Today was the last day of Riot Fest and I decided to take some Hipstamatic pics because how goddamn cliché and basic.  
“Why does this feel like Day 16….”

 We accidentally got there today too early and walked right in, because our Lyft driver (Venus, she was THE BOMB) dropped us off at an alternate gate that apparently no one uses. We had like an hour to roam around and finally get our shopping done (I wanted to buy Chooch every single cat shirt we saw but Henry was like I AM A WAREHOUSE MANAGER AND YOU ARE AN OFFICE LACKEY, WE DO NOT HAVE MUCH $$$ LEFT, HELLO.  Then we went to the area where the two smallest stages are and waited for Signals Midwest and Foxtrott to start our day off.

Yesterday, after I was joyfully jumping through mud puddles with wanton abandon, Henry asked me if my boots were waterproof.

“Yeah, duh,” I said. And then I stomped through another filth swamp and said, “Ew wait….no.”

The weather today was gorgeous (low 70s and sun all day) but there was still mud everywhere. Henry was such a bitch about it too. Like “OMG EW MUD” and he would jerk me another direction.
What a man.  
During Hum’s set. I was late getting there because I fell in love with Souvenirs.

 I was really fond of the sound that my boots made every time I pulled them out of the muddy quicksands, even after I realized they weren’t waterproof, I figured, what did I care. I’m not the one who does laundry.  

“THE RIDES ARE $5 A TICKET, ERIN. AND EACH RIDE IS MORE THAN ONE TICKET!” – when I asked Henry why we never ride anything.

  
New Politics.

 These were some MOIST MOTHERFUCKERS. The chili cinnamon ones were A+. I wish I had some right now.   I took so many sips of Henry beer all weekend that I think I like it now. (I’m not a big drinker at shows so for all three days, I actually only had two Strongbows.)

  
Looking at his phone and doing the math: 2 more hours until Riot Fest ends.

 If you hate when I write about music and shows, then probably avoid my blog for the next week because it’s going to be Riot Fest word diarrhea all up in this blog commode. SO MUCH HAPPENED! I love this weekend!!

    On our way back to the hotel after a beautiful, chill first day of Riot Fest. The weather was awful when we were waiting in line (of course the gates didn’t open until 90 minutes after they were supposed to) but it was gorgeous for the rest of the day. No repeats of last year!

The drive to Chicago was super uneventful. We left after work yesterday and drove as far as South Bend, IN and crashed at the Waterford, which is my favorite hotel in South Bend. (Also the only one I’ve ever stayed at, but Henry was going to book a different hotel and I flipped out because WATERFORD.) Got to Chicago around 9:30 and then Bobby from Lyft carted our asses to Douglas Park. So many beautiful bands were seen today. 

Here’s a picture of Henry giving some French Canadian broad directions in a city he doesn’t even live in. Professional driver 4 lyfe.  
I’m really looking forward to taking my boots off and hounding Henry about what parts of today were his favorite. I feel so heart-eyed right now. 

Not even the dump Henry has us staying in can ruin that. (But it comes close. Hilariously, Golden Girls is on right now and Rose, talking about Miles, just said, “He’s not just frugal, he’s frickenfrugal! What, it’s a Scandinavian term.” #apropos.)

Henry, walking past the computer: “You’re still writing about Kennywood? What the fuck.”
Me: “It was our first time going there alone! It was kind of a big deal.”

I have a lot to say. Sue me.

***

Even at the ripe old stinky age of 36, there are very few rides I won’t go on. Even at county fairs, I’m all about the crazy death traps that fling a bitch all about, upside down, and inside out. (Well, until this happened.) Sure, there are some spinny rides that make me sick now when I ride them, so that sucks. But there are very few that I flat out refuse to ride.

And if I do, it’s because of heights.

I’m afraid of heights, big time. Even on steel roller coasters, the only thing that scares me is that initial climb. After that, I’m fine, but I can’t stand the suspense of slowly creeping up that steep hill. Ew. I think I can trace this back to the fall of 1983 when my bitch neighbor BECKY left me stranded in her tree house, and I just sat there and whimpered for hours (HOURS) until her dad realized that there was a human perishing alone in a tree in his backyard and came to rescue me. I was afraid to climb down the ladder, OK?

To this day, I am not friends with a single Becky. (Rebeccas and Beccas are cool, though.)

During the summer of 2005, I was at King’s Island in Cincinnati with Henry, ex-BFF and her sister. There was this ride there called Delirium, one of those pendulum-type rides, but larger than I had ever seen. I desperately wanted to ride it but all three of my riding partners bitched out. We walked past it before leaving the park that day, and I’m going to tell you a secret: I WAS REALLY GLAD THAT NO ONE WOULD RIDE IT WITH ME. That mother was frightening to watch;  it flung people so high into the sky that just watching it from the ground made my legs quake like Aunt Fran’s mystery Jell-o salad.

Last year, Kennywood replaced their Pitfall ride (one of those free-fall bitches that I hate and only rode once during its entire tenure at the park) with their own version of Delirium: The Black Widow. This one is actually larger than its King Island sister, tossing idiots 146 feet into the air as opposed to Delirium’s wussy 137. It is this disgusting behemoth that just sits there like a fat ass, looming in the distance, laying in wait, and I shudder every single time I’m in its vicinity. Chooch and I made excuses last year to not ride it.

“Maybe next year, when I’m 9,” Chooch promised no one in particular.

“Yeah, maybe it’ll have fallen into the river by then,” I said. “I mean, yeah, next year. We’ll ride it next year.”

So….when we were at Kennywood this summer, that was technically “next year.” And Chooch is 9 now.

And It hadn’t fallen into the river.

I asked him, after we rode the nearby Exterminator, if he wanted to ride it.

“Uh, sure….” he slurred with hesitation and uncertainty. “But um, how about later? Like, when it’s dark.”

But then Stanley happened, and I thought, “If an 80-year-old man can ride the Black Widow and live to tell the tale, then I certainly can ride it too and (hopefully) live to blog the tale.”

So we did it. Chooch and I got in line, which didn’t seem very long, but we ended up standing in it for a good 30 minutes; Stanley was right—the load-time for the Black Widow is really long. And that’s OK — I’d rather the ride attendants take their time checking each individual safety harness than just shrug and shout to the operator, “Eh, looks good from over here. Go ‘head and fire her up.”

You know, like they do at the county fairs.

Shudder.

Not only was the wait kind of long, but it was probably the most somber line I’ve ever stood in at an amusement park. If people weren’t outright voicing their fears and anxiety, they were standing with long, serious faces. Personally, I fidgeted a lot, bounced from one foot to the other and then even pulled out my third foot to bounce on that one too and that’s how you  know I was anxious. I tugged on my hair, I compulsively checked my phone, I asked Chooch if he was sure he didn’t want to just do this next year or never.

And then I stood there and watched, agog, every time the Black Widow took a new batch of 40 idiot fucks for a perilous swing.

During this, Janna texted that she was on her way. I told her we were in line for the Black Widow. Her response was “Why?” or “You’re idiots” or “OMG NO” or “Do you have a Will?” or something like that. That time of my life was a real blur.

Finally, the line started moving again. It was cut off right at me and Chooch. I fingered my imaginary rosary and blew a discreet kiss to the heavens.

But then one of the ride attendants told people to move down and I realized it was because he was making two seats available for us.

Noooooooo.

Chooch, suddenly brave, bolted over to one of the empty seats while I walked with knocking-knees over to one of the cubbies to stash my bag. I considered trying to stash myself in one of the cubes too. But Chooch needed me. Must be strong for Chooch. Such brave. Very courage. Strength. Valium. Self-administered cold-cocking.

I climbed up into the seat next to Chooch and together we struggled with the seat belt. Always a great start. Eventually, the attendants finished their rounds and, assured that we were all safely harnessed, gave the thumbs up to the ride operator. The platform slowly sank, taking my stomach with it.

There was a young girl to my left, and her mom was on the other side of her. As the arm of the Widow started swaying us back and forth, gently to start, the mom said, “OK, time to go to my place of Zen.”

“Can you take me with you?” I called over top of her daughter. The mom laughed and said, “I hate this ride too! I only ride it because of my daughter, she’s autistic and can’t ride it alone.”

By this point, we were being swung higher into the sky, and also, to ass-fuck us even harder, the part we were sitting on had started to spin.

I immediately started speaking in trucker-tongue. I expelled from my mouth the ghosts of hundreds of dead sailors, their nasty lexicon came with them. My words were so filthy that literal crumbs of soil began falling from my lips.

But that damn girl was sitting next to me, and her mom was so sweet and kept talking to me during the whole ride, trying to calm me down, so I began to make a conscious effort to swap out “motherfucking cunt of Satan’s mom!” with a more sterile “oh man!” or “hoooo boy, this is a real doozy!”

I tried to distract myself by seeing how much of the Jabberwocky I remembered after being forced to memorize it in seventh grade. (None.)

I asked myself what I wanted to do if I made it off the ride. (Cower in a corner. Hug someone. Buy new underwear. Go to church.)

And then, suddenly, I felt OK! I had acclimated! “This isn’t so bad!” I yelled to the mom just as someone to my right shouted joyously, “WE AREN’T EVEN HALFWAY THERE YET, WOOOOOO!!!!” I opened my eyes and he was right. We were still so close to the ground, with so much more height to gain.

So then I started saying things like:

• THIS IS THE WORST!
• NEVER AGAIN!
• CHOOCH, I HATE YOU!
• THIS IS NOT OK!
• I’M READY TO COME DOWN NOW, GUY! STOP THE RIDE!
• WHYYYYYYYYYYYYY?! in the Key of Kerrigan
• MY BOWELS JUST FELL OUT, MORTAL COMBAT-STYLE, DID YOU SEE THAT? THEY FUCKING FROZE MID-AIR AND THEN RE-ENTERED ME! THIS RIDE MADE MY BOWELS TRY TO RUN AWAY!

And by “saying” I mean that I was wailing these things so loudly, that I had accumulated an audience down below and by the time the Black Widow showed mercy and brought up back to the ground, there were people in line who were laughing at me.

But let’s back it up.

When we eventually reached the 146 feet that the Black Widow brags about on Kennywood’s website, I had no choice but to just let my muscles loosen, accept my fate, and allow the air to penetrate me. I just hung there like a rag doll and took it like a bitch. I felt Barbara Hershey in the Entity.

I’m not sure which part was worse: grimacing at the clouds or flinching at the cement below.

As the ride came to a complete stop, Chooch was like, “Yeah bitches! That was awesome! Woo! Mommy, you look awful, lol.”

And it wasn’t motion sickness, either. Don’t get it twisted. I was sick from pure, unadulterated FEAR. I felt poisoned by panic-induced adrenaline; one of those final, desperate shrieks had all but taken my voice (and my spirit) from me for the rest of the day.

I almost fell out of the seat after my harness was lifted, just dripped right onto the platform into an oozing puddle of flesh and piss. My legs were quaking and I was having trouble steadying my eyeballs in their sockets. It felt like the first time I tried to get out of the hospital bed after having a C-section but without the INCISION.

Weak, confused, like a fragile baby deer learning to walk.

A FRAGILE BABY DEER WITH A HUNTER HOT ON HER TAIL.

I don’t even remember gathering up my bag and walking out of the exit.

But I do remember standing across from the Black Widow afterward and feeling a sudden surge of empowerment! I’m not sure I could say that I “conquered” the Black Widow, but I made it through the whole thing without crying! I mean, I felt some drops on my face at one point, but it was probably just the wind making my eyes water. Or, you know, bird pee.

Definitely not tears.

Would I ride it again?

Probably!

I make stupid choices.

Maybe I’ll wait a few years, though.

By the time we washed our hands of the Black Widow, it was time to go to the entrance and meet that other black widow, Janna. We passed by the Swingshot en route, and Stanley was still going strong. Chooch and I screamed his name real loud and then smiled smugly, like, “Yeah, we know him” when people turned around to stare at us.

The day was already fun, but once Janna got there, it was like OFF THE CHAIN fun. Whatever that means. I always thought being on the chain was supposed to be fun?

Janna just really brings out the maniacal douchiness in Chooch and me. It’s not any certain thing that she does, but she is kind of an enabler. Like, she’ll try to make us do the right thing, but quickly realizes that we’re lost causes, so she’s just like, “Fuck it. Do whatever you want. I don’t care.”

She’s been saddled with one form of me or another since the 90s. She’s pretty good at shrugging it off.

We waited all day for Janna to get there before partaking in my favorite tradition: GOLDEN NUGGET ICE CREAM CONES. They’re just the best.

And holy shit, EXPENSIVE!

“Everything here is so expensive!” I texted Henry, who replied, “No shit.” I don’t like knowing these things. It’s better when Henry handles the food and beverage and ticket department while I twirl around like Julie Andrews on a goddamn hill.

Seriously, these cones are the best. I’m not certain that these are exclusive to Kennywood, but I can say that I have never seen these types of ice cream cones anywhere else.

I feel like this was my standard mask for the day.

Chooch lost the race, in case you wondered. I LOVE IT WHEN I BEAT HIM!

This was one of my favorite moments of the day. Chooch and I had reconvened with Janna at the Potato Patch, after we finished riding the Thunderbolt. Janna asked us if we wanted any of her fries, and Chooch disgustedly snipped, “Uh, no. I just saw that one fall out of your mouth and land on the other fries!”

“It did not fall out of my mouth!” Janna cried defensively. “It fell off my fork, Chooch!”

“No, it fell from your mouth. I saw it. I don’t want your germy fries.”

Janna was so offended and pissed off about this, and I just sat there and laughed while eating her germy fries. I don’t care if it fell out of her mouth, Potato Patch fries are amazing, and even better when I didn’t have to stand in line and pay for them myself.

They continued to bicker about this and I smiled to myself, happy that Chooch was adeptly carrying the torch. Just a few weeks ago, Corey and Chooch went to see Minions. Janna was meeting them there; apparently, on the way to the theater, they passed a car that had been pulled over by a cop. It was a car similar to Janna’s, so by the time they got to the theater and bought their tickets, they had convinced themselves that it actually was Janna. When she arrived at the theater (“Late!” Corey told me), they started mocking her endlessly about getting pulled over and from what they excitedly told me afterward, she was getting really irritated and defensive.

I love this. It’s like a brand new generation of Janna Torturers.

The quote of the night was born as we stood in line for the Skyrocket. Completely out of the blue, Chooch turned to us and said, “Japanese horror really takes it past the limit.”

I mean, he’s not wrong.
  

Fucking lemonade. DRINK THAT SLOWLY, SON.

The Kangaroo is a ride that I often overlook, but this time, we made sure to mount that bitch. I love kiddie rides because it makes overzealous cheering and frenzied screaming effortlessly fall from my body. Chooch likes to get in on this exaggerated enthusiasm as well, so we’re on the Kangaroo, flailing about and wooting like frat boys when I suddenly noticed that the people in the car in front of us kept turning around and looking. Even Janna was like, “This is fun. Whee.”

“What are they looking at?” I shouted.

“Us,” Janna pointed out, and that’s when I noticed that we were the only idiots expressing any joy whatsoever, so that just made me ramp it up to “Go home, you’re drunk” levels. Nothing comes more naturally to me than the simple act of obnoxious behavior. (This just in: Janna has confirmed that this was her favorite moment of the day!)

Near the end of the night, Janna wanted to ride the Whip, which is conveniently located right next to the Exterminator. And I really wanted to ride the Exterminator again, even though Chooch and I had already ridden it twice earlier that day.

“I hate the Exterminator,” Janna complained. “It always gives me a headache!” But Chooch and I looked at each other like, “Aw shit, this bitch isn’t actually trying to say no to us, is she?” So then we bullied into her agreeing to ride it. We’re skilled in the art of persuasion.

On the way there, my phone rang and it was Henry facetiming us! I screamed, “HENRY!” and Chooch snapped his head back and cried, “DADDY?!” and then we fought over the phone. I was so happy to see his stupid face! Janna watched on in amused horror with an expression of “Jesus Christ, you idiots haven’t even been away from him for a whole day!” on her face. Don’t judge us. We’re very attached to our caregiver.

Then we hung up on Henry because we had reached the entrance to the Exterminator. After a short wait in line, we  screamed and laughed our way through the ride’s duration while Janna sat there in a static state of “Ugh.” When we exited the Exterminator a few moments later, I started laughing riotously.

A Kennywood employee was in the process of covering each car on the Whip with a black tarp.

The Whip had closed for the night while we were riding a ride that Janna didn’t want to ride! OH THE SWEET STENCH OF SCHADENFREUDE.

“Sorry, Janna,” I said with faux-sincerity and a mouthful of giggles. She was just rolled her eyes and acted like she hadn’t had her heart set on it.

Chooch and I wanted to ride the Swingshot again after that, so we made Janna stand there and attempt to photograph us screaming our skulls out of our heads. We hoarsely shouted, “JANNNNNNA!!!!” during the whole ride like it was some foreign word for “wheeeee!” Sometimes I wonder what we look like to outsiders.

Fucking awesome and cool as shit, I bet.

This was a stellar way to close out the summer. Kennywood4lyfe!

OK

Chooch was all smiles and giggles all day long, but every time I would go to take a picture, he would put on his Sad Boy persona because he wanted Henry to see how sad we were without him. Which is great, but he didn’t tell me why he was doing this until the day was almost over, so I look like I’m forcing my child to spend time with me, like oh wow look at that lady, trying to be a loving mom all of a sudden. I look like my cheesy smile is about to engulf him whole.

I always forget how abusive the Musik Express is. Why can’t they line those bars with pillows?! I had bruises for the next week. Henry would find a new one and ask, “What’s that fr—–” and I would cut him off with, “Musik Express, OK? GOD, LAY OFF WITH THE QUESTIONS.”

Maybe I should let him think my bruises are from trolley-trauma—I bet then he’ll start driving me to work again!

In line for the Jack Rabbit, one of the most hilarious wooden coasters of all time. Please, People of the Internet, come visit me so we can ride the Jack Rabbit together! When I was in middle school, my best friend Christy and I would sing the “It’s beyond me, help me Mommy” part from the Rocky Horror Picture Show song “Don’t Dream It” as we ascended the first hill, the one right before the double dip. I think about this every single time I ride the Jack Rabbit; it might be time to teach Chooch so we can dust off that old tradition.

Or maybe CHRISTY and her kids can just come to Kennywood with us next summer!?

I was trying to get a picture of that Historic National District sign, don’t flatter yourself, Kid.

Second lunch at Johnny Rockets. Should have just taken him here to begin with, because finishing off chicken strips is always a guarantee with him. I got to have coffee while he ate and it was fantastic. I always forget that I’m an addict until I haven’t had any for four hours and start to get snippy with people and everything around me seems amplified and blown out of proportion. So when the waitress told me that they don’t serve iced coffee, I all but cried, “I DON’T CARE, BRING ME REGULAR THEN.” And so she did and I sat there nursing my steaming cup of coffee with a drunk smile on my pudding face.

Our Johnny Rockets visit was nice because we got to slow down our pace and talk about things, like Minecraft (snooze alert) and MUSIC and the derpy people around us.

Chooch didn’t like his fries because they were “American fries” and not “French fries.”

Chooch wanted to pretend like we were drunk, so…
 

During one of our line-waits for the Racer, I noticed a little girl further ahead of us in the queue. She kept making eyes at Chooch every time we passed each other. Finally, when the line stopped moving and she found herself across from him, she blurted out, “I like your hair!”

He made this annoyed smirk and rolled his eyes! “Thanks,” he muttered.

I felt so bad that he snubbed her, so I told her I liked her shirt (I did! It had ice cream cones and hot dogs on it) and that seemed to brighten her up a little. Then when the line started moving again, I made sure to tell Chooch that he was rude as fuck back there.

“WHAT DID I DO?!” he yelled, and I was like, “JUST BE NICE TO GIRLS, OMG.”

Actually, now that I think about it, this happened after Janna joined us and that little girl’s rejection was probably a major trigger for her. Lol supreme!

I used to love this ride, but it’s currently on my puke-a-rama black list ever since I almost puked after riding one of these at Waldameer last summer. Or the summer before that. Who knows anymore. THE DAYS ARE ALL A BLUR. I used to ride it alone because Chooch was too short but now he rides it alone while I sit on a bench like a basic mom.

Thunderbolt! I’m suspicious of amusement parks that don’t have wooden coasters.

  

Chooch will only drink lemonade and milk because he’s a freak and a huge disgrace to his father who slings FAYGO for a living, so we had to bounce from one refreshment stand to the next in search of something non-carbonated to coat his precious throat. I was getting so pissed! Just drink water! WWHD in a situation like this? Probably go straight to the correct beverage stand on his first try because he has done it so many times before while I’m not paying attention/standing in line for a ride/looking for a new boyfriend/crying about something.

Also, lemonade is expensive!

I mean, how great are amusement parks once the lights come on? It almost makes me forget how much it costs to get in. ALMOST.

Chooch was supposed to help me caption these but he’s a punk ass bitch who all of a sudden “has to do homework.” OH OK.

One more Kennywood post to go! It’s the one where Janna makes her grand entrance and I almost lost consciousness on a ride.

More like Lazy Day Weekend. I don’t know what is wrong with me, other than the hectic pace of summer has finally caught up with me, but I was very sloth-like all weekend. I left the house several times on Saturday and Sunday, but by Monday, I actually felt woozy & light-headed, so I basically slugged around all day and yelled at Henry and Chooch because when I feel this way I get ANGRY. I hate sitting around the house. 

• Saturday, we drove out to South Park to claim a pavilion for the pie party. The one I likebestwas booked already (probably for something dumb too, like some idiot’s 75th birthday party or a PAINT N’ SIP) so we got our trusty stand-by and I’m ok with it because it has a fire pit so maybe we could add mountain pies to the menu?
  • Meanwhile, some creep came in with a giant bag of prescription pills—some bottled, some free-floating around the bag—that he was trying todonate. Chooch and I were like, “The fuck…?” The county clerklady was coming close to arguing with the man, who kept insisting that he heard on the radio that they were accepting donations that day, and she was like, “Well I don’t know what radio station you’re listening to, but…” and then he slipped in a pertinent piece of info about the police department and she was like, “Well, then you need to take these to the police station next door. This is not the police station…?” It was a shit show. When we got back in the car, Chooch and I had a zillion questions about this and Henry had to explain to us that you apparently aren’t supposed to throw out prescription pills?! DID YOU KNOW THAT?! He was droning on and about various scenarios that could arise if you put out your no longer neededVicodin with the weekly trash but I was back to playing my Solitaire game on my phone and Chooch was like, “Mommy, turn up the radio. I can’t hear it over whatever dumb stuff daddy is talking about.””That man’s wife probably died and those were all her pills,” Henry continued even though we were pretty clear that NO1CURR.

• Made Henry buy me a protein bar at some rural-ghetto gas station because I felt like I was going to pass out for no reason.
• Stopped to visit our friend Ricky at Castle Blood. “Mommy wants her present,” Chooch said to Ricky immediately after the hellos were out of the way. I was so mad! I told him not to say that. But it was true, all week I was like, “I WONDER WHAT MY PRESENT IS. IT’S PROBABLY NOT A WHEELCHAIR BECAUSE HE DIDN’T MENTION COMING OUT WITH A TRUCK.” Ricky bought an abandoned funeral parlor in Monessen to turn into the new, forever home for Castle Blood. So he was exploring the attic a few weeks ago and unearthed this beautiful piece of funerary decor, which he and Chris lovingly named Cadillac Jesus, and both agreed that it had my name written all over it:
  
  • Boy, were they ever right! The red lights still work! Ricky said that he thinksitwas used as a decorationforwhenever wakes were held in a person’s house. The carrying case it came in is old as fuck. When Ricky opened ittoreveal Cadillac Jesus, I cried, “Oh my god,it’s beautiful! I hope it’s haunted!”  He also gave me this large crucifix that was also in the attic, because theycan’tutilize religious items in the haunt lest someone gets offended. The crucifix also comes in a carrying case, and it’s lined with a newspaper from…1937 I believe? I’ll havetodouble check when I’m at home. That was just as cool as the crucifix and Cadillac Jesus!
    • I bet Henry was thrilled to have more things to bring into our house that he has little to no interest in! Thanks, Ricky!
• Henry dropped me off to visit Wendy on the waytoChooch’s piano lesson. It was so great to see her and the baby! Motherhood looks good on her :) Also, I managed to mostly not get in the way, and even brought a box of pastries that I made Henry buy earlier that morning.
  • Meanwhile, back at piano lessons, Chooch got a 100% on all 6 songs he’s been working on. I love it when his teacher Cheryl writes “DEFEATED!” next to them, because that’s what Chooch says when he “beats” a song. I guess she realized that speaking to him in video game terms would hold his attention!

• After our first Spirit Halloween stop of the season (we’re late, I know!), we went to Al’s Cone Zone in my old turf (where I was living when I bought The Jacket!) only because I saw on Yelp that in addition to the standard sprinkles and rainbow crunch, they had Mexican fried ice cream topping! Usually I have to stare at and analyze ice cream shop menus in excruciating indecision, but this time I marched my ass right up to the window and ordered a vanilla cone with that Mexican dust on it. It was amaze. I can’t believe all ice cream shops don’t offer this!

• Double-fisting.

• Bought more succulents before going home and then spent the rest of Sunday re-potting some of my plants and being super affectionate with them which always wigs Henry out. The obsession has not waned, you guys. I was going to buy some moreonEtsy, but Henry was like, “Good lord, can you please wait until next week so that we have enough money to eat at Riot Fest this weekend?” Good call, Henry.
  • Below, please meet Johnny Maplebitch, and also gaze admiringly at Suzy Banyon’s new abode. LOVE HER.

• Monday morning, I almost passed out while exercising, so I did fuck all the rest of the day, aside from writing on my blog, petting my plants, yelling at Henry, and watching three movies, ugh. What a wasted day. Did not step outside once. It’s hard being naturally antsy but then having zero energy to get into anything!

A List of All the Idiot Movies I Watched From Friday-Monday Because of Being Ill:

1. Vampire Academy — Henry was so into this one that he irritably shushed Chooch for having the nerve to come into the living room and try to speak.
2. Summer of Blood — part of it, anyway. This movie was too terrible to finish and I hated the main character.
3. Zero Dark Thirty — kept putting this one off but finally sucked it up and watched. So fucking scary and sad.
4. Happy House — I loved this but Henry was like “Ok…”
5. Hausu — Asian horror + a 1970s porn-esque soundtrack = happy Erin.
6. Here Comes the Devil – creepy as fuck Spanish horror. I started watching this alone in broad daylight and was still scared. (No, I wasn’t lounging on my Devil rug, but now I wish I had been.)
7. Dark Skies — kept putting this one off too because I’m not a fan of alien movies, but for Keri Russell, I’ll watch almost anything. It was better than I anticipated, but my expectations were pretty low to begin with.
8. Night Breed — because why not end a listless weekend with a ridiculous Clive Barker movie. Boone is #lifegoals for Henry. Chooch kept looking over his shoulder from the computer and asking, “WHAT ARE YOU WATCHING!?”

Yeah, I’m either anemic or really fucking depressed. I am never able to sit still long enough to watch more than one movie a week! Really though, I think it was good that I slowed down and gave myself a dumb break. Even maniacs need to lay down from time to time, I guess.

After a series of post-lunch gentle rides, Chooch and I got in the short line for the Swingshot, a ride that used to terrify me and I boycotted it for a good five years after the first time I rode it. I felt ready to give it a second chance two years ago, and it’s been heart-eyes, death-trap edition ever since. It’s basically like being on a giant swingset, but the only thing that really freaks me out is that the safety bar only goes over your lap and not over your shoulders, so there isn’t anything to hold on to. And the scared little four-year-old girl in me desperately needs something to cling to!

A girl and her younger brother were in line behind us and the brother was very calmly stating over and over that he really did not want to ride this. She was very firm with him.

“Too bad, you’re riding it,” she said bossily, her youthful visage already in the beginning stages of memory-foaming her future resting bitch face. I mean, she was probably only 10 or 11 and already had a semi-perma-scowl dripping off her jowls. We made eye contact and I smiled nervously at her because I’ve seen Village of the Damned and it’s better not to anger the children, but my smile was met with unspoken haughtiness.

Again, people who are not amused at amusement parks can GTFO.

“Oh my god, look at that old man!” Chooch cried, pointing at the Swingshot, currently in motion. “He’s like as old as grandma!”

“I was just noticing him too,” I said, meaning to imply that hey, look at us! Always on the same wavelength, this mom-and-son duo! But of course, Chooch took this opportunity to make it into a competition and sneered, “OH OK. I SAW HIM FIRST.”

So then we argued about who saw the old man first and somehow during this we missed the girl’s brother escaping her grasp and leaving her to stand in line alone.

There was only one side of the Swingshot running that day, so the line moved a little slower than normal. We ended up just missing getting on the next round, but the ride operator said we could ride that one if we wanted, we just wouldn’t be able to sit together.

“No way, I can’t sit by myself,” I laughed nervously.

“But you can sit next to our VIP!” the ride operator continued, trying her best to fill the ride to capacity. “He’s 80-years-old and trying to ride this 80 times in a row today.”

“What?!” I cried, ogling the Elder sitting patiently at the end of the ride. “That’s amazing.”

“Earlier in the season, he rode the Jack Rabbit 80 times, too,” she said, before sliding the gate closed and giving the “all clear” to the ride operator behind the controls. I watched in awe as the Elder maintained his relaxed composure while being catapulted into the air. I forgot about hating on the girl behind me and focused all of my attention on this new subject.

“That man is a bad ass,” I said to Chooch.

“I’m going to sit next to him when it’s our turn. Will you save me a seat while I put my bag in the cubby thing?” I was already tossing furtive glances over my shoulder at the people behind us, trying to determine if any of them seemed like a threat. I felt compelled to cry out “I CLAIM SEAT 3!” but everyone knows you never announce to a crowd what you want! That’s a sure way of handing some motherfucker the ammunition to give your dreams a head shot. Chooch did that once at another park, I can’t remember where we were, but we were in line and he opened his big mouth and said, “I WANT TO GET THE BLUE CAR” or something, and no fucking shit, I watched the boy’s ears in front of us as they perked up and he side-eyed Chooch, and I knew it was over. Chooch just gave this asshole his idea and sure enough, once the entrance gate was unlocked, that little fuckboy bolted straight to the car that Chooch had his heart set on. (Because these are big issues, you guys.)

I mean, not gonna lie, I would probably do the same thing.

So, I was really getting anxious, feeling like I was going to pee my pants, nervously doing the standing-in-line jig. Even though we were going to be the first ones on, I had this fucking bag that I had to stash away first. GODDAMN YOU HENRY FOR NOT BEING THERE. He always holds my stuff for me when I’m on rides. :(

I whispered one more to Chooch, begging him to make sure no one took that seat.

“No, because I’m going to sit next to him,” Chooch said defiantly. So then we fought about who was going to sit next to the old man for the next minute until the ride was over and the entrance gate slid open for us.

I ran over to toss my bag into one of the cubbies while Chooch ran to claim a seat. I was pretty much ready to accept defeat because Chooch is the worst, but when I turned around, I saw that Chooch was climbing into a seat two down from the old man, leaving the seat next to him open for me! I COULDN’T BELIEVE MY GOOD FORTUNE.

“I don’t feel like talking to him, so you can just have that seat,” Chooch mumbled, which is his way of saying I LOVE YOU MOMMY AND I WANT NOTHING MORE THAN FOR YOU TO BE HAPPY.

I happily stuffed my ass into the spare seat and immediately turned to the old man and yelled, “I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU ARE RIDING THIS 80 TIMES.” There is this weird dichotomy with me in that I am often pretty reserved and introverted because I just don’t have the energy for small talk.

But the other side of me is a blown-out Leo, almost a caricature where I am TURN ALL THE WAY UP. A few years ago, for example, I was having lunch with an acquaintance. This person doesn’t really know me very well outside of my blog, so when we would meet up, he would get the sweet, polite, intense listener version of myself. One time he said to me, “You know, I love your blog. I love how you developed yourself into a character. But I gotta tell you, if Blog Erin was who you were in real life, I wouldn’t be friends with you.”

This really took me by surprise, because “Blog Erin” is very much who I am. This isn’t an act. I am actually at times even more full-blown “in real life” than I am “on the blog,” and it was just incredibly frustrating to sit there and listen to someone act like they know me, when they had only been given the opportunity to see one facet of my personality—ya gotta earn the rest. I feel like most everyone is like this! But, what do I know. I’m halfway to recluse when it comes to interacting with people these days.

That being said, as I sat there on the Swingshot, waiting for the ride attendants to finish their safety checks, I was Full Force Blog Erin with this guy. I was eager to meet him, to talk to him, to give him the chance to touch my life. I just felt drawn to him, I don’t know. Any 80-year-old who is attempting to ride something 80 more times than my dumb boyfriend, who is practically a spring chicken by comparison, is worth talking to.

“This ain’t nothing more than a giant swing,” the man, whose name I had learned was Stanley, answered my maniacal statement.

“True,” I agreed, thinking about it. “I love this ride, but it still scares me.”

“Pffft,” Stanley swatted at the air with his hand. “This ride is safe. I like the Black Widow too, but it takes too long to load that ride, so I chose the Swingshot instead.”

Whoa. If Stanley rides the Black Widow, then I should definitely stop being a bitch baby about it. I asked him what number he was currently on and he held up a metal counter in his hand. Ride #16. What a goddamn bad ass.

“What are those on your fingers?!”

I held up my hands and curved my fingers into air quotes so he could see my quotation tattoos.

“Are those real?” he asked skeptically. I nodded and he did a little eye roll and shook his head in a “kids these days” fashion. I asked him what made him want to ride this for 80 times that day, and he said, “Because it gives me the chance to sit with pretty young girls like yourself!”

OH STANLEY, STOP! No, don’t really stop.

And he continued to talk to me as the Swingshot fired up, sounding like a dragon swooping down from the sky, and I began to scream because it gets me every single time.

You are literally staring face-first at the cement below!

“What’s the worst that can happen?” Stanley yelled against the rushing wind. “We go soaring over those trees!” he laughed.

YEAH, AND THEN LAND WITH A WET SPLAT AGAINST THE ROAD!

After the Swingshot returned us to terra firma, Stanley agreed to take a selfie with me.

“You make sure you show that to your boyfriend!” he said in that sleazy way that only men his age can get away with. I laughed and said I would, and then after retrieving my bag and walking passed him to the exit, he yelled over his shoulder, “You keep that picture forever! Don’t you forget me!”

Honestly, how could I? We may have only spent 5 minutes in each others’ lives, but it was really inspirational—don’t laugh! Stanley had me so stoked on life! I walked away feeling giddy as fuck, like I could do anything, perhaps maybe even tackle my knee-buckling fear of the Black Widow later on.

Stanley, you are the motherfucking man.

Yesterday, I remembered this old Lip Service Asian-style smoker’s jacket thing that I bought ages ago when Avalon in Oakland was awesome and sold new shit and not “gently worn” basic bitch cardigans. Obviously, I’m too fat so sad to wear it anymore, but I paid a lot of money for it and I like it too much to sell on eBay or drop off at Goodwill. Plus, this was supposed to be my signature jacket for once I was turned into a vampire and I’m still clinging on to that, OK?

Chooch and I were bored yesterday evening. Henry was napping (what a shocker). I needed to take a break from the painting I’m currently working on, and that’s usually when I pull out the camera. Taking pictures always calms me down. Except for when Chooch gives me a hard time and then we fight and we hate each other and I make him an orphan and then Henry yells at both of us and there are tears and I threaten to smash my camera against a tombstone.

(OMG remember the unicorn in the wheelchair photoshoot when Chooch and I were unsupervised and far away from home!?)

Chooch was having a pretty good hair day so I yanked that jacket out of the back of my closet, knocking a bunch of other things off the hangers and then leaving them on the floor for Henry to pick up later. I had Chooch try it on and it actually kind of fit him so I asked him if he would wear it in pictures and he was like, “WOULD I?” as he gently stroked the faux-fur on the sleeves.

We originally had no theme in mind until we went in the backyard and saw that our neighbor Larry*had a shovel and wheelbarrow laying around, so Chooch grabbed the shovel and started digging. And that’s how this happened.

*(I have no idea who this guy is but Chooch literally knows every single person on our street; he’s much more people-y than I am)

My favorite memory of this jacket is from 1998, when I was having a big party at my townhouse (it was first post-high school apartment so you can imagine what went on there) for my friend Lisa’s birthday. One of my mom’s friends lived in the same townhome complex and saw me in the parking lot that night wearing this jacket. She called my mom and totally NARC’d on me, because she knew I didn’t have a job and made some passive aggressive comment about how “Erin is always wearing such nice, fancy clothes.” BECAUSE I HAD A CORPORATE AMERICAN EXPRESS CARD THAT MOMMY PAID FOR, mind your own business, cooze!

But yeah, my mom called me the next day and was all, “Blah blah called me and said…

”

It wasn’t even THAT expensive, maybe like $150? Which I guess is kind of a lot of money for a sporadically-employed 18-year-old sometimes-telemarketer to spend on a jacket that she knew she was only going to wear twice, probably.

Hot Naybor Chris came out at one point to get something from his garage.

He looked at us, did a double take, raised one eyebrow curiously, and then shrugged. God love him.

This was his own pose. I think he really liked wearing that jacket.

I just let him do whatever keeps him content and easy to work with. I learned that the hard way over the years.

And since Chooch was wearing his Never Shout Never shirt underneath the jacket, here is one of their new songs. They just released their new album last month and we were listening to it in the car yesterday when we went to visit our friend Ricky, and I felt like I was in a psychedelic haze by the time it played the whole way through.

I gotta hand it to Chooch for making me give NSN a second chance when he got into them two years ago, because I had way too hastily written off Christofer Drew. That kid is a fucking weirdo in all the best ways, and the new album is fantastic.

It didn’t feel right closing out summer without a trip to Kennywood. We normally go earlier in the season, but skipped it this time in favor of another park, so I decided that I would take a day off work so we could go before Chooch had to return to school. Unfortunately, because they were short a person at Henry’s job, he was unable to take any time off work and enjoy life like a regular person with a job that doesn’t suck.

I didn’t care. My day off was approved and Chooch and I were going. The End.

Except that we do EVERYTHING as a family. Going to Kennywood without Henry seemed unnatural. Dirty, even. Also, horrifying.

Henry still did everything he could to ensure that our day went off without a hitch, including PRE-BUYING OUR TICKETS FOR US. Some people at work were concerned about me having to drive there but I was like bitch please. I know how to drive! Getting there was pretty much the only thing I wasn’t worried about. It was more of, “What’s going to happen if we need an adult?” Before I left work the day before, Wendy even asked me if she should be on stand-by.

You guys have no idea how good we have it with Henry. Or maybe you do. But sometimes Chooch and I forget. Not on this day, though. Oh shoot, not on this day.

Even with all of these murky unknowns, I woke up that Tuesday morning feeling positively giddy. Kennywood has always had that effect on me! I threw on my favorite Cure t-shirt, checked the weather (I’m growing up!) and when I saw that it was going to be in the low-70s all day and even cooler at night, I had the good sense to actually stuff two long-sleeved shirts for me and Chooch into my Draven drawstring bag. I even remembered my portable charger for my phone!

And then Chooch and I had a huge fight (he was wearing a Minecraft shirt and I told him to change because I didn’t want to look at that all day—-ha-ha, I love it when I get to confuse being a mom with being a QUEEN) and I screamed “THEN WE’RE NOT GOING TODAY!” and he was like “FINE!” and then we both indulged in a big pout in separate rooms of the house, during which I texted Henry in CAPSLOCK and he was like “Calm down, what happened” while probably rolling his eyes and feeling even more stressed out than usual.

I stomped downstairs to heat up my coffee and made accidental eye contact with Chooch, who was sitting on the couch in a different shirt, putting on his shoes.

“WE’RE STILL GOING, YOU KNOW,” he snarled brattily, and I tried to snarl back at him but then we both started cracking up.

“I hate you,” I said to him lovingly. Because I show my affection in opposites.

And so we left the house around 10:00 because the park opens at 10:30. As we walked to the car, Chooch groaned, “Why do you always have to look like a teenager?” to which I yelled, “OMG THANKS!”

We had no trouble getting there. I parked without any sort of tragedy. We remembered to take the tickets out of the glove compartment. Made it through the gates without becoming part of a hostage situation.

I don’t think I have ever been to Kennywood this early in the morning! It was wonderful. Not too many assholes were there yet, but also most of the rides were not yet running so we just kind of walked around, looking like n00bs. We decided to head over to the Exterminator, because that’s our favorite ride and the line for that one can get pretty long, and most of the wait time is inside the stuffy building, where there is always at least one motherfucker who feels compelled to fart. Mmm, the stench of flatulence in a crowded room on a humid summer day.

There was already a pre-line that had formed, but only about 10-15 people. At 11:00, some song started playing around the park and everyone was smiling knowingly at each other, and that’s when I definitely realized for sure that in all of my 36 years of visiting Kennywood, I have never been there when it opened and this “good morning” song was new to me. Definitely a n00b.

Right after, a Kennywood kid came out to officially open the line, and we walked right in and started our day off in a good way. The Exterminator is like a wild mouse-type of coaster inside a dark building and it makes me crack the fuck up so bad every time. One time, I rode it with Blake and Alisha and came sickeningly close to peeing my pants from laughing so hard. Or maybe I did. Just a little!

After the Exterminator, I was feeling really amped because we just successfully partook in our first ride of the day. But then when we exited the building, I remembered that Henry wasn’t standing off to the side by a garbage can somewhere, nose-in-phone, waiting for us. Chooch and I exchanged looks, but then I cried, “LET’S GO ON THE THUNDERBOLT NOW!” and he was like “FUCK YEAH, THUNDERBOLT!” On the way, we passed the Black Widow, which is Kennywood’s newest ride. It’s this gigantic pendulum-type thing that swings sorry souls to wicked heights. Chooch and I made 87 excuses last summer to not ride it.

“Should we ride this today?” I whispered.

“Uh….yeah sure. But later. Like, when it’s dark,” Chooch waved it off nervously and then we ran away.

On the way to the Thunderbolt, we were sidetracked by the Turtles! The Turtles is one of those great old-fashioned rides that has persevered for ages and is a historical landmark at this point. (It seriously is. It has a plaque.) It’s one of only two tumble-bug rides that remain in the world, and while it’s “just a kids ride,” it still evokes so many obnoxious laughs. Partially because ha-ha we’re on a kids ride, and partially because I always forget how rough of a ride it is. And when you pass by the beginning part of the track, there’s a recording of a slow, drugged-out sounding voice that says, “Tuuuuuuuurtle.” So Chooch and I pretty much walked around the rest of the day, randomly shouting “tuuuuuuuuurtle” to each other.

LOOK AT US, making memories without Henry. Oh, what a concept.
  

Chooch ended up changing into a Dixon Brothers (The Walking Dead) shirt so that we could spend the day together without my eyes crossing in sheer boredom every time they fell upon his idiotic Minecraft shirt.

I mean, I get that Minecraft is supposedly some great learning tool for children, somehow, but I just hate everything about it and I’m not ashamed to say so. Get fucked, Minecraft.

Basically no line for the Thunderbolt! We could have walked right on, but we decided to wait an extra couple of minutes in order to snag the front seat.

The second of approximately 87 selfies that we would take throughout the day. SELFIE ON EVERY RIDE!

Kennywood is built on a hill next to a gross river and across from one of the sad, industrial sections of Pittsburgh. It helps keep it real, you know? It’s definitely changed a lot since I was a kid, and a lot of beloved rides were replaced with flashier, more modern ones, and the admission prices have skyrocketed, but deep down in the heart of it all, Kennywood still has that quaint, blue-collar working class essence about it. Aside from Alisha and the foreign exchange student who lived with my family in 1995, I just realized that I have had very few opportunities to pop anyone’s Kennywood cherry, so if you want to come visit me next summer and go to Kennywood, you should. That’s pretty much the only tourist destination here that I will actually be able to fill your head with facts about.

Everything else, I’m like, “I don’t know. There are three rivers there but fuck if I know the names.”  And, “Oh I don’t know, some Carnegie guy.” But, Heinz ketchup and Kennywood! Those are topics I can yammer on about.

(Truthfully, my Heinz ketchup facts only extend as far telling people to slam the heel of their hand against the 57 if they need to get the ketchup flowing out of the glass bottle.)

Kennywood has some great wooden coasters. Last year was Chooch’s first time on the Thunderbolt because it has one of the highest height restrictions. Being able to ride everything together now is the best!

Hairband collection.

Racer selfie!

Jackrabbit!

There still wasn’t much of a crowd around 12:30, so we had been ride-riding for a good 90 minutes with very little wait time. This made us get hungry earlier than normal, so we decided it was time to take a break and eat. Also, Kennywood isn’t a huge park, and I didn’t want us to get burnt out too early, because Janna was going to be meeting us later in the evening after work. (Kennywood has a cheaper “Night Rider” admission option.)

“Hi Janna! Sorry you just paid $22 for a ticket, but we’re sick of Kennywood now. K, bye!”

Honestly though, I’m sure she wouldn’t be too surprised if that actually happened, coming from Flake 1 and Flake 2.

Our food tradition at Kennywood for years has always been to get pizza at this food place that’s next to Kiddieland.  It’s not that the pizza is like OMG ITALY! or totally gourmand, but it’s familiar, decent, and fast. Also, Henry always deals the pizza procurement while the rest of us sit down and bang our fisted forks and knives against the table. This was my first time even walking into the pizza shack!

THE HORROR!

“Do they take credit cards?” I asked Chooch and he was like “The fuck if I know, I’m 9.”

And of course, as soon as we started walking toward the entrance, a family of about 10 swooped in from the left and beat us. Literally, the longest line we had to wait in all fucking day. I was PISSED and texted Henry to let him know this. He was just like “lol” and then probably miumbled, “Better you than me.”

It took these assholes so long to place a simple pizza order that I had plenty of time to familiarize myself with the shoddy, prison tattoos that the mom had on her arms. One was the outline of Tweety (obviously), but the line was really thick and fuzzy and didn’t CONNECT. She had the angry mom-bark to go along with it. The musk of Newport halo’ing her jowled face. The Yinzer-attitude after a Steelers loss.

I couldn’t stand this broad. Especially when she was rude to the old man who handed her the pizza box and kindly suggested that she hold it with two hands. “I GOT IT” she snapped in that angry mom-bark, rolling her eyes at him. As she walked away, pizza box balanced precariously on one forearm while her hands were full of plates and beverage, I silently willed her to trip in her Crocs. I hate when people are assholes to old people! This guy was probably someone’s grandfather and I decided that I was going to be obsessed with him.

I think his name was Roy. I knew at the time, but later I would meet another old man (no, Henry didn’t surprise us with a visit) and quickly booted Pizza Server out of my heart.

Sorry, Roy.

“There’s nothing to make fun of without daddy here,” Chooch said sadly. I agreed, and we had a moment of silence for Henry. Then I made Chooch get a napkin and wipe the pizza off his face, because that’s the only maternal instinct I have: to shudder at the sight of food-faces.

Mr. “I’m so hungry, order me two pieces please” only ate half of one. Normally, Henry’s role is to finish our food for us because WASTE NOT WANT NOT or whatever it was that the Pilgrims said.  But he wasn’t there, so I had to stuff down my own slice, plus Chooch’s leftovers, and I felt like I was going to die.

“Well, at least I don’t have to buy myself dinner now,” I muttered and Chooch was like, “I SAID I’M SORRY, GOD! SO FAT, SO SAD!”

After pizza, we had a costume change because the day had turned overcast and it was chilly as fuck for August. I loved it. I made Chooch ride the train and he was pissed, but after homeboy turned me into a pizza compactor, he was going to have to suffer through a mild ride with me so that my stomach could settle. I’m not a big eater at amusement parks! Afterward, Chooch said that he wanted to wait for Janna to get there before riding the train so that she could slam her head off of it again. Seriously, one of our favorite Kennywood Memories!

It looked like rain almost all day and yet not a single drop fell. These are the best days! The weather plus it being the last weekday that Kennywood was open for the season really kept the crowds at bay.

On Noah’s Ark, this lady in front of Chooch was such a miserable bitch who complained about every single thing and at one point, when we were still in line, she miserably cried about how she just wished she was drunk right then, at which point we made accidental eye contact and I was scared that she was going to start yelling at me. Maybe she had bigger issues that she was dealing with, but it’s really hard for me to understand how you could be at an amusement park, literally a park created to amuse people, and be a miserable cooze.

And then her kids were warning her of the moving floors and precarious staircases inside the Ark and I was like, “Just let the bitch fall!”

Usually during a Noah’s Ark walk-thru, I will violently shove Henry along and he will mumble, “Stop. Stop it. Stop. STOP!!!!” I was tempted to use that miserable bitch as my Henry stand-in but also didn’t want to get ejected from the park so early on in the day. It was fun to imagine, though.

I’m ending this installment here because I have other things to do, but don’t worry — I have so much more to say.  SHOCKING!

You can’t go anywhere in my house without Robert Smith creeping.

TGIF, for real. Looking forward to a super short week next week because RIOT FEST. The food vendors were announced the other day and I am almost as excited for that as I am for the bands. Dark Matter coffee is there again and I’m really excited to drink so much of their magicical brew that it starts pouring out of my eyes.

Let’s cap this off with a Cure video. We’ll go with “More Than This” because it’s been a minute since I’ve cried to this one. Robert, you can creep on me ANYTIME.

We had to stop at Henry’s work (near the pet store where his pregnant mistress works) for a few minutes. Chooch wanted me to take pictures of him hanging off the parked train on the tracks by the river and I went along with it because I had nothing better to do. 

Chooch has a ridiculous amount of band shirts for a kid his age. My hope is that it will be a conversation starter with the other homogenous kids in his school and possibly spark interest and awareness that music exists outside of the radio. TEACH ‘EM WHILE THEY’RE YOUNG. But when I asked Chooch if anyone asked him about his Bring Me The Horizon shirt, he was like pfffffffft.
   
 

Sooooooo serious. 

In other news, we are definitely having a pie party next month and my friends are way more excited for this than I expected–and that’s made me even more excited! I have been spending all of my free time scouring for the perfect pie(s) for Henry to bake. You will be seeing a lot more of this subject over the next month, and for that I offer my advanced apologies. 

PIE. 

Something has been feeling weird to me, different and off, and finally last night I realized that it’s been months (well, maybe just one month) since I’ve regaled this bleak corner of the internet with bullet points. All those thoughts swirling around in my head (even though Glenn likes to remind me daily that it’s empty) need some place to go. So…to the shooting range it is!

• It’s been a few weeks since I bought any new succulents. The pickings have been slim as the summer winds down and some of the last ones I bought have DIED because like I said: LOWE’S ABUSES THEIR SUCCULENTS. I’m going to start buying them online, because this is just bullshit. However, a bunch of my cuttings have sprouted roots and several have the most adorable baby buds, which I am ecstatic about because who knew that I was capable of not only keeping plants alive but also PROPAGATING NEW ONES? I have my babes spread out all over the house, but here’s my main set-up:

• And while we’re on the topic of succulents, you’ll be pleased to know that Ted NUDEgent continues to thrive. It’s hard to believe he was once on his death bed! God, I just love my succulents so much. Ask Henry. He was horrified the other night when I jumped up from the couch, sucked in my breath audibly, and then whipped back the curtain.
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  “WTF?” Henry said, waiting  to see if he should panic too. I grabbed a plant off the windowsill and clutched it to my chest. “Panne! I can’t believe I forgot about him!” I cried, shoving Panne into Henry’s face so he could see that Panne was OK. Henry just scowled. Seriously though, Panne is one of my favorites and I can’t believe I had set him down somewhere I couldn’t easily see him! Anyway, believe is a picture of Ted NUDEgent, looking all green and sexy.

• Wendy (who is currently IN LABOR!) and I were having a serious discussion in her office last week, which resulted in me saying, in all seriousness, “I mean, I’ll do whatever I can to spare someone’s feelings—-” to which Wendy cut me off by laughing laugh, and without mirth. “Seriously? Are you kidding? YOU DO NOT!” And then we both started laughing, because who the hell am I kidding.
• Speaking of Wendy, I can’t believe I forgot to mention this. About a month ago, when I was at dinner with her and Barb, she was giving Barb directions to her upcoming baby shower. “Oh, it’s by that hotel?” Barb asked, and Wendy was like, “Maybe? Sure. Whatever.” Barb went on to say, “You know, the pay-by-the-hour one” and then something about how she spent some time there back in the day, much to Wendy’s horror. “Oh, I used to go to those a lot too,” I said in Barb’s defense. “Like the Moonlite on 51.” Barb said, “That’s the one that sit back off the road a little, right? I’ve been to that one, too.” And while we practically high-fiving each other about this, Wendy blurted, “You two are both whores!” It was awesome. But seriously though, you couldn’t beat the Moonlite. They sold cans of Cherikee Red in the office!

• I refilled my candy urn with some Asian candy treats a few weeks ago and it was surprisingly a big hit. Especially those Choc-Nuts, which start out tasting like a mistake but then suddenly turn delicious. I looked online for Romanian candy to order but I couldn’t really find anything but probably I just got distracted.
• I think Wendy is still in labor.

• Henry and I have watched some good horror movies recently, but the best one in my opinion was the Iranian vampire film A Girl Walks Home Alone At Night. I’m no movie reviewer, but this one made me so excited that I almost dedicated a whole post to it, until I realized that beyond saying, “OMG I LOVED IT!” I wouldn’t really know what else to say. Which is funny considering I can spill out 2,000 words about a new fruit I’ve tried. Anyway, vampire movies are my favorite horror sub-genre (people always think I’m a zombie fan, but only marginally!), but it takes a lot for me to get REALLY excited about one, like “Let The Right One In” (the original). This one had a similar feel — small town, lots of quiet suspense.
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  The music was great, the cinematography, the cast. It was a phenomenal movie.

  • Also, Housebound is hilarious and original. We finally watched It Follows, too, after missing it when it was playing at the Hollywood last spring, and while I liked it, it didn’t really excite me as much as I anticipated. I’m excited for the cooler months because I want to start having people over for horror movie marathons like the old days. WHEN THINGS WERE SO SIMPLE AND WE HAD TO WALK INTO A VIDEO RENTAL STORE TO FIND MOVIES TO WATCH. I really miss those days so much. There was a video shop within walking distance of my house called Incredibly Strange Videos and it was the absolute shit. Bruce, the proprietor, carried everything and he is the one who really got me into foreign horror. I used to walk in and say, “Tell me what to rent” and he would never fail me. Also, he had an interesting collection of student-filmed horror movies, some of which turned out to be incredible and scarier than any of the bullshit Hollywood keeps subjecting us to. STOP REMAKING THINGS. Please.
• Jeannie just came over and said that Wendy is literally the worst for not having the baby yet.

• Remember when we started to clean Chooch’s room, a/k/a Hoarder’s Hostel, last winter? Well, we (Henry) kind of dropped the ball halfway through, but I made him pick it back up a few weeks ago and it looks so much better now.
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  Plus, I found this awesome Polaroid of baby Chooch with one of his many novelty pacifiers, and we managed to hang up most of the art that he’s been collecting, like this cat picture that I bought him two Christmases ago and #COOKIEPIZZA! We still randomly shout about #cookiepizza. Chooch has quite a collection of art for a nine-year-old.

• WENDY HAD THE BABY!!!! What a great day!
• I told Jeannie that the baby is here and she said, “Eh” and shrugged. I’d be worried if her reaction was any more chipper than that! ;)
• And then Todd said that he didn’t realize she was that pregnant. MEN. LOL.
• Hey, speaking of vampires, I went to get ice cream with Chris and Monica last week andwas disappointed that I didn’t wear my best cape to orderBruster’s flavor of the day, and even more disappointed when I realized that Blood Drive Friday was not, in fact, a flavor. I wish I hadmy own ice cream shop. Only a very specific type of person will patronize it, and that’s ok.
  • Meanwhile, Chris and Monica had a huge bag full of extra vegetables from their CSA, which they gifted to me and Henry turned them into a magical soup. Plus! There was a container of HUCKLEBERRIES, which apparently taste like shit on their own. So Henry baked them into a huckleberrybrickle, whatever the fuck abrickle is, and it made me feel all folky, eating a huckleberry thing. Thank you, Chris and Monica!
    • I don’t know what a brickle is because it’s apparently a buckle. Henry made a huckleberry buckle.
      • I don’t know what a buckle is, either. I mean, buckles in the baked goods world.
• I got a Gold Star for Excellence in the field of Excellence a few weeks ago! Sandy and Nate are the best co-workers. I taped it up next to my Citation for Jaywalking. My desk is a rollercoaster of emotions.
• Kara just texted me because Facebook told her that five years ago today, we were all at the spray park when Chooch face-planted into the cement ground and gushed blood EVERYWHERE. I have never seen a place clear out so fast before in my life. I haven’t been back there since.
• This morning on my way to the idiot trolley, I was struck by an overwhelming sense of FALL even though it’s 90 today in Pittsburgh. But more specifically, I felt excited to revive the PIE PARTY! It was on hiatus last year because I was burnt out and didn’t feel like being social. But now I want to get back at it, much to Henry’s chagrin. I’m hoping I can sway him. Pie Party is legend!

Well, I guess Glenn is right after all: my damn head is pretty fucking empty.

Last winter, after we decided where this summer’s vacation was going to take us—-and Henry started bleeding money from all blue-collared orifices—-I excitedly consulted Roadside America to find all the ways to drag our trek back to Pittsburgh into a poorly-written modern remake of Homer’s Odyssey, only with less blood weddings, spiritual growth, and Latin declensions.

One of the “attractions” I read about was this mysterious-sounding African village in Sheldon, SC called Kingdom of Oyotunji. I sent Henry the link and received no response. Shocker. During the beginning half of our trip, I kept bringing it up, and Henry just kept saying things like, “We’re not going that way” and “It recently burned to the ground” and “Katy Perry is performing there all week.”

But I would not be deterred.

It turns out, when we left Savannah that Friday in July, the village was on our exact route to Charlotte, NC. Henry either must have had his guard down or was just that fatigued from fielding my lofty requests all week, because he actually turned off the highway when we arrived at the Sheldon exit! I couldn’t believe my good fortune.

“Is this place is even open?” he sighed. “It better fucking be open.” But I could tell that what he really meant was, “I hope it’s not open because I don’t want to go but I am still going to be mad if it’s not open because either way this is a waste of time and I hate you.” Over the years, we have learned to communicate through a series of huffy sighs, glares, and fists slamming against steering wheels.

Actually, their website said that they were open until 7:00 (it wasn’t quite 6 yet so we had time in our favor, at least), but they recommend that you email them if you want to stop by for a tour. I mean, I did that, but we were already about 20 minutes away so we were going to stop by regardless. Also, it seemed weird to me that this mysterious US-seceded African village in the Gulleh Geeche South Carolina low-country (I got that from their website because I’m a journalist now) even has the Internet and didn’t require me to send notice via carrier pigeon.

Just kidding. I’m not that culturally ignorant. But on that note, the Oyotunji community is something that I definitely know nothing about and I was genuinely interested in learning about how they live. (And also genuinely interested in making Henry feel uncomfortable, because he HATES taking tours of places.)

Chooch was sleeping when we made it to the entrance of the kingdom, which required us to turn off the highway and continue on down a dirt road buffeted by forest. The whole time, Henry was murmuring, “I hate you. I fucking hate you. Fuck my life” through gritted teeth, while I cracked up next to him so hard that I was wheezing.

“It’s not fucking funny!” he said. BUT IT IS, HERNY.

At the end of the path, we could see the gate to the compound, and Henry started to rejoice because it was closed.

“Yeah but keep going, maybe there’s a doorbell,” I urged, because we had come so far!

Most of my pictures are blurry and out of focus because I guess I was just that excited about being there.

Henry kept trying to tell me in a dozen different ways that this joint was closed, but too bad I noticed the “Blow Your Horn” sign next to the gate before he had a chance to gouge my eyes out with his strong and masculine Service thumbs.

“Blow the horn,” I demanded.

“No, I’m not blowing the fucking horn,” Henry hissed in response.

But if you ask Henry to do something enough times while consistently raising your voice until it’s a crackling screech, he eventually gives up and does the thing! So he reluctantly pressed down on the car horn and then we waited.

“No one’s coming,” he sighed, ready to throw the car into drive.

“Just wait!” I begged, holding my gaze hard against the big red doors.

After about 30 seconds of nail-biting suspense, a man dressed in a white robe stepped out from behind a fence along the left-hand perimeter of the property.

“Oh great, Erin. Just great,” Henry huffed, lowering the window so the man could talk to us.

“Are you guys looking to do the tour?” he asked after we exchanged proper Southern salutations. (You know. “Hello”s were said.) Leaning across Henry, I emphatically nodded my head. You bet your white-robed ass I want a tour. I want to know all about the Oyotunji tribe! I was just getting ready to barrel-roll myself out of the car when he went on to explain that unfortunately, they’ve been mourning the death of their leader, in Africa, for the last three days and had closed the community off to the public for that.

“We open back up tomorrow though, if you’ll be in the area?”

Henry nodded and said something along the lines of, “Yeah, we might be.”

“I was actually just on my way out to take a shower when I heard you beep,” the man said, explaining that he’s not usually the one who gives the tours.

He then gave us a brief run-down of the community, told us how he’s originally from Florida but had shed his American citizenship 20+ years ago in favor of living a simple life in the woods of South Carolina. They’re a community of around 40 people, self-sustained, they home school their children, and basically live a life where no one has to give a shit about the things that Americans give a shit about that don’t even matter, like Donald Trump, the idiot Superbowl, and Miley Cyrus’s pasties.

I can only imagine how better behaved their kids are than Chooch.

This whole time, I was trying to maintain strong eye contact with him while chewing on the insides of my cheeks to keep from laughing outright. Look, please understand that I don’t think anything about their community is funny, and I certainly don’t find humor in the fact that they were all in mourning, but it was the situation itself: the detour into the woods of Beaufort County, Henry’s reluctance, the Jonestown Massacre vibe of it all….it was all of these things, like sitting in church during the homily and feeling that itch to laugh out loud for no good reason, that had me writhing in giddy discomfort.

Some other tourist-sucker pulled in behind us about 10 minutes into our on-the-fly history lesson from our new robed friend. He quickly wrapped it up and then excused himself to go talk to the other visitor.

“Are we really going to come back tomorrow?!” I screamed as we slowly drove back out to the highway.

“Wha—-? No!” he said, his big bushy brows all furrowed.

“But when that guy asked if we were going to be in the area—”

“Yeah well, I didn’t mean it.” And he used his End of Story tone, so I sulked for awhile.

Oyotunji, I’ll be back for you someday.

But then we pulled over at the Carolina Cider Company! We had been on a mission to procure boiled peanuts the whole time we were in the south and finally, it was our time. On our last day, no less.

Chooch was still sleeping, how he managed to sleep through all of the Oyotunji excitement, I’ll never know. At first, Henry was like, “Just crack the window, he’ll be fine.” But then I was overcome with paranoia and something else that I couldn’t quite put my finger on….the overwhelming need to PARENT, maybe? Nah. I think I have it confused with the desire to not have Child Protective Services called on my ass.

What would the Oyotunji do, I thought hard to myself.  Aside from probably not giving a shit about boiled peanuts, I mean.

I went out to the car to wake up Chooch and proceeded to set off the car alarm. The proprietor of the cider establishment and the only two patrons there at that time stopped what they were doing in order to gawk at me from the open doors of the store.

“What are you doing!?” Henry yelled, marching over with the car keys to stop the alarm. SO SORRY THAT I WAS TRYING TO SAVE MY KID FROM ASPHYXIATION.

So then I was able to save Chooch and he groggily followed me into the store while I excitedly told him about what he had missed, but I don’t think he believed me.

Henry bought us stuff and boiled peanuts are weird as fuck, yet I couldn’t stop eating them.

Eventually, we made it to a shady Red Roof Inn, I mean shadier than the typical Red Roof Inn, in Charlotte. We had to pass Carowinds on the way, with its coasters all sexy and lit up against the night sky. I begged Henry to take us there but he was like, “IT’S NEARLY 10’O CLOCK AT NIGHT!” God, he always has an excuse.

Luckily, the Red Roof was only shady on the outside (i.e. the parking lot and the entire right section of the motel where I’m pretty sure people were living and since it was a Friday night, shit was popping off) and the inside was clean and recently remodeled. I realized that HENRY hadn’t fed us dinner, so he went to a vending machine and came back with snacks and a Snickers. THANKS, PA.

We live large on vacation.

***

Anyway, aside from some additional pictures from our travel day back to Pittsburgh, that pretty  much wraps up our whirlwind Southern road trip, which took me an entire month to recap. But holy shit, we did so much! I love these trips so much, and I know that they don’t really seem like “vacations” because we’re so go-go-go, but I couldn’t imagine sitting in one place for 7 days and “relaxing.” I honestly don’t know how to relax. I look forward to these trips so much because we get to see cool things, meet really awesome people, and make some pretty hilarious memories.

We hadn’t even crossed the Pennsylvania state line yet and I was already asking Henry where we’re going to go next. He just glared at me.