now-defunct Castle Shannon Haunted School (RIP). That’s my friend Angie and her then-boyfriend Mike. Something terrible was clearly happening.

God, I miss those days a lot sometimes. I’m pretty sure that haunted house was like, $5. This season rapes my wallet nowadays. BUT I CAN’T QUIT IT.

My theme this year is Funeral Parlor. I have several post-mortem photos that I keep on my desk year-round and I figured I would just build my Halloween theme around those this year. I’m still in the beginning stages, but so far, it’s really all up in Glenn’s face so that’s good!

Candy urn. I burnt paper to make ashes and luckily I didn’t burn the house down since I was home alone while playing with fire. You should have seen the disapproving look Marcy was giving me!

It’s been surprisingly difficult to get co-workers to take some candy maggots out of the urn.

Some light reading.

Today while Glenn was at lunch, I added some cobwebs to his desk too. “Wow. I was gone longer than I thought,” he dead-panned, and then I got all offended when he took it down.

“I had to! You taped it over my keyboard and mouse!” he said defensively. God, chill out, Glenn.

Ugh, that paper in the background is  going to be the death of me. It’s just scrapbook paper but I’m three pieces short of covering the whole cubicle wall and I’ve already been to three Pat Catan’s (craft store) in search of more. It’s perfect though because it has a velvet-texture. That bottle is one of several empty embalming fluid bottles.

“Oh….you’re decorating again,” my boss said last Friday, after doing a double-take. I couldn’t tell if she was excited or scared, or a mixture of both.

The next several stages are going to be really fun! I’m building up to the point where it will be interactive like the carnival desk of 2012. Glenn is just totally on the edge of his seat!

Today, I came up with an incredible idea that made me lose it at my desk. I confided in Mean Amber who said, “Wow. You’re a genius.”

“I know,” I said, but that came out all wrong.

What I meant to say was, “duh.”

HUNDRED ACRES MANOR 9/21/14: I thought Hundred Acres Manor was cool scary and kinda funny because of MOMMY, First, We got there and had to wait because the sun was still up But GOD FORBID JANNA TOOK FOREVER SO WE HAD TO WAIT AND WAIT AND WAIT FOR HER! Then one of the actors came up to me and thought I was a chicken and hit me in the head with a Toy Chicken and the people behind us were two girls and a mom the two girls were going in by themselves and one was scared as hell and the other was not amused but they saw Ethan (the guy who runs the haunted house) they tried to talk to him but then he went back in. Next, Janna finally got here and our day was saved! Then we finally got to go in and I got a glow stick necklace. Then we got to go in the elevator that was very steamy and rocky so we got out and then someone screamed in my face and those are the only times I am scared, LOL! And then we got to the maze and Erin and Janna were scared. We caught up to a couple and they showed us the way I guess But the Lady was scared (She was like mommy’s age.) and the Chainsaw Guy was looking for us but the other actors found us!

Next, We got out of the maze it was just a butcher part left so nothing more! (The meat was human body parts!) All in all, Now you know what Hundred Acres Manor is and how much I liked it!

HUSTON’S HAUNTED HOLLOW 10/4/14

I have to say I had to PEE very bad and almost peed my pants because of how funny mommy was! First, We waited in line for about 1hour so it took forever (Janna was actually here with us this time!)And the people behind us were so annoying because they were all like stop hitting my face!!! STOP IT!!! IT WAS SO ANNOYINGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG!!!!!!!!!!!! One of the actors were outside and it was The Beetle Juicer Man (Beetle Juice Guy) and mommy told him to take me! That Idiot!!! And he was making the people in front of us laugh so hard! Next, After the past 1hour we were finally in! And there was a girl and another girl and a witch said to us “Im sharpening this shovel for your grave” I wasn’t scared! Then we went inside of a house it was kinda scary!

There was a kitchen, a Bathroom with guts in the tub, a Basement that was a carnival there were clowns and we got 3d glasses and the first thing was a Spinning Tunnel that I hate so much!

A room with clowns one clown said “There’s a Duck over there , HONK! Last, Now its time for the hayride good thing the people behind us in line aren’t with us! Every time we stop we have to walk in the corn and threw the woods there was a trail DONT WORRY, JANNA IS OK SHE DIDNT HAVE A SEIZURE! We got to a structure in the middle of the trail and we had to go in it and JANNA COULDNT SEE AND SHE WAS PISSING ME OFF BECAUSE SHE WOULDNT EFFING TURN THERE WAS A DUMB IDIOTIC ACTOR IN HER EFFING WAY I WAS SCREAMING THE HELL OUT OF ME I HAD A HEADACHE! Then we got back on the HayRide and we got split up into to smaller groups and then we got to a Chainsaw Guy and mommy ran like a wussy and made me laugh so hard because she pushed me into the corn and we got to ANOTHER Chainsaw Guy and made us go the opposite direction and made our group split up and mommy ran like a wussy again and pushed me in the corn. Then finally we were done and I finally got to PEE! The main topic)

P.S. Henry didnt go to neither and he was too wussed out.

Henry and I had a date on September 27th. Of course, it was doing something that only I wanted to do, but he surprisingly didn’t try even once to get out of it. I think he’s losing his will, you guys.

He’s got no fight left in him.

Our date was a night of music that Henry only has a marginal dislike for at the Smiling Moose. I think he was OK with it because the Smiling Moose has a lot of beer that he likes, plus we were eating there too — something for him, something for me. After 13 years, I’m finally learning about compromise.

Yeah right! I love the Smiling Moose just as much. They typically have more than one variety of cider and their food menu always has veg options. That night, I got an amazing grilled cheese with apples and caramelized onions and Havarti…just the most perfect pre-show food. So good. I had candied onion sauce dripping down my wrist and my second glass of cider had me convinced that it was OK to lick it right off myself like I’m some fucking wild animal, post-kill in Africa.

Henry had a panini, maybe? No, that doesn’t sound like Henry. Probably just a burger. And he was mad because I ordered a beer for him that he knew he wasn’t going to like but was too weird to tell the bartender that.

Also, my favorite bartender was working.

By the time we ventured upstairs for the show, the first band was nearly done. They were local and I never caught their name, but I liked them a lot. The singer/guitarist had gingery Coheed and Cambria hair and was just a complete a psychopath up there, crashing into the wall and engaging the small crowd.

(Best/worst thing about Smiling Moose shows: always a small crowd. This is great for me because I can get super close without worrying about dying, but it’s sad in the respect that these amazing bands are here playing for next to no one. Sometimes I forget that some of the music I like is just not really popular at all.)

Their bassist was a girl that never moved or smiled. I kept seeing her walking around throughout the night and she was blanker than Henry’s shirts. I think the crazy singer might have been her boyfriend, and if so, wow what a strange coupling.

The second band that played was Save Us From the Archon, also local. I’ve followed them for quite some time on Facebook, so I was stoked to finally see them. Henry was like, “Oh great, one of those non-singing bands.”

So the three main bands on the Blue Swan Tour were Hail the Sun, Stolas, and Icarus the Owl. There’s this whole sub-genre/movement of post-hardcore that has been growing over the last few years, and I really believe that Dance Gavin Dance spearheaded it. And actually, the Blue Swan record label belongs to Will Swan of DGD. So now there’s like this entire family of bands that share a similar sound and they’re all friends and they’re all awesome. And that’s really all you need to know about that.

The reason I was there that night was Icarus the Owl. I’ve had a mild interest in them for awhile, but after seeing them last July with Artifex Pereo, it was all heart-eyes for days. They were just so good and fun to watch! So when i saw that they were coming here, I told Henry we were going and he just bowed his head because he has no argument anymore. Man, they opened with “Blackfish” and I was like FUCK YES and Henry was like IDGAF and the singer from that first band rushed the stage in a very THAT’S MY JAM!!! fashion. If anyone in that room had been nodding off prior to this, they were wide awake now.

These guys have quickly moved their way into my Top 10.

I was forced to talk to the singer, Joey, later on when I went over to buy a t-shirt. I get so fucking weird about meeting bands. Even when I was a super slut and majorly outgoing, I would still clam up around certain bands because I hold so many of them on such a high level. So I get a little awe-struck around them, OK? Sue me. Anyway, first I was like, “Hi I would like that shirt there in a medium” and then while he rummaged around for it in a big Tupperware bin, I rehearsed something substantial to say, and when he turned back around with my second choice t-shirt, I faked enough confidence to say, “You guys are the main reason we’re here tonight.” He put his hand across his chest and said, “Aw, thank you so much!” and it was super genuine, I could tell. There was good eye contact. Not like when I would try to tell Jonny Craig how much his music touched me and he would stare off over my shoulder and make no attempt to even pretend to smile or be grateful.

“We saw you guys a few months ago in Cleveland with Artifex Pereo,” I said without stuttering—what a feat! “You guys should tour with them forever!”

“Oh, we just love them so much!” Joey gushed. “They’re really good friends of ours! They’re actually on tour right now with Emery and—–” Joey paused, trying to remember.

“Norma Jean,” I offered. “That tour sadly isn’t coming here,” and then I made some stupid exaggerated sad-face which I wish I could go back in time and take back.

After Joey asked for our names and shook our hands (like Henry even deserved the acknowledgment!), he gave me some wristbands and then I pretty much ran away.

“What did you say to him?” Henry asked when we reclaimed our spots near the stage.

“NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS!” I cried. But then I told him because I wanted to know how lame I sounded. Henry just shrugged and said it was fine. I’m learning how to talk to people, OK GUYS?! Step off.

All of this happened after Stolas played. Stolas was the only band that I didn’t know too much about, other than Jonny Craig was featured on one of their older songs. They were GOOD, you guys. I liked the faces the singer made every time he screamed; it was like twisted anguish. So emotive and raw, just like their music. I think my favorite part was when Donovan from Hail the Sun jumped up on stage (after he was standing right next to me!) and sang with them and everyone’s heads exploded, except for Henry who was just like, “OK.”

And then Hail the Sun. This was the third time we’ve seen them (and apparently the third time they’ve been to Pittsburgh so we’re like accidental super-fans, I guess). Once was with Dance Gavin Dance and the second time was on one of Jonny Craig’s solo tours. The first time I saw them was also the first time I had heard them, and while I liked their sound, they never really became a band that carved its way into my playlist. But lately, I had been listening to them, REALLY LISTENING TO THEM, and even though Henry was like, “We’re leaving after Icarus the Owl, right?” I was finding myself getting increasingly more stoked for them to start playing.

Their singer Donovan is also their drummer, JUST LIKE PHIL COLLINS AND GENESIS OMG. But Donovan occasionally will abandon his set to take center stage and really fucking sing and I like when that happens because he makes Crazy Eyes while he’s up there and that is also how I noted that he resembles Breakfast Club-era Judd Nelson, an observation with which Henry vehemently disagreed.

I will leave you with this video of snippets. (Unfortunately, I forgot to get a sample of Stolas. I really don’t like being That Person who is holding up her phone all night!)

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

The next day, some guys started hearting all of my Instagram pictures and videos from the show, and then he started following me. “I was there too!” he commented on one of my videos and Henry was like, “THANK GOD MAYBE YOU HAVE A FRIEND TO GO TO SHOWS WITH NOW.”

But then the guy’s profile said he’s only 14 and I don’t know guys, that might be too young. LOOKS LIKE YOU’RE IT, HENRY.

Chooch bought some shitty Leaning Tower of Pisa puzzle at Goodwill. Anyone with a cat knows how impossible puzzle-doing is. Once, way back when, I was so excited to finally put in the last of a 5,000 piece puzzle, only to have asshole Marcy PUSH THE WHOLE THING OFF THE COFFEE TABLE.

She might be 15 years older now, but she’s still a fucking puzzle menace. Chooch found this out first hand Friday night.

Me: She’s just trying to help you!

Chooch: I DON’T NEED ANY HELP!

Marcy: I fucking hate puzzles.

Chooch was so angry that he gave her the finger on his way to bed and I couldn’t stop laughing long enough to tell him not to do that.

Saturday morning, Chooch and I were watching Youtube videos of The Front Bottoms when I decided to see if there were any from Riot Fest. I found one and immediately said, “WE MIGHT BE IN THIS ONE, CHOOCH” because I could tell right away that it was being filmed by some doucher in the VIP area and we were standing right by the fence that separated Us from Them. AND WE WERE! Well, Henry was. I was standing to Henry’s left so I’m blocked by that dude in the white shirt and hat. (Which is funny, because I was originally standing on the other side of Henry but then hated the people in front of me for god knows what reason, I rarely even need one anymore, so I moved over.)

Anyway, this is basically what went down

ME: OMG HAHAHAHAHA THERE’S DADDY! HAHAHAHA YOU CAN SEE HIS DUMBASS BLUE FLANNEL!!

CHOOCH: OMG HAHAHAHAH WHAT AN IDIOT!!!!!

ME: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Henry: *frown*

CHOOCH: *LAUGHING SO HARD HE FELL AND HURT HIS LEG*

HENRY: It’s not that funny.

Here’s the video if you want to laugh about it!!!

Later, I went to my pal Lisa’s house and tried to teach her daughter Gigi how to say HASHTAG SELFIE and then I told Lisa the Front Bottoms video story and she shook her head and said, “You’re so weird. Seriously. Sometimes I wonder what it’s like in your head” and maybe she said other things but I was too busy laughing to the point of tears all over again. OMG what a hilarious Saturday.

Later still, Chooch and I went to Huston’s Haunted Hollow in Somerset with Janna, which meant Janna had to spend 3+ hours in the car with us. This picture was taken when she abandoned us to go inside a gas station, which was really pretty irresponsible of her because who knows what could have happened to us. We’re susceptible to kidnapping.

On the way there, Chooch started talking about Pi and then very seriously asked us, “Well then, what’s Pi + Cake?” Speaking of cake, there was amazing post-haunt cake at a diner in Somerset, but I’ll come back to that later in the week. Because you know how I love to make something small into A Thing.

On Sunday, I let Henry wear my Emarosa “Versus” beanie and I love Henry in beanies in general, but the fact that he was wearing an Emarosa made me have a crush on him, so I kept squeezing his forearm while he was driving because I’m eerily attracted to his forearms (I’m niche, what can I say) and he kept frowning at me. And then I took this picture even though he was like, “Please don’t take my picture, I’m so fucking sick of pictures.”

Chris and Monica had a pickle party! They had other foods too, and tons of homemade wine, and it was just a really great way to spend a Sunday afternoon, even though Monica kept making happy exclamations over the STEELERS game. I actually looked at the TV for a few minutes and allowed her to tell me things. It was OK. I’m still alive.

Chooch was doing his weird baby-talk thing again, and I think it might be a social tic for real, which makes me sad because he never used to seem socially anxious before. Although, I never was before either. That was the only low point to a weekend full of hangouts and haunted houses.

The truth is, I have purposely been putting off writing the last installment of Riot Fest, because it feels like once I write it, then that’s it: Riot Fest is truly over. The whole weekend was so perfect to me, especially coming off the tail end of a summer that was emotionally draining, just a total black spot on the year. Maybe it seems like I’m being overly-dramatic, god knows that’s basically my default, but I’m serious when I say that my three days at Humboldt Park felt like a religious retreat, in the same way that some people climb mountains to escape their past, cast out their demons in sweat lodges, or rail a quadstack off a hooker’s ass in the back of a 1984 Pinto.

This is how I heal.

The whole weekend was a collection of experiences and heart-clutching moments, stepping stones that paved the way to the culmination of my catharsis: The Cure.

As I mentioned in my last Riot Fest post, The Cure was scheduled to play the main stage at 7:45, so we made our way over there during Patti Smith’s 5:45 set in hopes of getting a decent spot.

My expectations were low. I even told Henry that I didn’t care if we ended up across the park by the food trucks. As long as I could hear The Cure (and not shitty Weezer who were going to be playing at the same time on a smaller stage), I was fine. Besides, I had been dragging Henry around like a rag doll all weekend, and I knew he probably wouldn’t want to be standing stock-still in the middle of 50,000 people at the end of the day.

Except that Henry grabbed my hand and pulled me further into the crowd during Patti’s set. Every time even the smallest gap would open ahead of us, he would continue to squeeze us in. And he kept doing this until we finally hit a wall of unbudging people. Still, I was impressed with his determination and how far it got us, so I wasn’t complaining!

After Patti was over at 6:45, people began leaving the Riot Stage, which opened up more spots, so Henry once again tgook  my hand and started weaving us closer to the stage. He got us to a really great spot, about 50 heads back from the stage. This was pretty remarkable, considering most people had been standing there all day in order to get a close spot.

Don’t tell him this, but Henry was kind of my hero that night.

Social Distortion began playing on the stage adjacent to us and I was so thankful that we got to listen a decent band for the next hour, because I was so full of anxiety waiting for The Cure, that I couldn’t imagine adding shitty music on top of that. Also during this time, we made friends with the people around us, like an older couple (Henry’s age, probably, haha) from St. Louis. The wife was really kind to me and even offered to take the above picture of me and Henry, which is why he’s smiling — because a stranger is taking the picture. She reminded me a little bit of my friend Natasha, who is also a rabid Cure fan, and I think that’s why I liked her so much.

The view behind me. 

The only downside while waiting was the two middle-aged assholes in front of me, who spent the whole wait loudly talking about how they’re such seasoned music festival attendees, and how they saw The Cure last year at ACL and then the one guy, the one who was wearing a huge professional backpack that jutted so far from his back that it kept hitting me in the face, extracted a video camera with an extension stick thing and I was just like, “Oh great. And he’s a rock documentarian, too.”

I don’t think that’s a word.

Then they started making a big deal about passing a joint back and forth, like LOOK AT US, WE’RE OLD AND STILL SMOKE POT! and I honestly had to cup my hands in front of face in case I needed to catch my eyeballs when they rolled out of my head.

When I heard of one them mention Weezer’s upcoming set, it all made sense to me. Weezer fans. Of course.

My new friend from St. Louis pulled me closer to her so that dildo’s backpack wouldn’t hit me in the face anymore, and I thanked her profusely.

She was also extremely good at blocking people from getting in front of us once The Cure started. We worked hard for our spots way before The Cure came on! You can’t expect to wait until after they start playing and just steamroll your way  through. Bitch, you gotta work for that shit.

I like Social D just fine, but when they were still playing “Ring of Fire” at 7:45, I was like, “I FUCKING HATE YOU SOCIAL D! STFU! GO HOME!” And then Mike Ness kept screaming, “ONE MORE TIME!” and the crowd over at that stage would sing the fucking chorus ONE MORE TIME and it was so obnoxious and we were all getting super agitated.

So they went a few minutes over. It wasn’t the worst thing ever, but that was like an entire extra song that The Cure have played at the end of the night!

But as soon as the last note of “Ring of Fire” petered off into the air, the lights on the Riot Stage came on and the most beautiful sounds to ever have been crafted enveloped us all in such warm beauty. And then Robert walked on the stage and my hands flung up to my chest and basically stayed there for the next two hours, along with the burning lump in my throat and the stinging tears in my eyes.

The Cure, you guys. The motherfucking Cure. This was my fifth time, but it might as well have been my first. Seeing them will never lose its value to me.

I have never been the type of person who could separate herself from the show unfurling in front of her long enough to keep track of the set list. Luckily, I knew that Chain of Flowers (the best Cure fansite in the world) would have me covered.

• Open
• Fascination Street
• Sleep When I’m Dead
• Push
• Inbetween Days
• Play For Today
• A Forest
• Before Three
• Lovesong
• Just Like Heaven
• From the Edge of the Deep Green Sea
• alt.end
• Pictures of You
• Lullaby
• Close To Me
• Hot Hot Hot
• Wrong Number
• The Caterpillar
• The Walk
• Mint Car
• Friday I’m In Love
• Doing the Unstuck
• Bananafishbones
• Want
• Hungry Ghost
• One Hundred Years
• End.

We were this close! Not bad for waiting until 6PM to stake out a spot!

Around 8:30, the idiots in front of me (who acted all smug as  they recounted all the times they’ve seen The Cure and the proceeded to just stand there like lumps once the show started…some fans they are) got their Riot Fest alert on their phones that OMG WEEZER was about to start over on the Revolt Stage, so they turned around and began pushing their way out of the crowd. I cheered and then moved up into their vacated spots, which came with a better view of my beloved Robert Smith.

Aside from those Weezer dorks, we were surrounded by true Cure fans. Those who knew all the words, knew to thrust their hands upward when Robert sang, “Put your hands in the sky” during From the Edge of the Deep Green Sea, and who didn’t engage in banal discourse with their friends. I know that if we had stayed in the back, I would have been miserable and forced to listen to drunk assholes scream to each other about sports and god knows what else. Just like the miserable time I saw them at miserable Coachella, where drunk frat boys screamed out, “Play Just Like Heaven, Fat Bob!

” and then booed every time deeper cuts were played instead. Fucking Americans. The Cure graces our country with their presence and this is how they’re treated. Coachella will always have such a sour connotation to me. The hipsters can have it.

I can’t think of a better way this weekend could have ended. My favorite band in the whole entire world with my favorite person in the whole entire world (ugh fine, I’m referring to Henry and not Robert Smith). There’s no one else I would have rather experienced this with, no one else who understands how much this band and this music means to me.

When we first started to get to know each other back in 2000/2001, before we were dating, Henry made me a Cure screensaver. Totally out of the blue. I was like, “OK. You have my attention.” I know that The Cure headlining this festival is without a doubt the reason Henry didn’t say no to me.

And he actually said that this was his favorite part of Riot Fest and not because it signified that the end was near.

He even displayed moderate levels of PDA throughout the night by placing his hands on my back!

From the Edge of the Deep Green Sea – Chicago, Riot Fest 14-Sep-2014 from itsaperfectday on Vimeo.

Thank you to this person ^^^ for recording this because my heart felt like it was about to combust inside my rib cage during this one. One of my all-time favorites, ow ow ow. 

There was supposed to have been an encore, but they ran out of time. Thanks, Social Distortion.

Even though I think this was the shortest of the 5 Cure concerts I’ve been to (clocked in at just over 2 hours), I have to say this one ranks #2 on my list. Right under Canberra, Australia for the Bloodflowers tour. It was the perfect crowd, the perfect ambiance, the perfect company and the perfect weekend. What else can I really say about it, short of copy/pasting every synonym for “heaven” and “perfect” and “emo” and “STFU Erin, we get it.”

****

“You know what would have made that weekend even more perfect?” I asked Henry on the way back to Pittsburgh the next day. “If you had proposed to me during The Cure. Way to go, you blew it.”

Because even during moments of extreme, euphoric perfection, I still manage to find the flaws. But I wouldn’t be me otherwise. Right?

RIGHT?!

And here are some pumpkin spice bullet points!

• Hey, speaking of pumpkin spice, I’ve divorced that shit for maple. I mean, I still love savory pumpkin things (Henry just made an amazing pumpkin soup last week), but I’m kind of like, “Get the fuck over yourself, pumpkin spice.” Especially latte-wise. It’s maple or nothing for me these days. I see that Starbucks has jumped on the maple latte train, but they can GTFO because their maple latte is an embarrassment to the hot tree-nectar I had in New Hampshire last year.
  • I’m still trying to find a pumpkin beer that I can drink without cringing though.
• I cut my hair the other night. Not drastically, but about a good inch. (Just my longer layers.) I was just sitting there alone, the only one still awake in the house, and I started to feel an anxiety attack coming on and when that happens, there are a few things that help: ripping up papers, breaking glass, or cutting hair. I opted for the hair, because I didn’t have any papers on hand that weren’t Chooch’s and I didn’t feel like cleaning up glass.
  • God, there is something so cathartic about hearing scissors crunch and slice a chunk of dry hair.
  • The next day, I texted Henry and told him I cut my hair. “I know,” he replied. “I unclogged the sink.”
    • Nothing toes the line between bohemian bourgeois and mental patient quite like cutting your own hair.
  • The only people who have noticed have been all boys.

• It was picture day for Chooch yesterday and he was mad that I made him wear his cat bowtie, which he’s worn before but I guess picture day is a different story. I’ll know for certain when we get the pictures back if that little jerk kept it on or not!
  • Speaking of Chooch, he joined chorus. The first song they’re learning is America the Beautiful, but when he sang it to us, it was to the tune of O, Christmas Tree. Because that is his default tune, apparently. (Honestly, he uses that tune anytime he doesn’t know what else to do.)
• Sometimes in the morning when I take the trolley to work, there is this guy on there who is DISGUSTINGLY SICK. I mean, this has been going on for weeks now, like maybe he should be in an infirmary somewhere, I don’t know. He’s just a regular-looking thirty-something businessman who just happens to be drowning and choking on his snot every single day of his life, I guess. The days that we’re on the same trolley together, I usually spend the whole trip texting Henry in all capital letters because I am so repulsed and this is ALL HENRY’S FAULT and this is also totally why I ended up getting sick last week too! Anyway, this guy does the same thing in a cycle, for the whole trip: really moist, mucous-y cough followed by what sounds identical to snorting wet gravel and then noisily SWALLOWING IT. Oh you guys, it makes me so angry and yes, I have shot him dirty looks because MAYBE STAY HOME IF YOU’RE THAT SICK. Or learn how to blow your disgusting nose, you fucking cockpig.
• On Monday, I had to pee really bad but when I got to the bathroom, my zipper was stuck so I had to go into Wendy’s office and have her unzip me. And then I was like “DON’T LOOK!” and she was like, “I’m not looking, you idiot!”

• Kara met me downtown after work on Tuesday and we went to Butcher and the Rye for dinner and drinks but really just drinks. I am suddenly really into beets and they have a beet salad there so Kara got stoked about that too and we both ordered it but were pretty disappointed at the ironic lack of beets. I mean, there were SOME but definitely not $10 worth. The drinks made up for it, even though my first one had scotch in it and Kara said, “I have never been able to like scotch” and then I said out loud, “You know, I have no idea if I like scotch either.” Turns out, no. No, I don’t really like it. “This tastes like meat,” I said. And then Kara, who has known me for quite some time now, understood that to mean that my drink tasted smoky.
  • My second drink was a ramos gin fizz and basically this is all I want to drink now. Maple latte, who?
  • Kara had a crush on the bartender and was sad that he didn’t talk to us more. Not even when she was half-slung across the bar, staring at him with googly eyes. :(
• I cried so much while watching Gracepoint and the Red Band Society that I actually wondered if I was pregnant.
  • (I’m not.)
• This morning while getting ready for work, I heard on the radio that Mike + the Mechanics are doing a 30th anniversary tour and I got abnormally excited about this. I called Henry 8934897263 times to tell him but he ignored my call 8934897263 times so then I texted him in all capital letters and then he FINALLY called me back and when I told him, he calmly asked, “When is it?” and I yelled, “MARCH 13TH CAN WE GO!?!??” He was like, “I don’t know! It’s only Oct—-” and then I hung up.
  • My Pappap had the Living Years cassette in his car and several times, he mentioned to me that that song reminded him of his father. After my Pappap died in ’96, I would sometimes listen to “The Living Years” just to make myself feel even more pain. I still can’t hear that song without getting a burning lump in my throat and doing an ugly-cry.
  • “Silent Running,” tho.

• A few months ago, I had a strong desire to play Clue but then I bitched about how badly I hate the new version of it. I hate board game updates! Good thing I ended up not spending $25 on one that I hate, because I found this old ass version at the flea market last weekend! For $3!! It smells like mad men!
  • Also at the flea market, in the span of about 5 seconds, Chooch asked for a cat figurine and shot gun. And we all know he’s not going to be shooting the cat figurine.
• OMGOMGOMG the freakiest thing happened to me last night! So a few months ago, my friend Kristy asked for volunteers to be a part of her costume for this year’s Zombie Fest. I said yes before I even knew what the costume was, because Kristy is awesome. Turns out, it’s the Golden Girls! I get to be Rose (the only non-zombie one, so let’s pray that this doesn’t jinx the universe and if it does, BLAME KRISTY!) and of course I waited until a week before to go out and look for a Rose Nylund-esque dress. Last night at Goodwill, I snapped a picture of one that seemed acceptable and texted it to Kristy who said, yes, it was very Rose-worthy. So right when I was taking it up to the register, this happened:

Seriously, Henry and I just stopped and stared at each other like WTFFFF and then I was fumbling for my phone because I knew there’d be at least one INSTAVID OR IT DIDN’T HAPPEN. I’m not kidding though, my hands were shaking. What are the odds?!!? I think this was only the second time in my life that I heard any version of this song outside of a television set.

• When Henry texts “inside the grocery store” I assumed he really means “inside the greasy whore” BECAUSE HE’S CHEATING ON ME ISN’T HE.
• Last night, I saw previews for a new MTV reality show called Slednecks about ASSHOLES WHO LIVE IN ALASKA. Et tu, MTV?! All this Alaskan shit on the TV is killing me.

• Marcy is still my BFF, in case you were wondering.
• That time I couldn’t remember the spider’s name in Charlotte’s Web.
• Glenn fans: I made Glenn laugh 4 times today. Like, really laugh and not that annoyed scoff that he typically does! Having a newborn in the house is clearly making him delirious. I mean, we even googled “urns” together today. That’s a lot of interaction for us.
  • One of the times he laughed really hard was when he asked me if I go to a certain Pat Catan’s (craft store) and I said “No, I don’t like that one” and he was like, “What, why? It’s new and so big.” “I just get bad vibes there,” I shrugged, which is actually a pretty serious thing but he LAUGHED like it was was the quirkiest thing he had ever heard.

• Started putting up some of Halloween decorations at work today! Mean Amber and Glenn are thrilled. Amber said that Champion Materia Morticia book smells really bad SO DON’T SMELL IT if you come over here.
  • I have so much more work to do.
• Tell me something about yourself!

My brother Corey and I went out to breakfast yesterday and, as we normally do, we started talking about our family. Corey mentioned that he has basically no memories of us all doing stuff together, like just being together, going on family outings, being normal.

So I started thinking about that too, and he’s not wrong. I can’t think of one time that the five us (our parents, Corey, Ryan and myself) even went out to dinner together.

“I remember going to Fatheads one time,” Corey said. “But I can’t remember you being there.”

“That’s because I wasn’t. You guys started to go to Fatheads when Daddy hated me, so I was never invited,” I laughed, and it wasn’t even a bitter laugh, either. It was a real “Oh, memories” laugh because if I let this shit be anything other than fucking hilarious, I’d have probably killed myself by now.

For real.

So this really got me thinking about the later years when those a-holes would go off and pretend that they were a loving family but it was mostly just because my dad wanted me to feel like I wasn’t a part of things. There was the spontaneous trip to Tennessee that I didn’t even know about until the night before they left. (When this happened.) And then there was the time, during the spring of 1997, that they went out of town again and I feel like maybe it had something to do with Ryan playing tennis but why bother trying to figure it out now.

The whole point of this is that it made me think of something that I hadn’t thought of probably since it happened. I didn’t go to school that Friday that my family was AWOL. I distinctly remember that I was going through a pretty major bi-polar episode, spawned by the fact that Psycho Mike was locked up in a juvenile mental facility again and dumped me for some damaged cheerleader he had met on the inside. But I was all, “No I’m fine, I swear! Just because I’m staying home and jamming sharp metal things into my legs doesn’t mean I need help!”

Somewhere along the way, I decided that I was going to get drunk. I could have raided my dad’s beer (he had actual vending machines stocked with various beer out in his garage), but I hated beer. My mom wasn’t a drinker, so we never had liquor or wine in the house either, unless she was about to make her famous Kahlua baked beans. But what she did have was a huge, dusty jug of port in the pantry. I guess she would use it to cook with sometimes.

I took a huge swig and it was fucking disgusting, but still way better than beer. So I spent the afternoon chugging this shit until my friend Jon showed up because we were going to pick up our friend Justin and then hang out for a little bit before the impromptu get-together I was having that night.

I didn’t want to leave my port behind so I did the smart thing: I poured some into a to go cup, which just happened to be one of my dad’s collector’s glasses he used to bring home from all of the stupid car shows he went to. This one was some stupid daiquiri glass thing and I filled it to the top with liquid spite.

When I got in Jon’s car, he was all, “Whoa, what’s that?” and I was all, “Don’t worry about it” as the port sloshed around when he drove over the speed bumps on my street. So then we got to the high school and I was straight slurping port from a ridiculous car show glass on fucking school property and Jon was freaking the fuck out, yelling at me about how I was going to get in so much trouble and I was like I DON’T GIVE A FUCK” and to be fair you guys, I probably really didn’t give a fuck. I was a fucking mess back then. (Haha, back then.)

Then Jon started yelling at me to get rid of it so I chucked it out the window. Just, bam—tossed it right out of the passenger window right as we pulled up to the school, and it shattered everywhere, taking shards of my sanity with it. And it felt SO FUCKING GOOD. Fuck you and your dumb car shows, “daddy”! Jon was like, “OH NO YOU DIDN’T” and I was just giggling gleefully.

(Sometimes I would tape over my dad’s mixtapes, too. OH YEAH, I DID THAT.)

****

Later that night, Lisa, Janna, Keri and her dumb ex-boyfriend Dan came over, along with Jon and Justin. I had continued drinking all evening so from what I was told and vaguely remember, they had to hold me up Weekend at Bernie’s-style, every time my aunt Sharon would stop over to “check” on things, usually under the ruse of, “I BROUGHT MORE POP IF YOU NEED IT!” And Keri and Janna would have to try to block her from coming all the way in and seeing her slobbering niece.

Dan used my drunken state to try and enter my porthole (oh!) but thank god Jon and Justin were there and quickly stopped me from becoming a limp sex doll. I remember Justin hauling Dan out of the house and saying, “YOU’RE DONE HERE” and then angrily driving him home. No one ever really liked Dan. Except for Keri, I guess. She wasn’t too thrilled with the events of that night.

I think this was the same night I tried to get everyone to work out to my Jackie Sorenson aerobics tape? Who knows. All I know is that I never drank port again.

****

During breakfast yesterday, I mentioned that our coffee mugs reminded me of our dad. They were big, chunky and the color of earth.

Corey noted that they had some for sale and I made some casual remark, something like “I should buy one for Dad,” but I didn’t. Now I kind of wish I had.