What better way to decompress after a long week than by ice creammiserating with friends? (I JUST MADE THAT UP. THANKS, FOUR CUPS OF COFFEE.) I know that Chris and Monica were a little concerned walking the streets of Brookline in this hostile political climate, but I assured them that we would be fine because my White Herero Henry* was going to be with us. No one would fuck with us while we were beneath his canopy of privilege.

And also in his shadow.

*(I’ve been singing this in a vaudevillian manner with jazz hands and Henry is not a fan.)

We made it all the way to Scoops without incident, unless you count Chris and Monica endlessly heckling me for wearing wedges. Guys, they’re comfortable OK? I wasn’t trying to be fancy — they’re TOMS!

Chooch and I ordered almost immediately. He got one scoop of Boring and one scoop of Ordinary, and I got a scoop each of That’s So 2012 and Basic White Girl, aka Red Velvet and Pumpkin Pie.

Henry joined us at a table a few minutes later, leaving Chris and Monica alone at the counter. But I mean, you can’t get much safer and friendlier than an ice cream shop, right? WRONG.

While Chris and Monica were still weighing their sundae options, the bell over the door jingled and in walked your typical middle-aged Brookline creep. I knew he was a creep by the way our .0003  second eye contact signaled for my Fairy Godmother to flutter down from the rafters and add some dentata to my vagina.

Brookline Sleaze turned his objectifying gaze back where it belonged—on the case of ice cream. Sorry, ice cream.

I went back to pounding my cone into my mouth like it was sugary misogyny meeting its long-overdue demise, until I became acutely aware that Brookline Sleaze and Monica were now exchanging words. At first glance, it seemed casual, like maybe he was suggesting she put a wig of Steelers-colored sprinkles on her sundae, or inviting her to go huff some empty whipped cream cans with him out by the Brookline cannon. YOU NEVER KNOW WHAT WILL HAPPEN TO YOU IN MY HOOD.

Then I heard Monica say something to him a strained, terse tone. I could now see that this wasn’t a friendly conversation after all, that this man was clearly offending her, and I started to pray that he wasn’t saying something idiotic and ignorant about the election. Please, not here, not now, not while we’re trying to escape all of the hope-pummeling commentary by taking refuge at a fucking ICE CREAM SHOP.

He tried to sneak in a few more words, at which point Monica completely shut him down, telling him that she just didn’t want to talk about it anymore.

“What the fuck?” I mouthed as she sat down at our table with her sundae.

And then she told us exactly what happened, starting with her having a conversation with the Scoops lady about how it had been a long day.

“Yesterday was a long day too,” Brookline Sleaze butt in. Turns out he was referring to a local cop getting killed when responding to a domestic violence call last Thursday.

Monica reminded him that a woman was also killed by the shooter— her husband—and he said he didn’t know that.

“Yeah, and she was six months pregnant,” Monica added. Brookline Sleaze went on to say, “Yeah, but you know, the cop—” which completely verifies that we live in a world where women really do come second, if anywhere at all. And the BEST PART, oh boy, are you ready?

The best part was when Monica told us that he essentially insinuated that the cop’s death was more important because he died while doing his job, and you know, she probably asked for it.

HOLY. FUCKING. SHIT.

She probably nagged him. She probably cheated on him. She probably emasculated him.

She probably did something to have her life and the life of her unborn baby taken away.

Good call, asshole.

Mad props to Monica for keeping her head from spinning during that moronic discourse; in that moment, she was the Michelle Obama of Scoops. 

 To be honest, I probably would have been too stunned to continue the conversation, as well. Or I’d have just burst into tears because I just can’t handle anything anymore. And then White Hetero Henry probably would have told me I’m overreacting or asked if I’m on my period.

Fuck you, White Hetero Henry.

And fuck you harder, Brookline Sleaze.

Chris and Chooch were like, “Fuck this noise, let’s talk about Disney Emoji Blitz.”

And that’s right, White Hetero Henry — you just sit there and keep your privileged mouth shut before you unwittingly marginalize someone. Why do I feel like the Trump administration is going to turn me into a chubby crusader who lops off penises with hedgeclippers. FAT SHAME ME, MOTHERFUCKERS.

*****

If you’d like to learn more about the pregnant woman who, like the cop, didn’t deserve to die, her name was Dalia Sabae and it sounds like she was really fucking amazing. I didn’t know about her either until Monica told me, because every news source I saw that day only mentioned the slain cop.

There’s not enough ice cream in the world….

Chooch had the right idea last night, after a long week of rampant emotions, sinking stomachs, and bruise collecting from all the “pinch me, I’m nightmaring” that we endured. He decided that what better way to unwind than by writing haikus, so he and Chris turned it into some strange therapy game, where they would give each other a topic to haiku about, and then read them out loud for me, Henry, and Monica. It made for some entertaining performance art and definitely offered some levity.

I’m going to share them, in case anyone is looking for something to read that’s not perpetuating a divide within our country. Chris’s will be in bold, Chooch’s will be in italics.

Finishing Harry Potter

I can’t do it now

I don’t have enough time now

Just leave me alone

Safari

Elephants are cool

Hippopotami are mean

Don’t eat me, lion!

Clowns in the Woods

Killer clowns are loose

In the woods, don’t leave the house

Or else you will die.

Ghosts in a Gang

Oooh, I’m a ghost

My posse and I will kill

But we can’t hold guns

Unicorn Chef

He never cuts onions

Or else scientists will freak

and find his secret

Noodles in Heaven

What is that sweet sound?

Angels plucking their gold harps?

Nope. It’s totes noodles.

Noodles in Heaven

God won’t ever cook

Noodles because he is bad

He can’t work a stove.

Baby in a Hammock

Aw, how sweet is that?!

That baby looks comfortable!

Oh no, he* just fell!

*(Ed.Note: props to Chooch for using an actual pronoun to refer to the baby; I always just call them “it”s.)

Stitch Sleeping

This Stitch is so soft

Let’s go to Hawaii please.

Aliens are cool.

Swimming Pool with Marbles

John lost his marbles

When he went to Hawaii

Now my pool is clear.

Creepy Baby Doll

That doll is naked

It’s praising the god of dolls

It will steal your soul.

And then Chooch and Chris were supposed to “huddle” and come up with a title for one that Monica was going to be forced to write, but Monica created a diversion by shaking out a knapsack of kittens in Chooch’s vicinity, creating a clear path to the exit for herself.

Holy shit, another day, another bleeding-heart emo girl blog post! Woo!

When Balance and Composure announced their fall tour, I was really bummed to see that Pittsburgh wasn’t on the list, but my consolation was that I’d get to see them before that at Riot Fest, so I should just take that and be satisfied and stop whining and pouting and talking about how disappointed I am and just grow the fuck up and get over it right? Sorry, I think I’m mixing this up with SOMETHING ELSE. #presidentialelectionPTSD

So Riot Fest came and went. I got to see B&C and it was great! It was only my second time seeing them live, which is pretty crazy considering they’re pretty popular in the scene I follow. But they were always one of those bands that I liked but not LOVED. I used to get them mixed up with several other bands that I felt the same way about: liked it when it came up on a playlist, but never actively sought them out. Then I saw B&C open for Circa Survive one time, I think it’s been about 2 years now? Almost. But it clicked for me that night. I got it. Seeing them live changed everything for me and I heard their songs an entirely different way—with my heart. This is why I skipped out of Bob Mould’s set early to ensure I got a good spot near the stage for B&C at Riot Fest last September. They were at the top of the list for me that weekend, you guys. Ask Henry: he had to hear me WHINE LIBERALLY about it all fucking weekend.

Still, I thought I would be OK missing their fall headlining tour, but then their new album was released in the beginning of October and MY LIFE CHANGED. If it’s possible to imprint on an object, an idea, a concept….well then that’s what I was experiencing.

So my rational, adult-like CONCESSION when it seemed like going to Cleveland on a work night just wasn’t viable, especially with the super fun unexpected expenses we’ve had to deal with over the last month when the automobile gods pointed their golden socket sets* at us.

*(I dunno. I googled “tools to work on cars” and supposedly this is important to have.)

Oh, and then our fridge has begun a slow, frustrating death. I LOVE BEING AN ADULT!

And still there I was, in the midst of all of these annoying life nuisances, clutching onto Henry’s leg, begging him to take me to Cleveland to see Balance and Composure. Like, for real begging. I’m not proud of it but MUSIC MAKES ME DO DIRTY, SHAMEFUL THINGS. But Henry was all, “STOP WHINING. THE PATRIARCHY HAS SPOKEN.”

Finally last weekend, Henry could stand it no longer and said, “FINE, WE WILL GO TO CLEVELAND. YOUR VOICE HAS BEEN HEARD.” See?! DON’T STOP FIGHTING FOR WHAT YOU BELIEVE IN. Just keep poking and prodding on every social media platform. I pestered him from all angles: text, email, Facebook, Instagram, Snapchat (he got an actual video of me saying PLEAAAAAASE and crying), and Twitter. Don’t ever stop campaigning for what you believe in. APPLY PRESSURE. BE PUSHY. FLIP OVER A CAR.

OK, don’t actually flip a car. Leave that to the hateful people.

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

Thursday finally arrived and it was the one positive thing I had to look forward to that week. That didn’t stop me from ranting until my mouth was foaming like Cujo, but even that felt good. To just talk and talk and talk (and punch the inside of the car door a few times). But once we arrived at Beachland Ballroom, it was time to let the healing begin. And I was so calm and heart-eyed from the moment we got in line outside, and I didn’t hate anyone. Not even Henry.

I was glad that we got there before doors opened because I have The Nerves when it comes to venues I’ve never been to before, so it was helpful to be one of the first people there and have a chance to get my bearings. I liked it right away! Just one nice, big open room with a really cool bar—I got some kind of pumpkin sour beer and it was OK and anytime I drink a new beer, I have to text Lisa to tell her about it because she’s my life manager. Lisa said that sour beers are like the new trend, but I wouldn’t know.

It didn’t taste like pumpkin, but it definitely tasted like sour.

Johnny sounds like a huge prick!

OK OK OK the first bad was Mercury Girls and they were fine! Girl singers makes me say “eh” usually but this one was pretty cool, she had a nice 60s beach vibe to her voice and it was lulling me into a peaceful state. I liked it. Henry said “eh” and then shook his head, but fuck Henry. No one cares what the white privileged male likes. Except for most of the country, apparently.

Fuck you, Henry.

During their set, JON SIMMONS AKA THE SINGER OF B&C, walked past us and I internally began to die. I slowly turned around and mouthed “OH MY GOD” to Henry, who just rolled his eyes in response. I think his belly probably flipped a little bit too though because Henry isn’t so straight that he’s unable to recognize dreamy guys.

I was almost as excited for the next band as I was for Balance & Composure — FOXING. These guys have eluded me for years. I don’t know how I have such a knack for missing them every time they come to town; I think the last time was last April when they were here for Broken World but all the bullshit with my grandparents’ house had me so exhausted that I ended up not going.

Oh my fucking god, I knew it was going to be great, but not THAT great. They fucking killed it and brought the entire room together when the singer spoke his piece in between songs, about how it was his birthday, but it was the worst birthday of his life thanks to how shitty this election had turned out.

“For the next 40 minutes, let’s just pretend like it didn’t happen.” And then you could barely hear the start of the next song over the uproarious agreement. Solidarity. That’s the only good thing that has come from this, realizing that my scene is full of such compassion. Even Henry said he wasn’t mad about it, and this is the guy who was so disgusted in 2004 when we went to see Metric and The Stills at Mr. Small’s, and the singer from The Stills got political on everyone. I mean, if not for that, I might not even have any recollection of The Stills.

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And when they played Rory, I wanted to start hitting myself in the head right along with the singer.

I just asked Henry what time B&C came out and he mumbled, “10:30. I know that because I kept looking at the time.” This show started later than most shows we go to, and Henry was quietly stewing over this, since we still had a 2+hour drive back to Pittsburgh afterward, LOL. Luckily for Henry though, there was an empty table nearby, so he got to lounge and nod off during their set while I resumed my patented “YEAH I’M HERE ALONE, SO WHAT” stance.

But you guys, you guys, you guys, they opened with Midnight Zone and I thought my heart was going to come tumbling out of my kooka. THAT SONG. This isn’t from the Cleveland show, but it is STILL SO HOT, HELP ME JESUS.

HIS DANCING, STOPPPPPP MY HEART CAN’T TAKE IT.

There was a girl next to me who was so into it that she was doing some weird kind of country line-dance, and I was like “get it, girl.” It was awesome. She was so happy to be there and we smiled at each other at one point, and I love connecting like that. Mostly because it doesn’t involve words or touching.

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“Tiny Raindrop” is my go-to B&C jam and hearing it always makes me so happy – I love that song so much I wish I could wear it! Like just put my arms right through it and wrap it all around me like a soft beautiful pashmina.

• Midnight Zone
• Spinning
• Void
• Tiny Raindrop
• Postcard
• When I Come Undone
• Mediocre Love
• Quake
• For a Walk
• More to Me
• Is It So Much to Adore?
• Lost Your Name
• Reflection
• Tore You Apart in My Head

I feel like I’m missing something, but the set was so on point, the whole band was flawless, the crowd had so much energy—I felt so grateful to be there. How did I get so lucky on the boo-thang front? Henry is the best boo-thang I could ever ask for!

https://www.instagram.com/p/BMt3T0sjX8Z/?taken-by=ohhonestlyconcerts

And he bought me a tour poster because god forbid our walls have any open space left on them.

If there’s anything that’s going to heighten my sensitivity and inability to stop tears from pouring from my eyeballs, it’s a good show. This was such an incredible night. Going to shows gives me life, and I will never ever ever take this for granted, especially not the road-trips that Henry takes me on to see bands he doesn’t like and sometimes even hates. But he at least admitted that he likes Balance & Composure and that even though he did nod off in his chair a few times, he swears he actually paid attention the times he was awake and thought it was “good.”

The only downside is that the show didn’t end until almost midnight and, after stopping at Sheetz to get food and a mega-caffeine boost, we didn’t get home until sometime after 2:30am. I won’t ever sleep as a passenger out of solidarity to Henry, but man, I wanted to succumb to slumber in a bad way. It was actually painful.

But so motherfucking worth it. I still have chills thinking about it. <3333

I finally finally finally got to see Foxing last night when they opened for Balance & Composure, after a million or so missed opportunities. Obviously I’ll be back to maniacally slam out 12099 words in my typical harried, typo’d fashion (hey I mostly blog from my phone because it’s convenient so cut me some slack) but I wanted to leave this video here because I waited so patiently for them to sing it last night, I knew they would, and when they did I don’t think I breathed one tiny breath through the whole thing. Unrequited love AF. 

How is this band not a household name by now, I’ll never know. 

I AM SO WIRED RIGHT NOW. WORK FRIENDS, BE GLAD I’M OFF TODAY. 

1. Ending sentences with prepositions.
2. Hating the inbred yinzers currently working on the other side of our duplex. They must be mole people because they only come over at night and stomp around like cinder block-footed sumo wrestlers, scream-talking in their degenerate nicotine-throated pittsburghese, and fucking slamming the front door repeatedly. I just now started screaming at them through the wall and henry is all OK OK OK SHHHH because he hates conflict but I HAVE HAD IT BUDDY. AND NOW OH SHERRIE IS ON THE RADIO SO IM RIDING STEVE PERRY’S VOICE TO A HAPPY PLACE SOMEWHERE IN 1984. (side note: the only time I had beef with Gilmore Girls was when they referenced this song and said it was JOURNEY #wrongzo #nope)
3. Planning a small holiday party & searching for awesome punches to serve on the beverage buffet. The plan is to get henry so drunk that he starts telling us SERVICE stories.  In times of crisis, I go into hostess mode. 
4. Obviously still Balance & Composure, and I’m seeing them tonight in Cleveland!!!
5. Investigating realistic ways to make music my career because I think it’s safe to say that this isn’t a phase but legit passion and every minute that doesn’t involve me listening to music, reading about music, talking about music, trying to get you guys to listen to bands I love, and going to all of the shows, a piece of my heart petrifies. I can’t sit in an office for the rest of my life, I just can’t. I feel like a caged animal. :(

Let’s end with a picture of Drew being a dick. 

****

HI ME AGAIN. I just flipped the fuck out because those dbags next door slammed the front door so hard it shook the house so I went off and henry was all PLZ DONT DO THIS and then the DJ on the radio said something about it being November 10 and Henry mumbled “it’s not November 10” and I yelled “YES IT IS YOU KNOW WHY BECAUSE ITS AFTER MIDNIGHT AND DO YOU KNOW WHY WE’RE AWAKE—BC OF THOSE MOTHERFUCKERS NEXT DOOR UGHHH”

And Henry just murmured, “No, that’s why you’re awake. I’m awake because you were screaming.”

It’s me against the world AS USUAL. 

HAY GUYS HAY. Trying to stay upbeat over here so here is a flashback post that has nothing to do with elections or racism or hate or bigotry. Just a good old fashioned Amish shoofly pie tribute post from when Corey and I traipsed around Sugarcreek, OH two years ago, back when 2016 seemed so far away and we had no idea what a shitstorm was on the horizon.

So yeah! Shoofly pie for president.

******

After our life-changing trip to Heini’s Cheese Chalet, Corey and I decided it was time to get a substantial meal that didn’t consist of cheese cubes on toothpicks and (the best) butter (in the world) on Wheat Thins. We opted for Der Dutchman because it boasted Amish Kitchen Cooking, so of course we went and ordered the two most American meals on the menu: a cheeseburger and grilled cheese.

And we forgot to use our dinner rolls the way they were intended: as vehicles for Der Dutchman’s peanut butter spread. Corey wanted to ask our waitress for more rolls so that he could have a do-over, but then he kept chickening out. Also, we had to stand in line just to get inside the restaurant, which normally would be a huge HELL NO for me, but when in Amish Country, I guess. Some hag in front of us kept trying to make conversation because we clearly have such avuncular faces? I’ve always been told that I’m stand-offish, so I guess that doesn’t translate in Ohio.

Before we were seated, there was a brief moment of panic when Corey and I thought that this was a family-style restaurant and that we might have to sit at a table with some horrible family, asking us to pass the biscuits, and I almost fled. When I was a kid, this might have been pre-Corey, our family went to Lancaster, PA, which is essentially the Amish capital of America.  We ate at some restaurant that had an attached petting zoo and we sat a long wooden table with other families and I was crying internally because I didn’t want to eat with people I didn’t know but our dad was like FUCK YES THIS IS REAL COUNTRY-LIVING! He was all about it. But what I remember most about that meal was the shoo-fly pie. Because of that experience, it has always been the first thing my mind goes to when I think of Amish (OK fine, right after I think about them copulating through a hole in a sheet).

This is all to say that I was really looking forward to piggybacking  my grilled cheese with a slice of that sticky molasses Dutch pie.

(Oh dear god, my tongue is having vivid flashbacks of my last shoo-fly pie experience.)

I was really excited about the creamed corn.

Halfway through lunch, I noticed that Bitch-Broad from Heini’s, the one who had the nerve to yell at our beloved Father Cheese, was also dining at Der Dutchman! (That’s her in the green shirt and stupid poufy hair behind Corey.) Corey said she was also at the bakery we stopped at across from Heini’s and that even in there, she was bitching about how she couldn’t believe the price of whatever bakery item she was glaring at. Then we saw her after we left Der Dutchman as she and her horde of less-bitchy broads walked into a chocolate shop. She still looked mad! How are you going to be mad walking into a CHOCOLATE SHOP? Maybe she should have just stayed home and watched her DVR collection of The View.

But as usual, my train of thought is getting derailed once again. She has literally nothing to do with shoo fly pie.

When our waitress asked us if we wanted dessert, Corey and I declined because we hadn’t seen shoo fly pie on the menu and we were obviously saving room for that down the road.

Before we left the Der Dutchman parking lot, Corey decided that we should call our dad and ask him where to get the dessert of Amish gods.

Corey put him on speaker, and it was one of the  most painful laugh-stifling moments of my life, possibly even moreso than the one at Heini’s, because I felt actual kidney pain. Like the angel on my shoulder had hopped off and started punching me in the side for being the type of asshole who laughs at a dad who is genuinely trying to help his kids have the best Amish experience possible.

“Oh, I doubt you’re going to find shoofly pie,” our dad said gravely. “In fact, I had to pre-order one the last time I was there because I knew the bakeries wouldn’t have any otherwise.”

We were suffering at this point from what I can only describe as “The Wet Laughs.” Tears were streaming down our faces and I was even starting to break a sweat from the exertion of laugh-containment.  Corey wheezed, “I can’t!” and flat out hung up on our dad. I can only imagine how ugly I looked in that moment, with my face wet, red and twisted in a mixture of pain and hilarity. I FELT ugly. It was an ugly laugh. Hearing our dad speaking so seriously about shoofly pie was just too much.

Finally, we calmed down enough for Corey to call our dad back, who answered immediately by saying, “The reception is really bad out there, I know.” And then proceeded to sound disappointed when we mentioned that we chose Heini’s over Walnut Creek Cheese, and then asked, “Did you guys go to the hardware store yet?”

That fucking hardware store!

“It’s not like a Home Depot, you know,” he earnestly advised. “It’s TWO FLOORS and it has a lot of things that Erin would like to look at. Like birdhouses.”

BIRDHOUSES?!

We promised that we would stop and check it out after we visited Sugarcreek, but first we had important business to tend to at Swiss Heritage Winery, which was essentially like your Aunt Rhoda’s house, full of sparkly trinkets, Betty Boop memorabilia, and clashing floral patterns, with a small wine bar thrown in almost as an afterthought.

Corey and I each chose 5 wine samples from a cheerful lady in a supposedly traditional Swiss dress and then plucked some complimentary chips and cheese cubes from a platter and took our wine samples over to a tall table where we recalled what we learned from Roberto at Narcisi Winery last year, and proceeded to stick out like sore thumbs. I liked all  the wines just fine, but wasn’t really in the mood to purchase any bottles until I noticed that he cherry cranberry variety was called “Han’s Favorite Wine” and featured a picture of Hans himself, in a Swiss cap and lederhosen. Swiss Heritage, you got yourself a sale.

While Corey and I were paying for our wine, I used it as an opportunity to ask the older women behind the counter if they had the shoofly pie 411.

I’m not even exaggerating when I say that the expression on the one woman’s face actually darkened, like we were suddenly in Hogwart’s and I had audaciously screamed “Voldemort.”

“I wouldn’t even know,” she said curtly. “That’s something you don’t see very often around here anymore.”

“You might want to try Der Dutchman,” the other woman offered, with a slight shrug, but I told them we had just come from there and it was a no-go. (Although we never actually ASKED the waitress. Now I’m kind of glad we hadn’t. We might have been told to get the fuck out.)

“Sorry, I just don’t know,” the first woman said without even a HINT of apology as she handed over our gaudy gift-wrapped wine purchases.

As we shirked out of the door, I could hear the two of them still talking about shoo fly pie, like they had just been reminded of something that they were told to forget.

“I think I might have a recipe for that somewhere….” the nicer of the two was saying as the door closed behind us.

****

“What the fuck, Corey!?” I laughed as we set off for Sugarcreek to finally gawk at the world’s largest cuckoo clock. “Why did t hey act so weird about shoofly pie!?” We spouted off some theories, like maybe there was some feud between the Pennsylvania Dutch Amish community and the Ohio Amish, and the PA peeps won the rights to the pie.

After checking out the clock, we stopped in some novelty shop called Finder’s Keepers, where we quickly learned that a movie was recently filmed there called “Love Finds You In Sugarcreek.” Almost every shop along the main street had signs and DVD displays in  their windows. Even the Gospel Shop! We stopped in the Decanter and Stein “Museum,” which was basically just a small,  musty room full of steins and decanters for sale. I found pretty  much the only one that wasn’t $500 dollars and decided that I needed to buy it because I refused to leave Sugarcreek without a stein. I’m suddenly hot for steins, I don’t know.

The proprietor was a really old man who took his grand old time wrapping my stein in newspaper and taping it with 87 pieces of Scotch tape while I was having a coughing fit. My allergies had been flaring all week and basically as soon as we set foot in that shop, I knew I didn’t have much time. This was he only low point of the day for me, and as sweet as that old man was, I had strong urges to snatch the half-wrapped stein from him and yell, “I’LL JUST DO IT MYSELF THANKS” except that I couldn’t even speak since I was coughing so hard.

Once we stepped out into fresh air, I felt fine, so we went to Esther’s Home Baked Goods which was right next store. The inside of the bakery was very brown and austere. But Esther’s friendliness and bonneted-head compensated for the lack of paper lanterns and pastel palette.

“Oh, I see you looking at my chocolate pie!” she enthused, and I had porn flashbacks. “It’s on sale because I messed it up. It still tastes good, though!”

Way to sell it, Esther!

“You don’t happen to have any shoofly pie?” Corey asked.

“No,” Esther said, seemingly bemused by this question. “But it’s funny you ask, because several people have asked me that lately! Maybe I should try to make it again….” she added, mostly to herself.

I ended up getting some weird date cake thing and Corey got pumpkin ice cream and peanut butter fudge.

“Tell me if the fudge is OK!” she begged Corey. “It just didn’t seem right when I made it.”

This lady and me would make a great business team. Esther and her “Dessert Messes” and me and my “Fake Art.” Our confidence will bowl you over.

My date cake thing was actually pretty good though. Corey said the fudge was way too soft but he liked it.

He left out the “too soft” part when he gave her his review before we left to set off for the infamous “hardware store.” If I didn’t know any better, I’d think we were being sent off for slaughter.

****

I don’t know why I didn’t bother doing this while we were there, but a quick google of “shoofly pie” explains that it really is mostly just a Pennsylvania Dutch thing. No wonder those broads seemed so weird about it.

They clearly hate Pennsylvania.

If there is one takeaway from our day in Ohio Amish Country, it’s that I really need to spend more time with my dad. He has inadvertently given Corey and me a day that we will probably talk about (and laugh about!) for the rest of our lives. And THAT is better than shoofly pie.

****

THIS JUST IN!!!

It was so awesome seeing all of the pictures and check-ins from my friends who voted today. But at the same time, it was driving me nuts because I didn’t vote before work like I wanted to, because Chooch, the future politician, threw a fit because he was going to be at his grandma’s, so he made me promise I’d wait until work so he could go too.

So we all went together when I got home and it was kind of amazing that he was so interested! Plus, he was excited because the ancient poll ladies gave him a Kit Kat.

We capped off our voting sesh with Mexican dinner at Bea Taco Town. #tacotrucksoneverycorner y’all. And Chooch drew this on my phone:

I guess it’s Trump being anti-handicapped and -Mexican, and obviously the wall.

What a fucking nail biter of a night, guys. I probably should have been liveblogging all of Chooch’s election observations, like when he went on a Wallstreet tear and started mocking Pat Toomey and Katie McGinty, but I’m so distracted & dying slowly!

I think I have to go to bed now. I mean, after I take a swig of brandy and then punch myself in the face.

Stay strong, guys. <3

I’m trying to cherish (or whatever, what an old person word) these weekends as much as I can before the dreaded winter is upon us and cabin fever sets in. Sometimes it’s nice to sit around the house doing nothing, but we were barely home at all this weekend and I’m not mad about it at all.

Saturday was spent cruising around in the rental (because Henry WRECKED MY CAR, in case you forgot). It was such a stupidly beautiful day, so we took a drive out to this weird toy store in Butler so that Egghead Chooch could get some puzzles while constantly reminding us that he’s gifted.

OK WE GET IT. I COULD HAVE BEEN GIFTED TOO BUT MY MOM OPTED OUT ON MY BEHALF.

SO WHATEVER CHOOCH.

I think my favorite moment was when we ordered a bunch of shit at Sheetz and then left Henry in there to wait for it all. Chooch and I have really got a great system worked out.

At one point, “Tiny Raindrop” by Balance & Composure came on (um, probably not randomly) and I blurted out, “I LOVE THIS SONG SO MUCH I WISH I COULD WEAR IT!” Which was met with the king of all sneers from Henry.

Being in such a rural area, we saw our share of Trump signs, that’s for sure. Chooch was getting increasingly agitated by this and now I’m wondering if he has a political career in his future. I have never seen a kid with his finger pressed so firmly on America’s pulse!

When we came home later that evening, he was stoked to see that he got mail. #HesWithHer

And I capped off Saturday night by trying to drink beer while watching the Penguins obliterate the Sharks. WHAT A NIGHT.

Sunday was great too! I mean, I wore my CRJ Emotion tour shirt so obviously the day had no chance at sucking. Plus, I’ve been super emo lately (more in a lovesick teen way than a dark, suicidal fog of despair way, for once—this is what happens when I fall in love with a band). Henry has had his hands full.

We dropped Chooch off at piano and went to the Allegheny Cemetery for a stroll. Henry was fixated on how overpopulated the place is with geese (there really was an obscene amount honking about, even more than I’ve ever seen there, should we be concerned) and he started talking about how “they” should feed the geese to the homeless people and I was like “HELLO REMEMBER WHO YOUR AUDIENCE IS, ASSHOLE, THE GIRL WHO WON’T EVEN KILL A FUCKING STINK BUG, THANKS.” God, Henry can be so callous sometimes!

But then we talked a lot about something I’ve wanted to do with my life for at least the last 15 years, and Henry was all, “If that’s what you want to do, then let’s do that’ and it was one of those moments where I took a step back and really looked at him and felt so HASHTAGBLESSED to have found someone who lets me be me and even kind of supports my insanity from time to time. Sometimes I get too farsighted and forget to focus in on the good shit that’s right in front of my ugly face.

Of course, this beautiful Hallmark moment was set aflame when I asked him what kinds of girls he likes and he quickly mumbled, “Obviously annoying ones.”

Oh bae.

Picked up Chooch and went to visit our friend Patty who is currently battling cancer. She’s in a nursing home, getting some good physical therapy and kicking all the old people’s asses at Bingo!  We hung out in her room for about an hour and a half and it was so good to see her face!

Chooch perused the activity calendar and I think I might have to drop him off for a few upcoming events.  Patty dared him to start walking into random rooms and calling people Grandma and I was like, “Go ahead, but then you can stay here with your new grandmas.”

Henry had the afternoon to ourselves while Chooch was at a birthday party, so went shopping and to King’s (all the hot dates happen at King’s). Henry was so mad because the whole place was empty and the waitress told us to sit anywhere, so of course I picked the one booth that would put Henry in direct contact with the sun.

GOD, LEARN TO DRAW THE BLINDS THEN, MOTHERFUCKER.

It never ceases to amaze me that Henry and I are still together. On paper, we just DON’T WORK. But we have managed to avoid the dreaded “Dinner in Silence” that I see happening around me all the time when we’re out. Good job, Henry! Way to not bore me!

Finished the weekend by forcing Chooch to write on my blog, and then watching The Walking Dead. OH AND HENRY SAID WE CAN GO SEE BALANCE AND COMPOSURE.

All of these nice weekend things made Monday hurt so much more, ugh.

Castle Blood

So Castle Blood had a different theme this year, it was called The Witching Hour. There were two witches who were sisters in this town and they knew a lot about the environment and the villagers didn’t like that so they either banished them from the town or burned them I don’t remember. They weren’t witches then but now they are sooo… They needed us to find them a cat, a vat, and a hat. So ya.

The first funny part was when Shard (castle blood guy who’s mean to me every year.) kept telling me to go to the back of the group (oh yeah and Blake and Haley were there) also Shard kept making fun of Blake because he was being dumb. Then the next cool/funny part was in the funeral room because there are always puzzles in it and this time it was a tower puzzle and Blake, Haley, and I did it. There were holes at the bottom of it and sticks at the top of it so we had to figure out which piece goes on which. It was made to hold in the soul of the dead person.

Then there was an outside part where there was a guy locked up in a chair and he was asking for my cat eye (that I got a little bit ago) and although this wasn’t important I just wanted to prevent this from being super short. So then basically those were all of the important parts and yeah we got our fangs here da picture!

So on a scale of 1 to 10 I rate it 9 because there should be more things you need to get and more puzzles.

Sewickely Haunted Church

So right when we get there, there is the Psycho soundtrack blasting from a speaker. Then we went in and I bought a candy bar. With the wrapper me and mommy played hockey and she kept flicking it towards the screen that was playing a movie. Then when we finally got to go in the small tent that was there was a girl clown who was over enthusiastic because she was screaming and kept saying to me “Do you see that?!?!?!?!?!?!” There was this part where there were little girls screaming at the top of their lungs so I just ran out of there as fast as I could. There was also this part where a gorilla blowup thing hooked to the ceiling came sliding across the ceiling right at mommy’s face.

So I rate this one from 1 to 10 an 8 because it was really short.

My mantra on Friday was, “Soon this hellacious day will be over, and you will be hanging out with Chris, and definitely drinking wine.” Having something to look forward to later definitely made work much more bearable!

Henry, Chooch, and I went over to Chez Chronica right after work. Monica was working, sadly, and she was missed! But…more tots for us? A small consulation, I guess.

Chris is the best hostess ever, I’m not kidding. Look at how beautiful the table was! And it was just the dumb Appledale/Robbins family she was hosting, not anyone important. I felt so spoiled, which is exactly how I like to feel! And she plied us with homemade caramel apple cupcakes, which is exactly how I like to be plied!

Chris made us vegetarian French dips (they had portabello mushrooms in them) and they were so damn good, unless you’re Chooch, then you just ate bread and tots because TEXTURE ISSUES.

After we ate, Henry left because our refrigerator is dying and he wanted to go scope some options for us but really he just didn’t want to watch A SCARY MOVIE which was the whole point of Dinner & Horror Movie Night, but whatever Henry. Just don’t let Trump grab you by your pussy while you’re out, I guess.

Here’s a picture of Monica’s frenemy with two of her favorite things: her cat Graham and Star Wars Legos. This photo was taken a few minutes after Chooch called Graham a “dirty prick” for absolutely no reason.

Chooch kept himself busy and non-annoying all evening by putting things together. Thank god for brain stimulation, otherwise it would have been “Chris Chris Chris Chris Hey Chris” all during the movie. 

Chris didn’t feel like breaking up the ice cubes for Chooch’s lemonade, but it just made it look fancy.

We watched I Am the Pretty Thing That Lives In the House and I can’t figure out if I really loved it or was duped by the indie-ness of it all, but I can tell you this: it was beautifully filmed and I had an intense chill crawling all the way up my leg by the end. It was a slow-burner, you guys.

Chooch mocked Chris for saying, “Whoa!” every time something happened that shocked her.

Henry came back before it ended and pretended to be VERY INTERESTED IN HIS PHONE so that he wouldn’t have to be scared. Then he fell asleep. But who needs Henry’s company when you have Chooch churning out stories left and right?

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SATURDAY

After a ton of planning and numerous reschedules, the stars aligned and breakfast was officially a go with Lisa and Stacey. We went to Coca Café and even though we had to wait for about 30 minutes because it’s a hipster haven. Lisa commented that her husband Matt would hate it there because of the clientele and I started cracking up because SO WOULD HENRY. And the funniest part to me is that both of them have the perfect beards to blend right in with all those d-bags, too.

There was a couple waiting out there with us and I know I have seen them somewhere before and it’s driving me nuts. I mentally ran through a list of all the shows I’ve been to this year BUT I JUST DON’T KNOW.

Oh well.

Waiting wasn’t even an issue because it just meant more time to bullshit with Lisa and Stacey — why doesn’t this happen more often!? Conversation flowed so easily (probably because I SAVED STACEY’S LIFE on the way there when Lisa made us jaywalk, and once you save someone’s life, there’s a pretty strong bond there, you know?) and the food was amazing. You’d have never known that it’s been like, 6  years since the three of us hung out together.

We started out by developing a delightful rapport with our fabulous waiter, Tristan, and each ordering a buttermilk donut slathered with raspberry hibiscus icing. They were served to us WARM and we all immediately wished that we had ordered double. This is the kind of donut worth breaking a diet for. I mean, if you were on a diet. Clearly I am not.

My donut had more icing than Lisa’s, hence the sad face. YOU KNOW I GLOATED. Meanwhile, Stacey tried to be a martyr by offering to swap donuts with Lisa since hers also had more icing.

OMG I ordered the Breakfast Bowl which was divine, even though Stacey was terrified of every ingredient in it. I was really leaning heavily toward the pumpkin-stuffed French toast, but I almost always get sick when I choose sweet over savory for breakfast. Anyway, it was a wonderful mixture of some of my favorite things, like quinoa, edamame and kale! (I might reject everything they stand for, but I definitely have the palate of a hipster, that’s for sure.)

On the walk back to the car, I noticed that I had been carrying my take-out box on a tilt, and breakfast juice was dripping all over my hand. I HATE MESSES! This rendered me partially-paralyzed, and I started screaming things like HELP ME HELP! Stacey assured me that she had wet wipes back at the car, so I was momentarily pacified—–until seconds later when I realized that I was DOING IT AGAIN and this time the juice was sluicing all down my OTHER HAND. NOW I HAD TWO MESSY HANDS OMG I’M DYING HELP SOMEONE GRAB THE OXYGEN MASK.

Lisa was all, “Oh for God’s sake!” and grabbed the nearest LEAF off the ground, ROLLED MY SLEEVE UP, and wiped away the drops of juice with the dry, scratchy leaf at the exact moment Stacey commented it was probably covered in dog piss and now I WAS ABOUT TO PASS OUT.

Somehow, I made it back to the car and fell into the sweet angel arms of a baby wipe. Stacey tried to hand me the package of wipes because she thought I needed another one, but I didn’t, so I just let it drop to the ground because that’s the kind of thing I do. Stacey was just like, “OK great” and picked it up, because I was already walking away, so…..

Lisa was like, “SEE, I TOLD SHE’S A JERK!!!!” and I just laughed because this is me! Nice to meet you!

Honestly though, what a satisfying weekend full of awesome friends this has been so far! Very thankful and content right now. Especially since Henry just said that he MIGHT take me to see Balance and Composure on Thursday and oh I will just cry the happiest of tears if this is true.

I can’t remember the exact moment that Chooch’s costume lightbulb went on above his brainy head, but it was definitely fairly soon after Halloween 2015. He was going through a Smashing Pumpkins phase, and casually decided that he was going to be a bullet with butterfly wings for Halloween.

At first, I laughed really hard and gave it my Great Costume stamp of approval. Also, what a novel concept – knowing what he was going to be with ample time to construct the costume. Had this ever happened before?!

NO.

But then reality set in and I remembered that perhaps not many people would understand it, you know, since it’s not 1995/1996. So Henry and I tried to subtly change his mind, and really—how shitty of us. I’m glad that Chooch was committed to his idea and didn’t let us sway him.

Flash forward 8 months. It’s a week before Halloween and Henry still hasn’t started working on the bullet. I kept saying things like, “This isn’t going to be finished in time, is it?” to which his response was supposed to be, “OF COURSE IT WILL BE, ERIN!” and not, “I don’t know. Maybe not.”

Spoiler alert: Henry worked a miracle and got it done! At the last minute though, he scrapped the paper mache bullet tip he made because it looked too dildo-esque, and instead opted for a large balloon (the punching kind) which he spray-painted silver. It looked much better!

We waited until the day before to get the wings. We try to be as DIY as possible when it comes to costumes, but I was willing to splurge on the wings because I just wanted this to be done. So we went to Party City after Chooch’s piano lesson on Sunday.

SIDE STORY, unrelated to Halloween:

For as long as I can remember, I do this thing where I walk into a store or restaurant ahead of Henry and pull the door shut on him. It’s like my thing, and it pisses him off so much.

And our visit to Party City was no different. I walked in ahead of him and, without so much as a glance behind my shoulder, I shoved the door shut behind me. I mean full-force, as aggressively as possible, I gave that fucking door a Hulk slam.

I heard Henry say, “Erin!” but it sounded further away than it should have. So I slowly turned around and realized that there was a small woman behind me, looking totally stunned from having a GLASS DOOR SLAMMED SHUT ON HER. Fucking Henry had let her go ahead of him and then stood back to see how it would play out, what a motherfucker!

So then I was put in this terrible social situation where I had to profusely apologize to a stranger while trying to explain to her why that happened, how it’s just what I do, until I heard the words I was saying and realized I was making it so much worse.

SO MUCH WORSE.

Oh, Henry loved every moment of it.

I mean, it was bound to happen eventually.

Anyway, Chooch got his wings but not the pair I wanted him to get but whatever, DON’T LISTEN TO YOUR MOTHER.

****

This year was Chooch’s last Halloween parade at school. I was kind of sad about it, but it isn’t how it was when I was a kid. The classroom parties aren’t shit because there are so many restrictions, and so many costumes are against school policy. So basically the parents gather around outside the school just to watch a 15 minute parade, where only some of the students are in costume because HALLOWEEN IS DYING, ISN’T IT?? Oh I just can’t stand it.

But, speaking of school policy, Chooch could 100% not dress up as a bullet at school. I mean, I didn’t need the rules and regulations paper that was sent home last week to remind me of that. So in my effort to find him an alternative costume that still involved his wings (they were $20 and I intended on getting as much use out of them as possible!), I found this lame social butterfly get-up, which I’m sure has been done to death at hipster Halloween parties, but it was a hit with the elementary set.

So easy! And I can say that because I threw a huge temper tantrum Sunday night and went to bed at 8:30 on purpose so that Henry had to print all of the social media icons out, LOL I win.

Chooch loved it! Especially when he got to rip the musically icon off his shirt afterward and give it to his crush. Ugh.

Meanwhile, this just served as yet another reminder that I will never fit in with other parents. 

Oh! AND I GOT TO SEE HOT GYM TEACHER. Totally worth rubbing elbows with basic moms. 

****

Later that evening, Henry came home from work and finally finished the damn bullet costume. I’m not exaggerating – it was 5 minutes to trick or treat o’clock and Henry was hot gluing one last thing to it.  Fucking amazing. 

Originally, Chooch and Dimajio were going to go together but then Dimajio had to go over his cousin’s or something, I don’t know. I don’t keep track of kids. It was just as well, because Henry and I had to tag along with Chooch anyway because he can never Chooch a costume that doesn’t require handlers. We had to tie his shoes, make sure he didn’t fall down steps, get candy for him if it was in a bowl on the ground which required him to bend, fluff his wings, make sure he didn’t bust the balloon-top of the bullet….

It’s a tiring, thankless job. 

It always puts us in the SMALL TALK crosshairs with other adults! That’s my least favorite part!

After a quick photo with the neighbor kid, we tentatively made our way down the street. I kept hissing things like, “This was a terrible idea” and “We should just go back to the house and he can wear the pig mask instead, we’ll think of something.” I was just so worried that he would get made fun of or just be completely disappointed that no one understood his costume. 

But Henry assured me it would be fine and to stop whining before I gave Chooch a complex.

And it was fine! Papa H Knows Best, everyone! He didn’t get made fun of at all, and there were actually A LOT of adults who were like, “OH I SEE WHAT YOU DID THERE.” 

It helped that he was also wearing a Smashing Pumpkins shirt and was carrying a portable speaker that was playing the song on a loop. 

Even one of my mom nemeses started cracking up and said, “I get it. I love it.”

So he was pretty damn proud of himself. 

One guy was like, “Let me guess….Iron Butterfly?” 

“Close! It’s a music reference but you got the wrong band,” Henry laughed. 

This was actually a fun game! We were like a traveling quiz show. 

“He’s a bullet….but I don’t know what the wings are for!” one old lady grunted to another old lady after Chooch left their porch, and I just started cracking up. 

People were actually excited for him to finally get to their house so they could try to guess what he was supposed to be! “These are the best kinds of costumes,” one lady said in between sips of beer. “We want to have to figure it out!”

At one house, I told the people that we had tried to talk him out of this costume idea but he was insistent. 

“Well, good for you!” the one mom said to Chooch. And she’s right—good for him! I never would have had the confidence to pull something like that off when I was his age, no matter how badly I wanted it. Chooch is my fucking role model. 

He got a few people who said “this is the best costume I’ve seen tonight” and one guy gave him a knowing nod and declared Chooch the winner of Halloween. 

I’m pretty proud of him for coming up with this and sticking with it. Even though we had to constantly adjust his wings and do damage control. Perhaps Henry could have SPENT MORE TIME working on the LOGISTICS of the damn bullet. 

A photo of Henry making sure Chooch doesn’t perish inside his bullet. 

 https://instagram.com/p/BMPi3szgHMt/

But….next year, I’m handing him scissors and a sheet and telling him to go to fucking town.

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

We walked down the street to Eat n Park afterward for dinner*. “I Missed Again” by Phil Collins was playing, so of course I had to loudly announce this, as is my forever-custom when I walk into an establishment that’s full of the sweet note-blossoms that churns forth from Sir Collins candied-throat.

“Oooh! I should go as a Phil Collins song next year! ‘In the Air Tonight’ maybe?!” Chooch shouted excitedly, to which Henry and I were like:

*(And yes, I pulled the door shut on Henry when we walked in. “You’ll never learn your lesson,” he sighed.)

I’ve been fangirling over Baseball Card Vandals consistently for the last two years. I’m always dropping hints to Henry, giving him easy opportunities to be a good boyfran by buying me my very own BCV original. Sure I could buy one for myself, but I LIKE TO PLAY GAMES OK. 

Anyway, I sent Henry a screenshot of a Phil Collins BCV, added a bunch of prayer hand emojis, etc etc. but his response was a screenshot from their website that said “sold out.” SO SAD. I was just starting to bang out my FUCK YOU HENRY text missle when he followed up with another text — HIS BCV RECEIPT. 

WOO! 

I know, it seems so fucking stupid but Baseball Card Vandals brings me so much joy with their irreverent humor and middle school-level dick jokes and now I have my very own!

Thanks, Henry! (I still want to go to Cleveland next week to see Balance & Composure though. The purchase of this card did not get you out of that.)

Anyway, this post was brought to you by the legendary Face Value album,  a Halloween candy sugar high, and a general malaise for blogging. 

I listened to this song yesterday ALL DAY LONG ON REPEAT. Synth pop/darkwave/coldwave is the music that resonates the most with me, contrary to popular belief. (I love my posthardcore and emo but this is the shit that really cuts me to the core.)

The Black Queen sounds so much like it should have been on the label A Different Drum back in the late 90s, when in actuality the debut album just came out in the beginning of 2016—it’s the side project of Greg Puciato (Dillinger Escape Plan) and Joshua Austus (Telefon Tel Aviv, ex-NIN & Puscifer) and it absolutely reeks of rotted, decomposing beauty. 

Anyway. This song in particular makes me think it’s 1999 and I just moved into my house and have tons of candles around me as I lay on the cold hardwood floor, drinking cheap Manischevitz and crying.  BECAUSE THAT’S WHAT I DID BACK THEN. 

AND THAT’S WHAT I DO NOW TOO. 

Except that now I have way less room on account of acquiring furniture and psycho cats who will likely start a fire if I lay out candles on ground-level and a dumb Henry  who will yell at me to grow up and get up off the floor.