Here are some pictures of Drew and Penelope Ann Killer; even though they’re succulent serial killers, they’re too adorable for me to be mad at for long.

(Same thing Henry says about me, FYI.)

‘Bout that bug lyfe.

When Drew was so happy we were home from Michigan that she tried to crush me to death.

Bird alert.

Cats are so weird.

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Alternately-titled: How Many Times Can One Woman Say “Ugh”?

I try not to be too pageant-mommy, but I like for my kid to represent the scene whenever possible, even if it means being accused by shitty, catty 8th graders for “not even knowing who Pierce the Veil is.” (I CANNOT LET THIS GO.)

So the day before we left for Bled Fest, I made sure that it was clear to all exactly which shirt Chooch would be wearing: an Abstruse Apparel tee that prominently featured lyrics to an Artifex Pereo song.

I bought it a few years ago when Artifex posted about it on Facebook. It was limited edition, and my size was already sold out. I wanted to support the band and their designer friend, so I bought a size smaller and figured as long as someone in this house was wearing it, that’s all that mattered.

Anyway, Artifex was going to be at Bled Fest so I thought it would be fun to represent, you know? Technically, it wasn’t breaking the whole “wearing a bands shirt to their show” law, god forbid, since it didn’t actually say Artifex Pereo anywhere on it.

I didn’t really think much of it, but very early into the day, a guy walked past us and called out, “I like your shirt!” to Chooch.

“I think that was one of the guys from Artifex,” I said to Henry and Chooch, laughing.

It happened again, about an hour later, as we walked out of the merch area. This time I knew for sure it was one of the guys from Artifex.

****

I first fell in love with this band two years ago when my record producer crush, Kris Crummet, posted about their album on Instagram, how he had just finished it and was so proud of it. I had definitely never heard of them before, so I decided to start following them on Instagram and Twitter because that’s what thirst music fans like me do. By the time they released their first single, I was hooked faster than a bloated river trout.

Totally became obsessed. Up until Bled Fest last week, I had only had the opportunity to see them one time, at Mahall’s in Cleveland. Seeing them live made me fall in love even more. The whole way home that night, I couldn’t stop gushing about them to Henry.

“DIDN’T THEY SOUND SOOOO GOOD? LIKE, FLAWLESS?” and “I THINK THEY MIGHT BE ONE OF MY FAVORITE BANDS NOW.”

I even got my brother Corey into them! And they gave Emarosa a ride home from the So What festival in Texas last winter! Because they’re both from Kentucky! MY DREAM IS FOR THEM TO TOUR! AND ALSO ICARUS THE OWL!

Oh man, I’m panting over here. Wet dream a’gogo.

But they have never come to Pittsburgh, and all their other Cleveland shows have been impossible for me to make. So Bled Fest was even more special to me!

And they did not disappoint in that narrow, mirrored-wall classroom known for the day as Stage D.  So much energy! And new songs! I was in tears, finally getting to see them again after two years. If music is super important to you, then you understand how long two years can feel without seeing one of your favorite bands!

When they played Hands of Penance, the room just absolutely exploded with energy and ricocheting bodies. It was so healing! I was in the best mood ever! Nothing could bring me down!

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I was so fucking stoked after their set. I felt like I could take on A LARGE OPPONENT. Like maybe a gas man with a shut-off notice. YOU DON’T KNOW MY STRENTH, OK??

Henry and Chooch were like, “OK we saw like one and a half bands so now we’re going to fuck right off, byyeeeeee” and off they went to sit outside under a tree while I ran to see Sorority Noise on one of the main stages.

About 90 minutes later, I was staggering down the hall after catching Adventurer play on the smallest of all the stages, a tiny room comparable in size to the literal Pittsburgh basement I saw them play in last summer. Just much less dank.

I spotted Henry and Chooch up ahead, walking toward me with a smugness that was palpable and my stomach instantly began to turn. WHAT HAD THEY DONE.

“Guess who I met?” Chooch said in a chiding tone, holding up his phone to show me a photo of him with motherfucking Artifex Pereo?!

A gas man with a shut-off notice, or HENRY AND CHOOCH.

Henry said that they were so excited about his shirt (MY SHIRT, TECHNICALLY) that they had Henry take a picture for them to send the guy who designed it. And then Henry was all, “Yeah, they’re coming to Pittsburgh in September with I the Mighty.”

“YOU TALKED TO THEM?!” I cried.

“Well, yeah. I’m not weird like you,” he said with an attitude that I could have done without.

And then they apparently went back inside to the merch area to get a picture with Lucas, the vocalist, to further ram the extreme, blinding envy down my throat.

Ugh, my kid is the literal worst.

IT GETS EVEN WORSER THOUGH.

Later that day, my brother Corey sent me a screenshot of this from Instagram:

UGH!!! “He brought his dad with him.” NO MENTION OF THE MOM WHO IS THE BIGGEST FAN IN OUR LAME HOUSEHOLD. They probably think MOMMY is home sweeping the dirt floors and darning socks and not somewhere inside Bled Fest having her face melted off. I don’t know how Henry and Chooch were able to sleep that night knowing that they deceived me so.

AND THEN THIS!?!?!? “Why is this dude not my best friend?” REALLY. Ugh, fuck my life!!

And then the next day, Abstruse Apparel posted the damn picture AGAIN and I was cooking rage balls in my pot of boiling envy by this point.

“This is out of hand!” I cried, incredulous that he was getting so much attention out of this. “Keep taking good care of your shirts? HE HAS A HOLE IN THAT SHIRT!!!” Chooch was nearly gagging on his tongue from all of his shitty laughter.

Two days later, we were having breakfast with Bill and Jessi and I was still on a tear.

“I CURATED THIS!” I yelled, swirling my hand around Chooch. “Where’s my shout out?! Ugh! You don’t even LIKE them!”

“I do now,” he shrugged.

And everyone just laughed because what else can you do when crazy girl goes crazy.

In all seriousness, HAPPY FOR YOU CHOOCH. But when I just happen to get a picture with Ansley from Jule Vera at Riot Fest, YOU’LL UNDERSTAND HOW IT FEELS.

Probably not. He’s not quite as ridiculous as me.

*****

When I went back to work on Tuesday, the first thing Amber2 asked me was, “Still jealous of your kid?”

Why, as a matter of fact—YES. YES I AM.

 

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We had some time to kill Sunday morning before we were due to arrive at Bill & Jessi’s but don’t cry for us, Michigan-a — Roadside America had our back.

Imagine my sheer delight and giddiness when I discovered that Howell (where we had stayed Saturday night) was only several miles away from Hell, MI! A tourist trap, to be sure, but one that even Henry was quietly on board with.

First though, we stopped at the Pinckney Diner in, omg, Pinckney. I was wearing my Bled Fest shirt in hopes that some of my Bled Fest peeps would be there, but no. Just basic breakfasting locals.

I ordered some type of “healthy” scrambled egg and fruit cup bullshit, and Chooch thought it was hilarious that it came with a small orange juice and I try not to let him bully me, but man did I feel self-conscious drinking it, like I needed to create a curtain with my napkin.

It was a nice place but nothing to write home about so don’t be expecting a post card.

After a slight directional snafu (in which Henry was reminded that I do not understand how to read a map even when Google is practically reading it for me), we whizzed past a short stretch of road that housed a Hell-themed diner called Hell in a Handbasket and a gift shop called Screams, and a bar called the Hell Hole.

“Oh well, everything is closed,” Henry said in a sing-song voice because I had angered him enough on the way there that he was now ready to forgo the idea and find the nearest gorge to drive into.

But before he had a chance to get very far, I had the proprietor of Screams on the phone confirming that they were set to open in a few minutes, so downtrodden Hank had to turn the car around and head back to Hell, which probably just felt like Groundhog Day to him because when is he not heading back to Hell.

I appreciated that the man at Screams answered the phone with a robust, “How the hell are ya?” I was even more stoked at this point to make it rain in this kitschy souvenir shop.

And it was pretty much exactly as expected – a fun-loving, tongue-in-cheek tourist trap. It provided just enough of a time suck for us to arrive at Bill & Jessi’s right on time and didn’t stress out Henry too terribly much so we showed up in a collectively fine mood.

Without even faking it!

I bought a Hell, MI coffee cup to use as a future succulent vessel and hopefully my asshole cats don’t shatter it. And of course I also bought a magnet because that’s my thing. My closet-thingy at work is covered with magnetic tokens of all my Americana travels, I give it a once-over every morning and it fills me with early-morning joy!

(I mean, my morning coffee also helps with that joy-filling.)

We chatted for a bit with the elder manning the register and it turned out he’s the mayor of Hell! What a piping hot honor! I asked him how much these really cool postcards were that depicted a Hell homage by some local artist, and he was like, “Aw hell, you can just have it.”

HELL FUCKING RULES.

We said goodbye to Mayor of Hell and went outside to mill about the property. Mini golf was not open yet, but there was a mini lock-covered bridge to stomp across, a DAM to look at, and a CHAPEL.

No joke, if the chapel had been open,  I totally would have come home to Pittsburgh a married woman. I’m not sure who my husband would be, but at least I could tell people I got married in Hell.

Henry doing his favorite thing: looking at nature and trying desperately to tune out our cries of “I WANT I WANT I WANT!!”

And then it was time to get back in the car and embark on our 45 minute drive to the Wayne-ish area of Michigan, while I yapped on and on about Bled Fest the entire way because I had the time of my life.

No, I never felt this way before.

Yes I swear.

Blah blah blah.

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