I haven’t been painting or anything at all lately because there has been so much going on in life and if only there was one extra hour in a day, you know. But after an emotional Friday night, I woke up the next day ready to paint my way through it.

I’ve been wanting to paint a portrait of my Pappap for some time now, and I found a really great picture of him from the late 70s / early 80s that I knew right away was the one I needed to recreate.

Chooch, my most honest and unapologetic critic, said with legit sincerity that this is my “best one yet.” Which I of course twisted around and cried, “OMG so you think all of my other ones suck then?!” And he just sighed and walked away.

Because life with a bipolar Leo, amirite?

(It honestly barely looks like him, but it’s still going on my wall.)

And then I took advantage of the fire under my ass and finally finished the third installment of the nursery paintings that Wendy requested. Slumps are no fun.

Gotta tell you, pretty happy to slam the door on 4th grade. I don’t know what it was about this year, but it was tumultuous and drama-laden. I actually quit answering the phone every time the school called me because I just couldn’t deal—I’d listen to the voicemail and then have Henry call back. MOM OF THE YEAR, ALWAYS.

Grade-wise, everything was great! But Chooch hated one of his teachers (she’s old and out of touch, you guys) and the new gym teacher is apparently a real bitch. We thought Chooch was exaggerating but then Henry met her and confirmed.

So yeah! Last day of this shitty school year was Monday, and Chooch had a pretty severe hockey and Pierce the Veil hangover. We didn’t get back to Pittsburgh until after 1:00am, and well….Chooch didn’t have the “late shift” option like I did.

Somehow, he was in good spirits anyway.

Henry’s mom Judy has officially started her summer babysitting job and so far, they’re getting along; well, except for today when Chooch CALLED ME AT WORK because he got his stupid Loom* kit in the mail and Judy wouldn’t let him open it and he wanted my permission, so I said yeah sure, what’s the big deal, but then after work I found out she actually said she didn’t want him to take it outside because he’d lose the pieces. And I agree!

AND SO THE SUMMER OF CHOOCH & JUDY BEGINS.

*(Basically a craft thing where you make bracelets and crap out of what looks like the rubber spacers I had all up in my grill when I had braces, ugh.)

Just gonna leave this here. #relevant

“Are you winning?” an old man paused to ask me.

I was sitting on a bench in Gateway Center during my lunch break, scrolling through my Twitter feed. I had just seen the Tweet in which Trump congratulates the Pittsburgh Penguins for winning the Stanley Cup and felt on edge.

WE DON’T NEED YOUR CONGRATULATIONS! And now some random passerby was speaking to me. It was all too much at once.

Bracing myself for Stranger Danger, I looked up and saw the sweetest elder face peering down at me through Coke bottle lenses; like, if Spirit Halloween were to be in the market for an Adorable Grandpa mask, this guy would need to provide a mold of his dome.

“Well, are you?” he asked again.

One thing that’s for certain is that I am never not caught off guard by impromptu conversation.

The synapses just don’t fire off as fast as they used to.

And so, there was an awkward delay as I struggled to understand what was happening. When I realized he must have thought I was playing a game on my phone, I went with it and, with mock sadness, said, “Nope, not yet.

”

“Well, you will,” he punctuated with a shaky finger-jut in my direction. “Because you look like a winner!”

I laughed and thanked him, and as I watched his labored departure, I was overcome with an odd sense of calm. It was kind of just what I needed to hear, so thank you, Yinz-Elder, for taking a break in your turtle pace to wheeze some positivity into the face of a fellow human being. A nice reminder that in the wake of cruelty and hatred, kindness won’t be silenced.

We all need to be reminded of our winningness from time to time, and you know what? YOU’RE ALL WINNERS TO ME. GO GET ‘EM, TIGERS.

Or maybe that guy was senile and thought he was talking to a goldfish playing Old Maid with Yootha Joyce; I don’t give a fuck, I’ll take it.

We were talking about the 2009 Penguins parade at work last week and I was going to repost my account of it, but then I worried it would jinx the Penguins. But now that they’ve successfully brought Lord Stanley back to Pittsburgh and the celebratory parade is officially set for Wednesday, I guess now is a good time!

Amber2 and I already declared weeks ago that if the Pens won, we were going to take a half-day and go to the damn parade. Hopefully she doesn’t lose me like Henry did.

*******

It wouldn’t have seemed right not to go, so Henry came home a little early on Monday and by 10:30am we were en route to the Penguins Victory Parade downtown. Now, I live a 5-minute’s drive from downtown, so I suggested that we just take the trolley, which is within a few blocks from our house. But Henry, good ol’ Henry, he’s all, “Oh no no no, we’ll drive and park at Station Square (which is right across from the river from town and has several parking lots) that way you can just drop me off at work after the parade.”

Immediately I was leery of this great plan.

We reached Station Square and, naturally, were met with gridlocked traffic because of course every fucking person outside of the city limits swarms en masse like fucking Syrian locusts looking for a parking spot to plague. (Just remember who suggested taking the trolley.)

We crawled ahead a few feet in five minutes, and it occured to me to ask, “You have money to park, right?”

“No.”

Let me reiterate that for the few people who might think Henry is actually smart: He said no.

OF COURSE HE DIDN’T BRING MONEY. Why should I have been surprised at all.

What happened next may seem like an accident but I’m convinced it was carefully plotted stratagem.

“Jump out and go to that ATM,” Henry ordered, pointing across the street. “No one’s going anywhere, so don’t worry about me leaving,” he laughed, sweeping his hand out the window at all the cars idling ahead of us.

Funny how in the ONE MINUTE it took me to take out money, he was GONE. I’m not kidding—our car was GONEZO. And where I had gotten out was right about where the road split, and then there were three different lot entrances he could have gone through.

I convinced myself not to panic and for the first minute I did really well. But after that, I sat on a retaining wall and cried behind my Mary-Kate sunglasses while throngs of excited Pens fans trampled past me, on their way to the parade that I just wasn’t destined to attend. I kept thinking I’d see Henry and Chooch amid one of these packs of fans, but they never emerged from any of the lots. I was four years old again, lost in the grocery store and all the faces looking down on me had the morphed and oblong faces of the kidnappers in my nightmares and I just knew the rest of my childhood was going to be spent in a moldy cellar eating stale crackers and Cheez-Whiz in front of a constant loop of American Gladiator reruns, if I was even that lucky.

Oh but I could just call Henry, IF ONLY I HAD MY PHONE. Which was in my purse. Which was in the car.

I WAS OMG LOST I’M GOING TO DIE. Lost and scared and dead. And pathetic. My future was looking grim, like I would never reunite with my family and, left to my own devices, how would I ever survive long enough to make it home? I had a twenty in my pocket but if I came upon a panhandler, you just know I’d be guilted into buying that bastard a Big Mac, Hustler, and a jug of Old Crow.

So I sat there, on that wall, hugging my knees to my chest and feeling desperate and completely sorry for myself, and I even heard myself whimper once or sixteen times. And then I thought, “Jesus Christ, did I just whimper in real life?”

It took me twenty-minutes to find someone willing to let me use their phone. His name was Tyrone and he was a janitor who literally LEANED BACK and slid his glasses down so he could ogle my tits while I was trying to locate Henry.

“Your man LEFT YOU?” he asked when I handed the phone back, clucking his tongue to illustrate just how appalling this was to him.

Look Tyrone, NOT ON THIS DAY, my friend. I thanked him, shook his hand (he held his grasp a little too long and I was honestly bouncing on the balls of my feet because hello, I was about to miss this fucking parade. I had to walk in the opposite direction to meet Henry and Chooch. They were relegated to a lot a good half mile away from where I was with Tyrone, and Henry needed the cash I took out so he could get his license back from the lot attendant who was leaving soon.

I ran as fast my boobs, sans sports bra, would allow me, and when I finally met up with those two assholes, I yelled, “Do you know how scary it is being lost???” to which Henry replied, “Um, you’re an ADULT.”

Yeah, adults go missing too, asshole. I was practically a sitting duck back there, any serial rapist could have dumped a burlap sack over me and THEN WHAT. My body becomes a penis cozy, that’s what.

To summarize what happened next – Chooch was being an asshole, Henry was being slow, and I lost my fucking temper on a walkway next to the RIVER, and I hate the RIVER. I hate a clusterfuck. I mean, who doesn’t. And it was about a second away from defeating me. I was ready to go home. I was sick of ambling around that fucking parking lot with no direction and I took this plastic snack bowl of Chooch’s and whaled it against the pavement, screamed “FUCK” in several different contexts, and demanded Henry take me home. Seriously, Henry had parked so far away that there wasn’t a soul around to hear my moment of crazy lady anguish. But Henry got that hissed tone of his and goes, “I am NOT going home after making it this far, we’re going to this fucking parade.”

We eventually caught up with the rest of the last-minute stragglers, walked across the Smithfield Street Bridge, which of course made me convulse and re-eat my breakfast, and somehow, someway, found a really nice spot right on the parade route that wasn’t clogged with gyrating and sweaty fans fifteen-heads deep.

And all the frustrating pratfalls of that morning became worth it as soon as the parade started and I found myself crying again, but in a good way this time.

Seriously. Mario Lemieux.

Typically, I’d have found 1,000 people to hate in one minute flat on any other day, but on Monday I loved everyone. (Not Henry, though.)

Hossa: Always the bridesmaid, never the bride.

You guys! Billy Guerin, you guys! You guys OMG!

Three of my faves, one truck: ORPIK!!, Cooke, and Sykora. I cried.

Malkin was the only one I couldn’t get a good shot of, because every girl started boinging up and down with thrusted boobs, waving their ring fingers frantically. I may or may not have been apart of that.

Oh hello, best hockey player in the world.

Fleury was on the other side of him.

I want so badly for Jessi to have this shirt, and to always stand in that exact pose while she’s wearing it.

These were set off as we were making the long trek back to the car. Henry told Chooch they were day fireworks, but Chooch heard it as “gay” fireworks, so that’s all he’s been talking about. “Mommy, remember when we saw the gay fireworks?” And then I have so many things I want to say* to that but there’s only so much a three-year-old’s mind can handle.

*(Like, “You mean when Daddy and Hot Naybor Chris were tandem lawn-mowing?

“)

More pictures (and larger sizes) here.

We may be the “City of Champions,” but I still don’t like the Steelers. Except when they’re playing the Bengals.

HEAVY.BREATHING. 

They fucking did it! The Penguins won the Stanley Cup tonight, at the exact moment Pierce the Veil was singing King for a Day at the House of Blues in Cleveland. I was trying to divide my attention between both the show and the game via Penguins alerts on my phone and it turned out to be OK – I was sad at first that I wasn’t going to be able to watch; me! The girl who watches every regular season game except when I’m at a show, and even then I’m getting alerts on my phone because I can’t quit you, Penguins. The girl who starts sobbing out of the blue when thinking about them because I just really care about them, you guys. 

But it ended up being kind of amazing, after all the shitty news in the world and my own personal life, all the tragedy and sadness, here was a moment to come together with people through music and sports, at the same time. It made my heart feel so full. Henry didn’t go to the show with us, but after he was done “driving around” a/k/a looking for strip clubs, he parked across the street from House of Blues and said that when the Pens won, tons of screaming erupted in downtown Cleveland. So awesome. 

The best part is that Chooch was into it this time. He has finally, if not reluctantly, crossed over to the official Pens fan side of the house, and he was anxiously asking for game updates all night. And when there was only 3 minutes left in the 3rd, I kept maniacally refreshing my Pens app while he leaned over to look and we both sang, nay—SCREAMED, along to “King for a Day.”

What a fucking beautiful night. And, as we drive home from Cleveland, we just drove under a traffic alert sign on 79 that said “Bring Home the Cup.”

OH IT’S COMING. 

The key to my survival is to continuously have concerts lined up on the horizon. Tonight Pierce the Veil will be performing their new album in its entirety in Cleveland and Chooch and I will be there for it. Ya gotta break up the doom & gloom every so often, you know? And if you don’t know, now you know don’t worry because that will be a chapter in my upcoming self-help pamphlet available on every corner in your nearest slum.

I’m also excited to eat at Happy Dog. I’ve been dreaming of the Fruit Loop-dog ever since last November. Small things matter.

AND HOPEFULLY THE PENGUINS WILL WIN THE CUP TONIGHT TOO?! I’ll be following along via NHL alerts.

I’m going to cry so hard tonight and it’s going to feel wonderful. #masochist

Meanwhile, my cats are acting like they ingested peyote so god only knows what condition we’ll find the house in when we get back from Cleveland.

Today, I just want to close my eyes and wake up in 1976 in some fucking bright green magical Wonderland field, preferably next to a sparkling blue motherfucking brook in which my reflection looks like MAUREEN MCCORMICK.

(Then, not now.)

 I wasn’t alive in 1976 but I have WEIRD FLASHBACKS to that time when I listen to certain songs and this is one, please help me, send meds, everything is terrible. 

Super powerful urge to spend the night at my Pappap’s house and listen to Phil Collins until my eyes explode from all the crying. 

Forgive me Father, it has been x-number of days since my last bullet point post. I was going to just make up a number because I don’t feel like counting, but that would be LYING, and I can’t LIE while I’m blog confession.

Everyone knows that.

• Lady on the trolley behind me this morning made some annoyed exclamation when a lady came on and said something too loudly, but now this same lady is on the PHONE right behind my head and she is so fucking abrasive and I’m like “Hey remember when you thought that other lady was being loud? Well….” DONT TALK ON THE PHONE ON PUBLIC TRANSPORTATION. No one wants to hear about your relaxing vacation and how you think you have a bug now.
  • From what I gathered though, some baby had been born and then there were no pictures of Laura and Ricky holding the baby and Trolley Lady kept muttering, “NO, THAT’S WEIRD. THAT SOUNDS WEIRD TO ME. THERE’S SOMETHING STRANGE ABOUT THAT.”
• So last week, Henry’s Work Bromance told him that if the Pens/Sharks series went past 4 games, then he’s take Henry to Game 5 with him, since his wife gets tickets from work or something. I fucking threw a fit so hard that I almost had another baby, that’s how hard my body was contracting. The sheer incredulity of this proposal had literal foam seeping past my lips. Why should HENRY get to go to game 5 when he can’t even stay awake for an entire game? When he doesn’t care about watching the regular season games with me? WHEN HE CALLS IT OFFSIDES WHEN ANY REAL HOCKEY FAC KNOWS IT’S OFFSIDE?!  Ugh!! “And so I told him that if he goes, I will never talk to him again!” I huffed at work. “Sounds like a win/win to me,” Glenn said in his typical lifeless cadence.

• Penelope is super needy in the morning. The rest of the day, forget about it—she wants nothing to do with the humans. But man, in the mornings when I’m trying to get ready for work, she is all over me, like, “Hey lady, you don’t have enough cat fur on your wardrobe. I can help you with that.” I almost missed the stupid trolley shuttle the other morning because I had to run back into the house to fashion an impromptu fur-removal apparatus out of packing tape when I realized, after walking out into the bright light of day, how much fur was on my dumb pants.

• Hockey. I can’t stand it. Ugh, that’s a lie. I love it. But my fucking heart, man. The Penguins had a chance to clinch last night, to win the fucking Stanley Cup here at home, but things did not go as planned, because you can’t make plans when there are HOCKEY GODS watching diligently from above with steepled fingers. So you know what’s going to happen? I’ll tell you what is going to happen: the Penguins are win it in game 6 in San Jose. And do you know where I will be? At the House of Blues in Cleveland, trying to divide my attention between Pens alerts on my phone and Pierce the Veil performing their new album in its entirety right in front of me. Yep. The girl who watches every fucking regular season game (except for when she’s at a show, but even then she’s constantly checking her phone) is going to miss game 6 of the Stanley Cup finals.
  • DON’T GET IT TWISTED: I’m not saying I want them to lose so that I can be home to watch a game 7! No way. Get it done in San Jose, please. OMG.
  • Guess who didn’t go to game 5, by the way? HAHAHAHA. Not Henry, and not his work bromance either! Apparently work bromance’s wife was angry at him for not getting his hair cut so she ended up using the tickets anyway and guess who went to bed before the second period was over? HINT: Not me, not Chooch, not the dumb cats.

• NERD ALERT: On the way to Michigan a few weeks ago, Chooch practiced his Latin roots. Henry was all, “Have your mom help you, she took Latin.” Taking Latin and actually knowing Latin are not the same! I’m actually trying to find someone to translate “One Sixteen” for me because I don’t know if “One” should be Unum or Unus. And I mean, that’s pretty basic Latin 101 bullshit right there.
• The other night, Chooch pulled a Ziplock bag out of his backpack and I cried, “IS THAT WEED!?” “Yeah, it’s weed. Shaped like bread,” he said with an eye-roll. SORRY. MY EYES ARE BAD, REMEMBER.

• That time Chooch had a fan at some family restaurant in Howell, MI. The dad kept trying to get the baby to turn around and apologized to us. I was like, “Pfft, it’s fine; this one used to do that too.” And Henry mumbled, “He still does.”
  • I was only being nice and personable because this was The Breakfast before Bled Fest.
    • Ugh, I miss you Bled Fest. </3

•  I “published” issue #3 of the department ‘zine a few weeks ago and it turned into a Big Thing. Glenn recently got chickens and I thought that would be a fun activity for the ‘zine — find how many chickens are hidden in there. I had all sorts of chickens: ones that I drew, real chickens photoshopped in places where dogs and wedding bouquets should have been, a bucket of KFC, etc. So Lou came over and proudly announced that he had the correct answer and that I should add his name to the drawing I was having. Except that he was way off, because he was only counting the actual pictures and not the words (there were numerous chicken shout-outs!), so Lou threw a fit and said that the instructions were unclear and Glenn piped up that my contest was flawed and I was like, “MAYBE WE SHOULDN’T HAVE ANY MORE CONTESTS AT ALL THEN.” Ugh, this is what I get for telling lawyers to count chickens.
  • The moral of the story is: make shit as easy as possible or be prepared for the ensuing uproar.
    • Because of Lou, I had to start including ALL ANSWERS in the drawing, whether they were correct or not. I call it the Lou Clause.
      • Is that what clause means? I’m not a lawyer, lul.
• Speaking of lawyers, Todd said that he’s going to represent Glenn when Glenn sues me and for some reason this made me laugh to the point of tears.
• The other day, I went for a lunchtime stroll with my old work friend Debbie! She only just works right across the bridge from our building but I don’t see her nearly enough. We went to Market Square and there were all these giant games set up, so we decided to play giant Kerplunk. Look, I’m not trying to brag or anything, but I was so much better than the two little girls I was playing against.

• Henry said he doesn’t want to add anything to this bulletpoint extravaganza.

• Succulent serial killer. ^^^^

• Chooch took a stupid poll on Facebook to see which cat everyone thought was the cutest and of course almost everyone voted for DREW either because they know Chooch well enough to know that Drew is HIS cat and Penelope is MY cat, and also he used the worst, most blurry photo of Penelope. We had a legit fight over this and he was so smug and I cried.
  • But if this is a real contest, then come on, Marcy all day, err’day.
    • RIP, Marcy :(

• The above excerpt is from a blog post 2 years ago when I was just as bad at parenting as I am today. THIS IS LIKE A BLOG WITHIN A BLOG, WHOA.
• I was telling Lauren here at work that even before the hockey game started last night, I sat down on the couch and began weeping. Like, straight sobbing, you guys. Nerves, stress. Unwavering and unabashed love for the Penguins. It all just got to me and the emotions bubbled over. “You know what’s funny?” Todd piped up from two desks back. “The same thing happened to me.” SUCH A JERK.

• This was Drew’s reaction to the SHOPVAC Henry had to bring up from the basement in order to clean up all of the DIRT AND PLANT CARNAGE she created in the living room. I texted this picture to Wendy and she was like, “the fuck is a shot vac?” because auto-correct changed it, and she thought I was literally torturing my cat by shooting things at her. Then I realized it was spelled like that on Instagram too, so…great.
• I just got home from dinner with Barb, Jeannie, and Wendy. We were originally supposed to go to DeBlasio’s but then Wendy changed everything up at the last minute because a tunnel was going to be closed or something so we ended up going to Olive Garden instead and Jeannie was a big crybaby about chain restaurants but then was thoroughly impressed that the tables there are equipped with electronic thingies that you can order/pay/call your server/play games on, and Wendy was all, “Oh yeah, Red Robin has those too.” And Jeannie was all, “Oh wow, another chain restaurant.” And then I accidentally called our server and we all panicked but when she got there (like 10 minutes later, we clearly weren’t a priority), I blamed it on Barb. Barb just looks like the type of person who would accidentally push a call button. And then Wendy went to the rest room and we all stole Summer’s snacks because I was raving about how I used to eat them all the time when Chooch was a baby so then everyone had to try them. Puffs are the bomb, man. Summer was not thrilled with us.

• A few days ago, I had arrived to work just in time to see a large truck too long to make the turn next to my building. Henry would have had an erection if he had been there to help him.
• Henry and I wanted a Genesis documentary last Sunday night and it really put me in a lingering zone. I’ve seen Phil Collins solo, but never Genesis, and maybe that’s a good thing because I might actually drown on my tears and die. It could happen. You probably have never seen me cry over music.
• I went to lunch today with one of the groups in our department and the Muhammed Ali funeral procession was on all of the TVs the entire time and that was pretty morbid but we still couldn’t stop looking.
• Chooch just went outside to “think about life.” That lasted literally 2 seconds before he came bounding back in and screamed, “DADDY LET’S PLAY A GAME.” Monday is his last day of school. 4th grade was fucking terrible (not academically, at least) and I’m so ready for it to be over.

And now I leave you with #SexyCarWash:

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And I’ll put my fingers in the door, so when I close it on you, I’ll hurt a little bit too.

Chooch and I are watching music videos and I’m swooning while he says things like, “I just don’t understand what these songs are supposed to be about…?” YOU WILL SOMEDAY, SON.

Being this emotional is a fucking full-time job.

Getting to hang out with Bill & Jessi was like the cherry on top of a decadent Bled Fest sundae, you guys. We really missed them, as evidenced by the gusto Chooch put into his hug for Bill as soon as the front door opened. I’ve never seen Chooch hug with such feeling before!

I wanted to talk about Bled Fest forever but BILL kept interrupting and asking questions about our Disney trip like we were the first people to ever go to Disney World, UGH BILL.

(J/K — it was just as fun talking about that too!)

The original plan was to go to this place called Greenfield Village, which is a part of the Henry Ford museum. I saw “train” and “Carousel” on the website and was on board, but once we arrived, there was quite literally nowhere to park. It was probably a combination of it being a holiday weekend in addition to CIVIL WAR REENACTORS setting up shop. As soon as I heard “Civil War reenactors” I felt kind of sick to my stomach because I used to know a super huge asshole who did that shit with her husband and she was honestly one of the most sociopathic people I ever met.

So I wasn’t very broken up when we decided to fuck that idea and instead go to Dearborn Music. I could tell Henry did not approve of this idea, as evidenced by the sobbing I heard coming from the wallet in his pocket, plus he kept screaming things like:

• “I THINK THAT RED CAR IS LEAVING!!
• “JUST KEEP FOLLOWING THOSE PEOPLE AROUND UNTIL YOU SCARE THEM INTO GETTING INTO THEIR CAR!”
• “YOU CAN TOTALLY SQUEEZE INTO THAT SPOT MADE FOR A MOTORCYCLE, FOR FUCK’S SAKE BILL!”
•  “WHY DON’T YOU GUYS JUST GO AHEAD IN AND I’LL SIT OUT HERE IN THE CAR AND WAIT FOR A SPOT TO OPEN UP KTHXBYE.”
• FUCK THE HANDICAPPED, JUST TAKE THIS SPOT AND I’LL PAY THE FINE BECAUSE IT WILL BE LESS THAN WHAT I SPEND AT A FUCKING RECORD SHOP, PROBABLY UGH.”

In the end, we decided we would visit Greenfield Village next time because they have a membership, and instead we went to the glorious, heavenly Babylon known as Dearborn Music and I died and was resurrected as a girl with a bunch of new records in her collection (would have been one more if my idiot son didn’t have to buy Panic! At the Disco).

Then we went to Taylor Town, an indoor flea market in a strip mall with surprisingly clean restrooms. Henry breathed a sigh of relief after we walked the whole perimeter and determined that there were no wheelchairs for sale. (There were birds though! I kind of wanted one.)

It’s funny how all places like that have the same stench. I can’t quite put my finger on it. It’s like a mothball and knockoff perfume marinade.

But then the best part happened! We went to the Red Apple! Jessi suggested this place the last time we were there and it was on my MUST DO list for this time around. It’s not even about the food — the atmosphere of this joint is SO GOOD. It’s the best kind of outdated — there’s so much character and good vibes, I can’t contain myself!

Look! I’m smiling! Henry is smiling! Because we’re with Bill & Jessi at the motherfucking Red Apple!! Jessi and I both got grilled cheese with cheese sticks inside, because when in Wayne, MI, you know what I’m saying? And coleslaw!!

HERE IS HENRY EATING COLESLAW.

Jessi told us that she has very high standards when it comes to coleslaw because she used to have to make it at one of her old high school jobs. So then we talked about coleslaw forever because it’s the best. The Red Apple has  pretty good coleslaw, in case you were wondering.

There was a very large party taking up an entire room of the Red Apple so it took a long time for us to get our food. I normally would have been storming the place with torches but when you’re with excellent company, long waits don’t suck as much. Even Chooch was fine.

Well, until he brought up the subject of our dead cat Speck and started bawling at the table for a good five minutes — it was so sad! I was like, “There there” in my very stiff, uncomfortable way, but Bill & Jessi were totally amazing and consoled him.

My kneejerk reaction is to say, “Aw don’t cry” but I know that telling someone not to cry is basically the shittiest thing you can do!

Then our food came and everyone stopped crying.

I ran into the bathroom real quick while Henry and Bill were at the register paying. When I came out, I had to side-step one of the cashiers, who was busy sweeping up a shit-ton of toothpicks on the floor.

“Pfft, that sucks,” I thought. “Some asshole probably knocked those over and ran.”

When I met everyone outside, Henry made some offhand remark about Chooch knocking over “some toothpicks.”

Some!

Hopefully that cashier didn’t know I was with Chooch!

Back at Jessi & Bill’s house, Bill taught us how to play ladder ball. I was really horrible at first, because I couldn’t get my depth perception in check. And Henry was like some secret ladder ball champion, like he’s been sneaking out early in the morning and playing at the old folks’ home down the street.

Jessi kept calling him a ringer. Henry just shrugged. “I used to play horseshoes a lot,” he said.

“LIKE COMPETITIVELY?!” I cried from my post across the lawn.

“I don’t know, I guess,” he mumbled. “I had it at my house.” And it was almost in a bragging tone he said this, like he was talking about a fucking tennis court and not a spike hammered into the dirt.

But you guys, something incredible happened. After a few rounds, Henry somehow got worse and I kept getting better and better until Bill was like, “Holy fuck, are you sure you haven’t played before? Like is this game actually called Erin Ball?” and maybe that’s just me visualizing the script from my upcoming docu-drama, but he probably said something along those lines in real life.

People were calling me She with the Golden Arm after that. All of the people. The whole crowd.

Just trust me.

Like, when do I ever lie on here? THE WORD “HONEST” IS IN THE TITLE.

PRACTICALLY.

Later, I quoted the Arrested Development song “Tennessee” (“A game of horseshoes? A game of HORSESHOES!”) and Henry was like “……” so then I had to play it on my face while reminding Jessi that this was probably during his hardcore country phase.

“Actually, I think that was during my blues phase,” he corrected me.

TOUCHE BIG GUY.

Did I mention that Henry and I were on the same ladder ball team? I’m still competitive with him even when he’s on my team. Our relationship is healthy, like being on a diet and only eating ketchup packets.

[ETA: Bill just cried on Facebook because I didn’t mention his and Chooch’s ladder ball team. Fine: Bill & Chooch had a ladder ball team. Henry and I beat them most of the time.]

Later, we went to Marv’s Dairy Dan because it’s not truly the weekend without ice cream.

Still smartin’ from being upstaged at ladder ball, I see.

The ice cream was soooo good (I had a strawberry shortcake because Jessi said that anything with strawberries was the way to go at Dairy Dan’s and she was not wrong!) but I think we all ended up getting ice cream stomach aches!

Bill & Jessi have the best games ever, which is good considering they own a comic book/gaming shop. This time we played some game that I forget and was really bad at, but I got to point a gun numerous times at Henry and that’s all that mattered.

Chooch and Bill were going to do a duet of C.R.E.A.M. on Musically, but Chooch wussed out at the last minute and by then it was around 11pm and time to let Bill & Jessi have some peace and quiet so we set off for our hotel in ROMULUS.

ROMULUS!

Next time I want to stay in Remus.

#ancientromehumor

Guyzzzzzz. Today is Henry’s birthday! But it’s just a random one (51) so I didn’t bother to do anything special. He can just re-read last year’s joint post where Chooch and I listed 50 things we like about the old man.

I’ll add one more for 51:

This morning, when Chooch pointed out that he had poison ivy on his ankle, I panicked and yelled, “WELL WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO!?” He calmly said, “Nothing. I already took care of it.” You know why? Because HENRY taught him how to take care of himself! Love that about him.

You know what would be amazing? If everyone texted Henry today. He broke his phone and has been downgraded to some early-2000s flip phone thing which makes reading texts extremely difficult. Now that he’s FIFTY-FIVE, he probably needs to exercise those eyeballs even more: 412-605-2143.

*SUCH AN UNDERRATED WORD. There was an episode of Battle of the Network Stars in the 70s where some broad says, “What’s all the hullabaloo?” like eight times in a row and no one bats a lash because it was OK to use that word back then. Let’s bring it back. I’ll make pins. You write the song.

My awesome friend Kara agreed to come to The House over the weekend and model one motherfucking bodacious wardrobe for me. The 80s were hilarious, and there were definitely some WTF moments as we sorted through the clothes, but there were definitely some HOLY SHIT THIS IS FABULOUS outburst too!

It was really nice to have the house filled with laughter. Even my mom was cracking up!

Anyway, the whole point to this is that while we have donated dozens upon dozens of bags to clothes to charity, we wanted to save the more vintage, unique pieces in order to raise some cash for the repairs that we need to make around the house. I promise that not a single dime is going to concert tickets or, I don’t know, hookers for Henry. This is just my way of trying to be helpful. Let’s see how that goes!

I made an official Instagram for the clothes (@Gillcrest_garments) and will be listing everything in this first lot once I go back over to the house on Tuesday and get the actual measurements of the dresses. Because that might be helpful! Sizes in the 80s were whack.

I’d consider getting a surgery to make this dress fit me. Double-decker sighs for days.

Jean jacket competition!

Pizza prom!

Corey’s wearing a multi-colored cropped leather jacket from Express. I used to beg my aunt Sharon to let me borrow it when I was in middle school. That jacket was the shit, man. I tried it on and now that I have a body ruined by The Child, I just look like an asshole.

(I’m so good at selling clothes already!)

This is a ONE-PIECE POWER PANTSUIT, YOU GUYS. Elastic waist. Totally bitchin’ for the boardroom.

This dress is killer. We also have one that’s sleeveless and navy blue.

ANOTHER PANTSUIT! This one has a sequined sweetheart top and literal MC Hammer bottoms. So fucking sick, and Kara said it was actually quite comfortable!

The pizza dress has a beverage twin! Same brand: Dressy Tessy. This still has the tags on it — can you believe it’s lived in a closet for thirty years, unworn!? That’s a travesty.

Rompers are in again, I think.

There’s so much more, but I tortured Kara enough for one day. (I mean, right down to accidentally snapping her bra with some middle school boy force. Sorry about that again, Kara!)

Don’t forget to follow Gillcrest Garments on Instagram and hit me up on here if you have your eye on something and want to get it before it goes public! I’m going the Instagram route because I don’t want to deal with listing fees, etc. I just want this to be quick and painless!

Everything is either new with tags or has been extremely gently worn. Most of the clothes are from the 80s but we’ve found a few pieces that look like they could be older. I think my grandma must have given most of the really old stuff away long ago.

During the first band of the day at Bled Fest, some guy ran up to me, slipped a note into my hand, and whispered, “Don’t tell the principal.” I practically ripped it open, hoping it was going to be an invitation to a party under the bleachers, but instead it was the set time for the band Forever Losing Sleep.

Joke’s on you, Guy! I already had them on my schedule after hearing one of their songs on the Bled Fest Spotify playlist. But now I was even more intrigued, so never mind. I guess it was effective.

Stage D was a narrow classroom with a wall of mirrors on one side. The sound in this room was so tight that I now I want to see all of my favorite bands perform inside of it.

From the second FLS started playing, I was INVESTED. They had my attention, my vote, the promise of my first born son
(see ya, Chooch; we had a good run).

Henry thought they were “too loud.” Because this is what happens when you’re an old person. You either “don’t get it,” “it’s too loud,” or “I voted for him on American Idol!”

But you guys. I have a fond memory of standing in that classroom, closing my eyes, and thinking, “Yes, this is where I belong. I’m so happy to be here.” And of course, because I’m Erin Rachelle Kelly, I began to cry. I can’t remember the last show I went to where I didn’t cry.

It’s kind of just what I do.

I already can’t wait to see Forever Losing Sleep again. #donttelltheprincipal

*****

Back when I was trying to get Chooch hyped to attend Bled Fest, I got really hopeful when I came across The Beautiful Gorgeous because they’re female-fronted and Chooch is about that life, you know? Show him a girl singer and you’ll have his attention on lock.

I’m notoriously picky when it comes to girl singers, but then I watched the only YouTube video I could find on them and I was like, “Aw.” It just felt like there was something special there. And then I found out that they’re like, only 17!

So I added them to my list of must-sees and kept them there even after I saw that they were playing at the same time as Knuckle Puck. My reasoning was that I would most likely be able to see Knuckle Puck again sooner than I would get to see the Beautiful Gorgeous because they’re a much smaller band and being from Detroit, this was essentially a local show for them.

This ended up being the right choice, because right after they finished the first song, the singer—Brooklyn—announced that this was going to be their very last, final show.

They were performing in the smallest of all the rooms, and there were only about 25 people there, so I felt like we had a certain duty to be there to support them.

Even though I could hear Knuckle Puck popping off across the hall…

“We usually end the show with that song, so playing it first….well, it kind of feels like this set is already over,” Brooklyn dead-panned. The vibe just continued to get more tense and weird from there. She said something to the bassist about taking his shirt off and he told her to shut the fuck up, and it didn’t feel like there was any playfulness to it whatsoever. There was even reference of this being a funeral for the Beautiful Gorgeous.

I guess you could say this was a low point of Bled Fest, witnessing the dissolution of a band, the last few notes that they will ever perform together, the awkwardness and unease having nowhere to go in such a small room. It felt almost dirty to witness, but I didn’t want to leave because I didn’t want them to think that they sounded bad, because in spite of the unraveling drama, they still sounded pretty fucking incredible. It makes me sad because it seemed like they maybe could have something there, that lightning in a bottle that rarely happens for female-fronted bands. The scene is so lopsided that I always want to root for the bands that have at least one girl in them, out of principle alone, but it’s a bonus when that band is actually good.

Anyway, even with palpable tension, they still sounded beautiful and gorgeous (oh snap) but Chooch’s attention span was the size of gnat’s wing by this point of the night, so he kept leaving the room.

“I’m going to the bathroom.”

“I’m going to the water fountain.”

“I’m going to look for new parents.”

So when one of the guys in the band declared that we should all do celebratory dabs in honor of their last show, it was me who had the last laugh because Chooch, my child of the YouTube/Vibe/Snapchat generation, fucking loves doing dabs (which I always thought was drug-related, but apparently it’s just some really lame dance move that basically pantomimes the sniffing of your own armpit? So when he came back into the room, Henry and I derived great pleasure telling him what he missed.

“Was it just me, or was that really awkward?” I asked Henry later that night.

“You mean like when the one kid hit the singer in the mouth with his bass during soundcheck and didn’t even apologize? Yeah, a little,” Henry laughed.

I’m really glad that I got to see them once, but man, I really hope that they still make music in their respective futures.

****

One last thought: I’m really sorry that I missed CityCop. Otherwise, everything else about Bled Fest was something to get stoked about. I want to say that I’ll be back next year, but I’m not sure I can convince Henry now that he knows fully what it’s like. But there’s always Broken World Fest here in Pittsburgh…..

It’s been a week now since Bled Fest and I still haven’t been able to magically extract the words that have been coagulating inside my sludgy brain. When I’m super emotional about something, the ensuing posts tend resemble road kill in written word form. At least I recognize it!

A quick summary for anyone who hadn’t had the misfortune of hearing me ramble about Bled Fest and my building excitement over that last few months: it’s a smaller-scale music festival held inside a preforming arts high school in Howell, Michigan. I usually eyeball the lineup every year and quietly lament the distance between me and Michigan, and for some reason it never actually occurred to me to just say, “Hey yo, Henry — we’re going to this thing.”

What helped though was discovering how geographically close Howell is to where our pals Bill and Jessi live, and since Bled Fest takes place every Memorial Day weekend, visiting them afterward was just the perk necessary to get Henry on board.

The bands that play Bled Fest are typically punk, screamo, emo, and hardcore with some alt-rock and metal thrown in; usually a ton of my favorites are in the lineup. I knew even before this year’s lineup was announced that I was going to want to go, especially after torturing myself by watching YouTube videos of recent Bled Fests.

We arrived early enough to secure a parking spot because that’s a legitimate concern of Henry’s, whereas my only concern was OMG I HOPE NONE OF THE BANDS I LIKE ARE PLAYING AT THE SAME TIME!!!

We sat in the car for a little bit and witnessed the most heart-warming group hug ever. Girl in the floral tank rolled up and it quickly became clear that her homies hadn’t seen her in a long ass time, because she was nearly tackled. It was the most joyous way to start out this festival! But then I became sad because I was there with Henry and not a solid crew.

Sigh.

This is what happens when you’re an old broad who’s still immersed in the scene. And that being said, I admit that I had a certain blend of reservations — would I be stared at? Would it be uncomfortable? Would it be too rough on my brittle bones?

SO MANY UNKNOWNS!

But then we walked up to the school entrance and immediately because usurped by all the good vibes. The staff was so friendly and helpful, directing us to the wristband table before we even had a chance to look lost and confused! And then the wristband staffers were also completely wonderful! And then we got in line and no one made us feel like we didn’t belong or made rude gesticulations in our general direction!

And then the doors opened and the day just steadily climbed uphill from there! EVERYTHING WAS PERFECT! EVERYTHING WAS AMAZING!

Except for the 87 times Henry and Chooch attempted to ruin my day. But the solution was easy: they spent most of the day outside away from the music and I was free to enjoy every last band that I had traveled 6 hours to see.

• All Is Well
• Forever Losing Sleep
• Watermedown (almost had a vague Xiu Xiu-meets-pop punk vibe and I can’t decide if I liked that)
• Artifex Pereo
• The Cardboard Swords
• Sorority Noise
• Somos
• Adventurer
• The Saddest Landscape
• Amateur Eyes
• Citizen (I feel confident to say that they have very quickly climbed to the top rungs of my Favorite Bands ladder)
• Old Gray (fucking real screamo, please and thank you – I try not to be a genre Nazi but man I hate when people think that bands like Falling In Reverse are screamo)
• Tiny Moving Parts
• The World Is a Beautiful Place…
• The Beautiful Gorgeous
• Superheaven

By the time the very first started, I was absolutely overcome with sheer happiness and thought to myself giddily, “THIS IS FOR ME. THIS IS DEFINITELY THE PLACE FOR ME.” All the uncertainties and fears evaporated because I was where I belonged and I just knew the day was going to be magic.

You guys, I was at Bled Fest. Finally.

All Chooch cared about was: being VIP, when the VIP lounge opened, what was going to be available to eat in the VIP lounge, talking about the VIP lounge when he wasn’t already inside of the VIP lounge.

Guys, it was nothing glamourous. We paid extra just for one VIP ticket because it came with a Bled Fest t-shirt, screen print and tote bag (all things I was interested in) and all-day snacks and drinks (all things Chooch was interested in). Win/win.

Chooch was so tunnel vision about his VIP status that he actually had an alert set on his phone for when the VIP lounge opened, and at exactly 1pm he said “SEE YA” and off he went to slip behind the mysterious VIP screen into the land of cafeteria tables and a catered taco buffet.

This was a huge deal for him, and thank god for it because aside from Artifex Pereo, he was pretty much uninterested I everything there music-wise. I was disappointed that we weren’t making beautiful family memories together, but I had a lot to distract me.

Caught a few minutes of Copneconic because Chooch out of nowhere ran of into the room housing Stage F.

Sorority Noise was fantastic as usual.

They were playing on one of the main stages and that room (I think it was the cafeteria?

) was super hard to squeeze into because crowds gathered pretty quickly around the door. There was a slight surge though and I put my hands out in prayer-position and rode the wave into the middle of the room. I’m usually scared, as an older lady with brittle bones (honestly, I get hurt so easily!), being in the middle of crowds, but I felt really safe there. I had faith that if I got knocked out, someone would drag me out to the hallway for Henry to claim my clammy, haggard body.

I just saw Sorority Noise with Citizen in February, but both of their sets at Bled Fest were so much better. Because BLED FEST.

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I have been trying to see The Saddest Landscape for years now—my Facebook bio is “My face is the saddest landscape” as an homage to them; if you don’t know, now you know—and it was totally worth the wait. They played on a stage in the front lobby area of the school and introduced themselves as, “We’re the Saddest Landscape and we’re going to punch you in the heart.”

BY GEORGE, they did.

I have this conversation a lot, particularly at work, where I have to try to devise a sensible strategy to assist people in understanding why exactly I like “screaming” music. With the Saddest Landscape in particular, the music is actually quiet beautiful. Yes, there is singing/barking/shouting/screaming in lieu of traditional singing; but it’s the manner in which those words are conveyed that honestly break my heart. There is an aching to Andy Maddox’s vocals that makes it impossible not to feel something.

Unless you’re Henry.

He remained completely unaffected.

And Chooch was outside.

Amateur Eyes! John dyed his hair blue and I became convinced that this wasn’t actually Amateur Eyes after all, even though Chooch kept yelling, “YES IT IS, MOMMY, UGH!” So I didn’t ever say hello to him because I honestly didn’t believe it was him. I really need to get a second opinion on my eyes, I think. I GUESS YOU COULD SAY MY EYES ARE AMATEUR.

There were only two times during the entire day that I had any spare time to actually sit down and let me tell you, it was like my body had forgotten how to fold into a seated position. I sat outside in the grass with Henry and Chooch while my entire head rang and couldn’t wait to get back inside. Henry and I had very different opinions on the day, obviously.

The World Is…was playing on one of the main stages and it was my first time finally seeing them, and it was long overdue. I was actually washing my hands in the bathroom with their keyboardist and didn’t even realize it was her until I saw her on stage. So glad I didn’t say anything stupid which is usually what I tend to do at shows.

I’m at least not to the phase in my life where I tell dad jokes or say mom things like, “Your shoe is untied, dear.”

This song just slays toward the end.

Completely unimpressed.

Henry actually got to talk to Nate, the organizer of this whole thing! And I missed it! Of course I missed it! But I guess Nate came out of the VIP area and told Henry that it was totally cool if he wanted to go in there with Chooch instead of standing on the other side of the divider like a creeper.  He also told Henry to help himself to any of the food but Henry declined because we only paid for one VIP pass and WE ARE HONEST PEOPLE.

Although Chooch did bring me a mini Twix later that day and I totally inhaled it because I thought I was going to pass out.

(I was very irresponsible and only drank one bottle of water all day and then ate one piece of pizza around 5pm. And then I wondered why I almost collapsed during Citizen.)

I was going to see Tiny Moving Parts a few days before Bled Fest but their show fell on garbage night, and if you know anything that’s been currently going on in my life, then you know why garbage night is kind of “can’t miss” for me. So I passed on the Smiling Moose show and now I’m wondering what kind of turn out they had, since almost every show of that genre I’ve attended at the Smiling Moose has had less than 20 people there.

Their turnout at Bled Fest was nutz0rz though! So instead of standing around with a bunch of ambivalent Pittsburghers, I got to be stuffed into  a roomful of people going absolute ham.

And I made a friend! Some guy kept cutting out of the thicker part of the crowd to stand near me, but don’t get it twisted — it had nothing to do with attraction. I was standing near a giant fan and it was literally the best spot in the room. Every time he would come over, it was the same thing: a sheepish grin and some explanation of which I could only make out the word “fan.”

It’s OK, kid. I understood. I’ll share my fan with you.

During one of his visits, he offered Skittles to me and the two guys next to me. We all politely declined, but I sure did appreciate the offer.

Then he came back toward the end of Tiny Moving Parts because one of the straps of his backpack broke and he wanted me to help him fix it. I tied the most mentally-challenged knot in the world and we both shrugged and laughed about it.

BLED FEST IS THE BEST.

Henry’s official Bled Fest visage. He didn’t seem too angry by the time the night was over though, because there were plenty of tranquil places for him and Chooch to sneak away to. It’s a good thing that I’m so accustomed to going to shows alone or else my experience would have been a lot different.

I kept telling him that if he wasn’t going to stand around and watch the bands with me, then he could at least go to the merch village in the gym and buy me shit.

As it turned out though, the alone time was actually preferable. It was comforting knowing that I had people there somewhere, waiting in the wings, but I did enjoy the fact that I was free to be wherever I wanted to be, watching whatever band I wanted to watch, sweating profusely with all of my Bled Fest brethren. The Citizen set especially was euphoric, absolutely full of scene camaraderie and fist-thrusting sing-alongs.

You guys, a tall guy stood in front of me and then when he noticed the shrinking violet behind him, he actually apologized and moved back so that he was next to me instead. This never happens. My heart was bursting. My throat was burning from screaming to “The Night I Drove Alone.” My eyes were stinging with tears. My shirt was suctioned to my moist flesh and as I staggered down the hallway toward Chooch and Henry after the set, it made a sexual slurping noise as I peeled the fabric away from my skin.

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“You guys, it was so fucking sick!” I said breathlessly to the only two people in the hallway who blatantly looked like they gave no shits.

In fact, Chooch bragged that he fell asleep, right there on the floor of the hallway.

Fallujah was playing on the other stage right before Citizen and went over their set time. They kept saying things like, “We have time for more songs!” and everyone on the Citizen side of the stage started booing and chanting “Citizen” and a few people threw empty water bottles, but other than that, I didn’t experience any drama all day. (Except maybe during the Beautiful Gorgoeous’s set, but I’ll save that for another post.)

The very last band that I had had had to see was Superheaven. I saw them last September for the first time at Riot Fest and just couldn’t stop thinking about them, because you know how I get. You could say I have an obsessive personality. Anyway, they recently announced that this will be their last tour for awhile; not sure exactly if that means they’re done forever, or if this is a hiatus, but I wasn’t about to press my luck.

It was so good to see them again. Tay is a fucking pistol. His banter with the crowd in between songs is so entertaining but it makes me intimidated of him, like he might make fun of me if we make eye contact or something. Granted, that’s how I feel about humans in general though.

For as much as Henry acts like he doesn’t pay attention to what I like, he sure was excited to tell me that he and Chooch saw Tay earlier in the parking lot.

“He cut his hair,” said Henry, president of the scene hair census bureau.

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I woke up the next morning feeling like I could explode with happiness. All I wanted to do was talk and talk and talk about the day before and all the fucking amazing bands that we (I) saw and that at one point I was adamant about moving to Michigan, because their scene is just flat out AMAZE.

I’m still reeling at how wonderful and different Bled Fest was in comparison to other festivals I’ve been to. I have never felt so comfortable in a scenario like this before. Being around people like me, and having my day filled with the most cathartic music….It might not seem like much, but brother it meant the world to me.

***

Before you walk away from this thinking I’m such a sweet little princess, I should be completely up front here and tell you that after we left, I completely did a 180 in the car because I was exhausted and fucking STARVING, so I started berating Henry for not buying me anything from the merch village, because I’m a spoiled materialistic bitch. He never said a word either, just kept driving straight to Taco Bell and breathed a sigh of relief when it got quiet in the car on account of Chooch and I having our late night feeding.

Then I woke up the next morning and found a stack of records on the hotel table, which Henry bought for me at Bled Fest and didn’t even say anything to get me to shut my face the night before! I was really nice to him for the rest of the day.

Man, sometimes he’s pretty OK.

For an old guy.