Me: I haven’t written about G-Dragon yet. I don’t even know how to start it!

Chooch: Just start by saying “OMG YOU GUYS.”

Me: That’s pretty much how I start all my posts — DONT YOU READ MY BLOG?!

***

OMG YOU GUYS. July 30, 2017 was the best day of my life (even though I still cried & threw a fit).

Let me back up.

Gotta get that clotheline ready for all the dirty laundry I’m about to hang up like a cheap, tacky outsider art show.

2016 was the worst year of my life. All this tragic shit went down with my family, the great America tragedy known as the 2016 Presidential Election happened, and these things combined to form the perfect storm inside my head. I can’t remember the last time I felt so low, had so many suicidal thoughts, and basically fought with myself on the downlow everyday to stay alive.

I didn’t talk about it with anyone. That was my first mistake. I kept saying I was fine. The shit with my family was fine. The repressed memories swelling up inside of me were fine. The uncontrollable sobbing over TV commercial was fine.

Nothing to worry about!

I was going to a lot of concerts by myself that year too, seeing lots of sad boy bands, crying by myself in a crowd of strangers and feeling more alone than I ever have in my life.

But I didn’t talk about it. Because when I do, it’s always like… a joke. Silly Erin. Dramatic Erin. Because when you can’t put your finger on one solid, tangible problem, people don’t understand. That’s the awesome thing about mental illness — if you don’t “have” it, you can’t possibly comprehend so it sounds like a complete flight of fancy when someone tries to explain to you that they see their emotions in color and cry when they step on a leaf BECAUSE THAT POOR LEAF.  Everything is anthropomorphic. Everything is fragile. There is so much sourceless pain.

I decided to have a Christmas party. I wanted to try to end the year on a happy note. When you have been suffering with bipolar since you were a kid, you find ways to bandage it. And for me, it was always having parties. Trying to fill my house with as many friends in hopes it would do the same to the void in my heart.

I was making a party playlist which stopped Henry in his tracks on his way to the kitchen.

“Oh my god, do you want people to leave your party feeling suicidal?!” Henry explained at the funeral dirge-like goth renditions of Christmas songs I was adding left and right.

“FINE THEN ILL PUT SOME KPOP IN THERE TOO,” I cried. And then, “Aw, I forgot how much I liked these Kpop songs!”

It inspired me to start doing my KpopX workouts again. I had been gaining weight again after years of steadily losing it and that’s always a tell-tale sign that I’m in a rut.

And then it just spiraled from there, the Kpop stuff. I started watching music videos, YouTube videos about Korean food, Seoul travel vlogs….it was replacing my constant CNN watching. I actually stopped watching regular cable altogether. I became obsessed with the way the Korean language sounded, how the dialect slowed down my racing thoughts.

Learning about the culture gave me a healthy outlet. I threw myself into it headfirst. And for the first time in decades, I wasn’t listening to music that made me cry. Kpop was making me so happy. It was helping me lose weight. It was filling that void and giving me something to be excited about it.

Oh, I get so much shit for it. Lots of rolled eyes, lots of being told that it’s cheesy or stupid and that’s fine, because I know that this cheesy stupid thing has saved my life.

But there was one thing that came out of this that stood out among the k-Dramas, the variety shows, and my need to squirt gochujang on every foodstuff—and that thing was a Korean powerhouse named G-Dragon. At first, I didn’t get it. I knew that he was the biggest Kpop star in the world, had high-profile friends even here in America, and was bacisally Korea’s national treasure. But then the more BIGBANG videos I watched, the more live performances I YouTubed, the more variety show appearances I sat trough, the more I understood.

G-Dragon is fucking everything.

For the first time probably since I discovered Jonny Craig in 2007, I felt really excited about music again. I wanted to open my front door and scream BUT DO YOU KNOW G-DRAGON? to every asshole walking past my house.

I had it bad. I dragged Henry down with me. Soon he became a BIGBANG fan too and honestly acknowledged G-Dragon’s greatness. This was something we could enjoy together. It was bringing us closer, even, this whole Korea thing. I was suddenly less irritable, less panicked, less morose.

I was giddy again. Laughing again. Excited to come home from work and dive deeper into this new area of my life.

The bad thing about coming into BIGBANG so late into the game is that all five members are gearing up for their mandatory military enlistment soon (one has already enlisted), so I figured I might never be able to see them live — who knows if they will resume things as a band once they’re all out again.

So when G-Dragon announced his solo world tour and I saw that North America was on the list, Henry didn’t even bother dragging his feet. We got VIP tickets to the Toronto show which fell on my birthday—and now you know, maybe, why this concert was so special—-no, so important to me.

****

We got to the Air Canada Center around 2:45 that afternoon. My VIP itinerary said that check-in was beginning at 3:45, and anyone who got there after 6 would miss the soundcheck. I have never done anything like this before and very rarely even go to big concerts in arenas (I’m used to shows in small clubs where tickets are $15!) so I wanted to get there kind of early, especially since we saw that there was already a line when we passed by earlier that day.

There were a good bit of people in line when we arrived but not so much that I felt overwhelmed. There were two lines, what we figured were gold and silver,  so we got in the end of the longer line after asking if it was silver. No one seemed to know for sure but everyone I asked said they were silver VIP, so….blind faith.

This was when I noticed that the demographics here were not as diverse as KCON – it was mostly Asian people in line with us and I loved it because Korean was being spoken around all sides of me! There was a really cute young Chinese couple behind me that I was obsessed with.

After about an hour of standing in line, the girl in front of us started to wonder why the other line was so short. She suspected that we could stand in both lines, and that’s exactly what she was told when she went and asked one of the staff members. She came back and pulled her friend with her into the much shorter line, but I was hesistant to follow. Several other people eventually followed suit and then Henry went over and asked someone for himself. He too was told that the first line was for silver VIPs so when he came back and told me, I in turn told the cute couple behind me  because they didn’t speak English well and I didn’t want to leave them behind. (The girl part of the couple was wearing a Lynyrd Skynyrd shirt and Henry thought this was the oddest thing.)

And wouldn’t you know it, as soon as we got to the other line, another LiveNation guy came over and started yelling about how that was not the line for silver VIPS and he made us all turn around, which meant we had to go all the way to the back of the original line, which was so long and I wanted to cry. I felt doubly terrible because I dragged those poor Chinese kids down with me.

(Well, they’re prpbably not “poor” per se, because those fucking VIP tickets were pretty exorbitant.)

On our walk of shame, another guy started shouting, “If you DO NOT have an orange wristband, get in the left line!”

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDIDNG?? That was the line we were just kicked out of 20 seconds ago! Luckily, we hadn’t made it too far on our walk of shame, so we were able to turn around and still get pretty far up in the good line, maybe about 40 heads back.

Turns out, the people with the orange wristbands were the ones who gotten there extra early and got pre-wristbanded for their efforts. So they got to check in first. There weren’t too many of them, but we still had to stand in line for nearly another hour and I wanted to cry. Meanwhile, the girls who were in front of us originally, the ones who started this whole line fiasco (even though they WERE right) had sidled up next to me and pleaded for me to pretend like they were with me so that they could stand in line with us, because what happened wasn’t fair and they had ended up nearly at the back of the line.

I did feel bad because they weren’t at any fault! They were given the correct info and ended up being punished because some dickhead didn’t understand his job. So I said fine, and we introduced ourselves to each other (the one was Yolanda, but I can’t remember the other girl’s name). We commiserated for awhile about how unorganized the set-up was and then went back to standing in silence because standing around is exhausting you guys. I kept yawning for absolutely no reason.

By 5:00, we had made it past security, picked up our tickets, got a wristband and our Act III: Motte gift bag which included our VIP soundcheck lanyards and bullclips from G-Dragon’s peaceminusone clothing line. I was so happy!

A LiveNation lady jovially explained to us that we were free to mill about because our wristbands were pre-numbered so we didn’t need to worry about losing our spots in line. I was really happy about that because that meant we were going to be allowed into soundcheck in the same order we checked in.

HOWEVER, I noticed that my number was one greater than Henry’s which I found odd since I was given my wristband first. I also thought our number was pretty high in relation to how many people were ahead of us in the original line.

And that’s when some terribly annoying and incompetent, pigeon-toed Live Nation girl came over to us and demanded to see our numbers.

“OK YOU’RE BASICALLY AT THE END OF THE LINE BECAUSE IT STOPS AT 400,” she vocal-fried in our faces. She led us to the back of a line, and I noticed that we passed the girls who I left get in line behind us. And then we just kept walking further and further back.

“What the hell?” I said to Henry, pointing out all the people we passed who checked in after us. And then the dumb bitch kept putting people behind us who should have been in front of us, and when she would realize we were out of place, she would freaking call us out in front of everyone like we were fucking derelicts who couldn’t count.

Henry wanted to ignore her, but I was worried about causing a scene on a day that was supposed to be the best day of my life (sorry Chooch), so I kept sighing and stepping out of line to get to the back, until finally I had enough, looked her dead in the eyes and snapped, “THEN STOP PUTTING PEOPLE BEHIND US, YOU KNOW BY NOW WHAT OUR NUMBERS ARE.”

And she literally never bothered us again.

However, another girl in charge of counting walked by, so I snagged her and asked her exactly how this numbering system worked. She assured me that the numbers on the wristbands were chronological and asked, “Then why are people who were behind me in line out there now waaaaay head of me in this line?”

She swore that was impossible, and I was like, “Well, I’m not making this up. I think that wristbands got mixed up at some point. I figured out that girls who I let get in line behind me were numbers 322 and 323, but Henry and I were 395 and 396.

How is that possible?!

The writsbands were in sheets, and we think that sheets got out of order. It’s the only way.

This girl seemed like she genuinely wanted to help, and she went to talk to two other people who were in charge, but short of making up two imaginary numbers for us, I knew nothing was going to be done. They would have to actually admit that they fucked up. NO WAY LiveNation is ever going to do that.

We ended up so far back in line and I was devastated. All that waiting we did, and now we were probably going to be pushed all the way to the back once we got onto the floor. Then I noticed that my Chinese buddies were in front of us! And there were three young Korean girls behind me who were definitely in front of me when we were in the other line, so we bonded over the fact that someone in charge didn’t know how to count and then I felt better that it wasn’t just me and Henry. I bet there were about 20 of us at least who got numerically fucked.

But then one of the girls behind me was talking about how something similar happened to one of her friends at a BTS show, and how her friend started crying about it. “I mean, I was like ‘Girl, cry about it if that will make you feel better, but it’s not going to change anything’,” and she went back to playing some game on her phone, leaving me to digest this. And she was right. I could stand there and be salty, I could get loud and demand justice, but for what? Nothing was going to change. This was the hand I was dealt, I was cheated, but at the end of the day, I was still there, in line to see G-Dragon, and wasn’t that what really mattered?

And just like that, I was OK. Especially once the band started soundchecking and we realized the back of the stage was literally right through a door next to us. My Chinese friends were giddily trying to sneak through to get a closer look and it was so funny to watch. Everything was good again! We all giggled and people-watched (there were so many guys trying to be like GD) and before we knew it, the line started to move—we were finally being let onto the floor for the soundcheck!

The floor was separated in the middle by a barricade and a line of security. We got to pass right through to the area closest to the stage and each staff member we passed very firmly warned that absolutely no cameras or phones were permitted during soundcheck. Believe me, after my hi-touch experience at KCON, I wasn’t about to test this. I shoved my phone in my purse and didn’t touch it once—I paid a lot of money for this and I was going to be a perfect little girl with good posture and hands behind my back. 

Surprisingly, we were about 6 heads back the stage, after that whole numbering fiasco. There was just so much room available in the VIP area that it really didn’t matter after it was all said and done. 

GD came out around 7:30 for soundcheck and everyone went ballistic. I had imagined this moment in my head for months, a plethora of scenarios were possible…but my reaction was one of semi-paralysis. I sincerely couldn’t move, and my throats felt like it was swollen shut — I was in a state of absolute awe, the highest level of starstruck unlocked. 

There he was, on that stage in front of me, dressed casually, all in black: black bucket hat, black face mask, and what appeared to be a pair of jeans slung across one shoulder in a fashion statement only GD could pull off.  

I WAS SHOOK. 

Never did I think I would get the opportunity to see this brilliant diamond shine in front of me, yet there he was: sparkling even in black, shining even with his face half-hidden beneath a mask. I couldn’t scream. I couldn’t talk. 

All I could do was straight cry. 

This person, this idol—he is everything.  His charisma and energy has managed to pick me up from 3000+ away.  There are just no words to explain it, but I am captivated by him—his words, his voice, his movements. I can’t believe I wasted so many years on Jonny Craig when Kwon Jiyong was there the whole time!

And even in spite of the incessant NO RECORDING warnings, people were still doing it blatantly, causing security to push and shove their way through the crowd to issue warnings and remove the offenders from the soundcheck if necessary. Some of them didn’t learn and their arms would shoot straight back into the air with their phones. 

Someone was able to get this much footage, somehow:

His soundcheck was chill, a bit lethargic even, but gave us a taste of what was to come and by the time he walked off stage 20 minutes later, people were desperately screaming for him to come back. 

I put my head into Henry’s chest and wailed, “I CANT BELIEVE HE WAS JUST RUGHT THERE.”

We had about about another hour to wait for the show to start after that. Regular ticket holders were now being allowed in, and everyone was just milling about at that point, getting food and talking. 

It was right around then that Henry realized there was a great open space at the right side of the of the stage so we usurped that prime real estate—this put me three heads back from the barricade! The view was perfect and no one was crowding up on us. All that stressing we did over wristband numbers and look – we still got the most comfortable spot. I felt so lucky. 

Lol, Henry the groupie. 

We were entertained by G-Dragon videos playing on the large screens to the sides of the stage. Henry enjoyed watching some of the people bust out GD’s signature moves. I mildly hated the blond haired white girl in front of us who acted as an authority of Kpop and would pause after each of her cocky statements to see if anyone was listening. When she haughtily said that Taeyang can’t carry a solo tour because he’s too boring, I pretty much blocked her out. 

However, no one bugged me all night. Kpop fans are so chill! I can get used to this. (My bank account won’t ever get used to it, though….)

That title makes it sound like my birthday was super terrible but it actually wasn’t, for once.

Here are some photos of my day, before the MAIN EVENT which obviously was the G-Dragon concert which yes, I am still crying about. In fact, earlier tonight, Chooch and I were on a walk when I wistfully said, “I still can’t believe how close I was to G-Dragon” at which point Chooch said, “Help me” to some lady sitting on the porch of a house we were strolling past.

I might have a problem.

LOL I do. For sure.

But back to my birthday! Henry and I woke up all bright & early because I was rearin’ to go. Our pre-concert plans involved “going to see the water” because if we’re near water I like to look at it while keeping a healthy distance. Henry looked at a map and realized that the Air Canada Center is actually very close to the lake.

But first, coffee.

I hatethat phrase. I wanted to see what it would feel like to actually type it out and I’m here to tell you that it felt super douchey and if you ever see me wearing a shirt with some trendy slogan on it like that, please feel free to knock over my $8 cup of Chemex-brewed designer beans.

But yeah, we went to Boxcar Social for morning beverage, and then walked to to the Purple Penguin for breakfast sandwiches and I was super difficult with my meatless requests but the friendly guy at the counter was super happy to help me get the breakfast sandwich of my dreams and I made sure to go back to thank him before we left for being so accommodating. I try not to be That Veg-Head but sometimes I just gotta speak up and ask for something without meat.

God, Toronto is such a chill city. Please adopt me, Canada. I can’t take it here anymore!

Took the street car thingie downtown. I was really getting used to public transportation by then and it’s a good thing because we used it A LOT on that day.

The water. ^^^

Chris recommended that we take the ferry to Toronto Island but Henry looked it up and it said it was “closed” until the following day.

Ok.

I wouldn’t have believed him but he showed me the website and it did say “closed until 7/31” on it, so no island adventures for us.

We saw these cute Corgis and then immediately missed Chooch because he is OBSESSED with Corgis lately which is cute but also annoying because he does some weird excited arm flap thing when he sees one.

I just can’t be associated with him when he does that weird derpy shit.

Henry made me go inside this Purina Pet thing which had a Rainbow Bridge area where people could write messages to their deceased pets and tack them up on a board. I write one for March and then immediately felt depressed because I’m just not “over” it and probably never will be, nor do I want to be. She is so special to me.

Meanwhile, there was the whole section of walls with pictures of pets and accompanying stories of their acts of heroics and sacrifice, which I made the mistake of reading some and then promptly started sobbing. I caught up with Henry who had wandered ahead and wailed, “Why did you bring me in here???”

I had to sit on a bench until I was able to be seen by the public eye again. Wouldn’t be my birthday unless tears were shed, so here’s to keeping tradition alive.

We decided it was time to start walking back away from the water and into the city to find somewhere to eat for lunch. In hindsight, I’m not sure why we hadn’t solidified lunch plans before leaving the airbnb, but whatever–I guess it wouldn’t be my birthday without my blood sugar dropping and my dormant homicidal side awakening.

We got caught in a horde of Blue Jay fans converging on the Rogers Centre, and then we came upon the front of the Air Canada Centre, where I needed to stand for an unlimited amount of time, waiting for the huge video screen on the front of the arena to flash something for G-Dragon’s show because I wanted to take a picture. We had to endure ads for Katy Perry and other dumb things, but finally, the Act III: Motte ad came up and I quickly snapped a picture. That’s when I noticed two girls nearby doing the same thing, so we laughed about it together and my heart felt so full because I was already connecting with other G-Dragon fans! Other people who get it, finally!

We walked through the inside of the Air Canada Centre, because it seemed like a very common thoroughfare for pedestrians. This is how we learned where we would need to go when we came back later, because there were already VIPs lining up inside, maybe about 75 to 100 of them. It was a little after 11am at this point, and check-in for the VIP tickets wasn’t until 3:45. I could tell Henry was briefly worried that I was going to decide to forego food and get in line with everyone else, but I just don’t think I have that endurance at this age! So we left the Air Canada Centre and continued our walk to the nearest subway station.

Everything was fine at first. We decided on some vegetarian place, so we got on a subway and then a streetcar, but while on the streetcar, Henry realized that he must have gotten “turned around” map-wise when we came out of the subway station, because he had us on a streetcar going the opposite direction.

This was phase one of preparing for my fire-breathing dragon act.

I did some mild berating of his weakened manhood {“Isn’t that like the #1 thing you fucking MEN love to brag about, your inherent ruling over maps? Your built-in navigational systems? Your compass-like dicks pointing the way?”) while we waited for another streetcar to take us back the way we came, thanks for wasting valuable time, Henry.

He kept apologizing and trying to laugh it off because hahahaha even men make mistakes once in a decade, hahhahaha. STFU and feed me you son of a bitch.

We get on a streetcar and a few minutes in, the driver makes an announcement that some road is closed and now the streetcar wasn’t going the way we needed it to go so Henry was like, “LET’S JUST GET OFF HERE AND FIGURE IT OUT” and by this point, I had reached full-blown hanger and didn’t care about going to whatever vegetarian place we had chosen anymore, I just wanted food in my fucking mouth, or an iced latte, so whatever came first was FINE BY ME.

But Henry insisted that this damn restaurant wasn’t too far away so he had his nose glued to his phone maps while I stomped along like a petulant child and I didn’t care who witnessed it at this point because the zipper ties on my true bipolar self only hold for so long and then the real Erin is devouring the fake smiles and sweet voice of Fake Erin because SHE HAS BEEN LOCKED UP FOR A WHILE NOW AND IS FUCKING FAMISHED, MOTHERFUCKERS. YOU’RE NEXT, HENRY.

Henry kept trying to make jokes but I was purposely walking several feet ahead of him because that’s what I do to punish him and I don’t think he ever really notices. We eventually did come across the restaurant he chose but it turned out to be inside some mall-like building so I spat, “Oh I’m not eating inside a mall, just no” like this was some terribly offensive thing for whatever reason and Henry had this, “Are you fucking serious?” look on his face but then remembered who he was dealing with, the girl who constantly adds to “Do Not Like” list on the fly but then tries to act like it’s always been that way, like how could you not know that, Henry? After 16 years you’re just now learning I won’t eat in a restaurant in a mall-like thing? UGH. DON’T YOU EVEN KNOW ME.

[Sidenote: I had declined a Fitbit weekend competition with Octavia because I figured Sunday would be such a bust, full of standing around at a concert all night and how would I get in any steps? But thanks to all this madness, I’d still wind up having over 22,000 steps by the end of the night, and that was even with all the standing in pre-concert lines that we would end up doing from 2:45-7:00.]

“Well, there’s another vegetarian restaurant a few minutes down this way,” Henry calmly said, consulting his phone. We crossed a street and he said it was literally a few 100 feet away, but out of spite, I chose this restaurant called Sin & Redemption instead because that’s just the kind of fucking asshole I am.

“But the other place is literally right—-” Henry started to say, but I had already walked inside this regular-people-food establishment after glancing the menu posted outside and seeing that they had a veggie wrap.

The host told us to choose somewhere to sit in the awkwardly-spaced out dining room, which only had one other table occupied, but Henry was being so indecisive over where to sit because he was worried about upsetting the Queen, so finally I yelled in an angry sing-song voice, “OMG JUST PICK SOMEWHERE” while flashing a sweet smile at the host.

Jesus Christ!!!

This place was awful, literally the only bad choice of the whole trip but that’s what happens when you listen to the hateful voice in your head and choose a place out of spite.

Our waiter was too busy having a clandestine relationship with the waitress, my wrap had no taste, Henry’s omelette was the size of an orphan’s fist, and the waiter took my plate away from me before I was finished eating my frittes, which was the only good part of the meal.

But this is what I do on my birthday — I throw tantrums and self-sabotage, so happy 38th birthday to me, to me, to me!

Henry and I barely spoke on the subway and streetcar ride back to Leslieville. By this point, it was nearly 2:00pm and I was past due for my second coffee refueling, so I demanded that Henry go back out somewhere and get me an iced latte while I laid on the bed and pouted. Before he left, I yelled after him, “And you’re not going to G-Dragon with me!”

He came back with an iced latte and a butter tart, my first and only butter tart in Canada. It was delicious and I didn’t give him one single bite, but I did allow him to go to the G-Dragon concert with me. Which is where we went as soon as I finished my butter tart! And if I’m being honest, I think a lot of the day’s badness was directly related to my mounting stress and anxiety over the concert—I was a nervous fucking wreck up until the moment we were finally inside that arena, in front of the stage. 

The rest of the day was so much better (I had one more moment of anger but that was directed toward LiveNation so Henry got to be on the same side as me for once because now we had a common enemy) but in the grand scheme of things, it was so good that it completely negated every single “bad” hunger-related moment that happened earlier and I can easily say that this was the best birthday of my life, terrible lunch, bad directions, and all.

The dumb church across the street from my house had their idiot festival all last week. I honestly couldn’t be bothered with this shit because it’s full of things I hate: church people and charity.

lol j/k some charities are ok.

Chooch, however, loves this gig. It doesn’t even have rides so I don’t quite understand what his fascination is but every night last week, Henry gave him a few bucks, told him to look both ways before crossing the street, then we went back to watching Running Man while Chooch swam in a sea of Bengay-stinkin’ elders.

At one point, he came barging in the house, eyes all bugged out, hands running through his hair, and cried, “I won $10 and then lost it! I think I have a gambling problem at age eleven! Can I have more money?!?”

“No!” we shouted in perfect parental unison.

But then he found $3 and took off.

He is a fucking nutcase.

(What if this is how people grow up to be gamblers for real, though??)

This went on every evening. Sometimes he went over alone, sometimes with the neighbor kids, and once with his school buddy Demajio. He brought home several stuffed animals in the midst of all the money he was essentially throwing into the wind.

Somewhere along the way, he mentioned the raffles.

“I entered to win a bike!” Chooch panted in excitement during one of his nightly check-ins which was less to appease our paranoia of his whereabouts and more to con more cash from our pockets. “I also entered to win you a new coffee maker! It’s a KEURIG!”

He was so excited about it that I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I graduated from Keurigs long ago.

Saturday was the big day. The winning raffle tickets were going to be drawn! Chooch was so concerned when I told him we were going to Vegfest that day, but then was super relieved when he realized we’d be home before the shitty festival started.

Meanwhile, I went out for one of my many walks around the neighborhood because I am having the hardest time sitting still these days. It’s like my feet are desperate to catch up to my racing mind. Anyway, I had only made it a block away before being accosted by the weird lady who lives in the big, creepy white house on the corner with who we think is possibly her brother?! I always try to avoid her because sometimes I feel like I’m looking at my future as the town eccentric.

I was walking past her sidewalk when I saw her coming toward me.

“You been to the fair yet?” she asked, skipping over any customary salutations.

“No, I don’t care about that fair,” I said over my shoulder, hoping that my snotty tone would deter her.

But no, she kept talking, and for whatever reason, I turned with a groan and walked back to the end of her sidewalk, where she had stpped to lean against her old shitty pick-up truck. “Yeah, but it’s not the kind of the fair that has RIDES and all that crap,” she said. Um excuse me, but the fact that it doesn’t have rides is exactly WHY I don’t care about it! “They got all kinds of games, and a BAKE SALE in the basement!” And then she proceeded to explain to me how to enter the basement even though I said I already knew because hello, that’s where I go to have Russia fuck with my vote.

“You know Potomac Bakery?” she asked, waiting for my nod. “OK, and you know how they sell their day-old stuff for cheap?” I didn’t know that, but I said yes anyway because WHY OH WHY OH DID I EVER LEAVE OHIO.

Sorry. Quoting Back to the Beach is my nervous tic.

“Well at the church, they’re doing that too. They had boxes of old stuff they were giving away for free. Like donuts, I don’t care for donuts, but there was other stuff too, like bread. Anyway, I’m going to go back there today and say something, because I asked how much I could take and they were like ‘well, it’s free….’ so I took it all! And when I was leaving, one of those ladies said to me, ‘I hope you’re going to make a donation!’ Excuse me? Then they shouldn’t have said it was FREE!” she cried. “Yeah, I’m going to go back and say something to them tonight.”

“Yeah, that’s misleading,” I muttered, trying to blink the glaze away from my eyes.

“You know all these churches are going under, right? A bunch of them are closing. It’s a shame. But you know, maybe if their PRIESTS would stop molesting people, this wouldn’t be happening! And now we have all these gays and…what do you call them…those, you know, ‘genders.’ Maybe if the church would let the priests get MARRIED, they wouldn’t have to go around ruining so many lives!”

“Yeah….” I whispered, looking around to make sure no one was hearing this.

“I went to Catholic school, back in the days when the nuns would whack you on the wrists with rulers!” she exclaimed. “But yeah, you should go over to the fair tonight! Fifty cent baked goods, can’t beat that!” And with that, she turned and started rummaging though her truck and I hot-stepped it the fuck out of there.

Later that night, Chooch was in his glory, spinning wheels and filling Bingo cards. He dramatically entered the house early on in the evening, hoisting a Trader Joe’s bag.

“Look what I won!” he cried, pulling out a roll of paper towels, White Rain shower gel, powdered sugar, green beans, two cans of soup neither of us can eat because meat, and a huge generic jar of peanut butter.

Henry and I just stared at this random array of food bank loot, while Chooch looked at us expectantly, waiting for praise. Finally, I just cracked the fuck up.

“What the hell kind of wheel are you spinning over there??”

Am I missing something? Was this like a Chopped challenge for a greater prize? I’M SO CONFUSED.

I told him that crazy lady was talking about the bake sale, and he knowingly said, “Oh yeah, it’s in the basement.”

“Well go buy me some stuff!” I cried, and he seemed excited to have a mission. He came back with several plates of so-so treats.

“And these cookies were 4 for a dollar. I thought that was a pretty good deal,” he said, and boy can you tell he’s been hanging out with old people.

Not pictured are the two buckeyes that Chooch and I devoured before he even had a chance to put all  the plates down on the table. LOVE US SOME BUCKEYES, BITCHES.

Meanwhile, Henry was across the street trying to win shit too. He also put some more raffle tickets in the basket for the bike Chooch wanted, a steak dinner at Capital Grill (ew), and a lottery tree.  When he came back, he said Chooch’s nemesis Larry’s wife was so drunk over there that two people had to practically carry her back to her house across the street. And that Jackie the Witch was over there with some guy who was equally-as-hammered as Larry’s wife. He threw down a hundred dollar bill on some game and of course he lost, so he started yelling about the game being fixed. Our neighbors, keepin’ Brookline classy as always.

When henry came back in the house, he was inspecting the goods Chooch purchased at the bake sale.

“Fifty cent baked goods, can’t beat that!” I said with faux-enthusiasm. “Oh, and Chooch also got buckeyes but we ate them without you,” I blurted out on a bed of needling laughter.

“The buckeyes were actually $1 though,” Henry said.

“How would you know?” I asked all haughtily.

“Because I bought some too, and ate them without you!” Henry laughed. That motherfucker! Ugh, well-played.

By 10:30 that night, the fair was winding down. The DJ played his last dumb doowop track and the prize wheels went for one last clickety spin. I actually felt a little sad because I sort of enjoyed the sounds of that crappy fair wafting in through my windows every night. A little action is nice every now and then.

Chooch and Henry were over there until nearly 11 waiting on the raffle drawings. They finally came back after realizing that there were 100+ prize baskets and the church said they would just call each winner the next day since they had so many to go through.

This wasn’t what Chooch wanted to hear, but he dealt with it and went to sleep.

The next morning, chooch and I were walking to Cafe Noir for our weekend coffee/hot chocolate ritual. Chooch was rambling on and on about the raffle, about the Giant mountain bike, how the Keurig came with a mug that says I Love Jesus—we both lost it at the thought of me drinking coffee from a mug like that.

I asked him whose number he put on his tickets, mine or Henry’s.

“Jaden’s mom,” he said nonchalantly.

I stopped in my tracks. “What? Why??” I asked, thoroughly confused.

“Because I was over there with her and Jaden when I first entered the raffle. Just my first three tickets have her number on it. I didn’t have a chance to change it.”

This made zero sense to me.

“So if they draw your ticket and call her, do you think she is going to give you that bike?” I said, less of a question and more of a THINK ABOUT IT statement.

Chooch paused. With forced confidence, he slowly said yes. But the realization of what he had done was starting to blow up the blood vessels in his PRECIOUS LITTLE ANGEL CHEEKS – seriously I want Chooch to always have those cute pinchable cheeks haha.

I reminded Chooch that he still had the tickets that Henry bought him, so all hope was not lost, but in the back of my mind, I already knew how this would play out. The writing was on Chooch’s cheeks.

Hours passed with no call from the church.

Later that afternoon, we saw Jaden’s mom walking across the street.

Walking through the church parking lot.

Walking into the church gymnasium.

Walking out with one Giant mountain bike.

KNEW IT.

I held back from screaming TOLD YOU SO. Chooch was crushed. Totally ripped apart.

“There’s a 50/50 chance that it really was Jaden’s ticket though,” I pointed out, because Chooch said they had split a strip of tickets.

What I didn’t know was that Jaden’s mom paid for all of them. I thought chooch had given her money for his half. So technically….regardless whose name was on that ticket….

Jaden’s mom bought it.

“All you can do is just make yourself believe it was Jaden’s ticket and move on,” Henry-Knows-Best said like it was a fortune pulled straight from a cookie.

“Or!!!! I can go ask to see the ticket!!!!” Chooch cried in a really scary, BOY ON THE EDGE warble.

He was reaching for the front door when I stopped him because hello that’s our neighbor and the last thing I care to have is drama. Asking to see the ticket is basically accusing her of being a liar. I don’t even know this woman, but I want to believe that she was going the right thing and I have no reason to think otherwise.

Chooch was straight up pacing. “I will wait until tonight AND DIG THRU HER GARBAGE IF I HAVE TO!”

Oh for Gods sake.

I suggested that we go get ice cream as a distraction.

“Pfft! I don’t need ice cream,” Chooch scoffed. “….I need a gallon.”

“Wow. Did you just break up with a girl?” Henry laughed.

We ended up going to Target so he could pick out something small to fill the void left by the Bike of Betrayal. As usual, he couldn’t decide on anything, but I bought this AMAZING GAME called Fündopop which is basically Thingie Ball 2.0 and I’m so excited about it because I have been looking for a Thingie Ball replacement for years. 

We went across the street to play in the church parking lot (ironically) and Chooch was like, “I’m really glad we bought this. It’s taking my mind off the bike. Oh god now I’m thinking about the bike again!”

He is wrecked.

Meanwhile, we made Henry come over to watch us play because after two minutes we became experts and were getting all cocky and arrogant about how amazing we are at Fündopop and demanded an audience.

While we were playing, some old bitch was in the parking lot, stuffing into her car a large, inflatable tree dripping with scratch off tickets.

“LOL, there goes your lottery tree, Henry,”I laughed.

“Son of a bitch!” Henry spat.

Chooch spent the next day avoiding Jaden,  but by Tuesday he was ready to “face his fears,” as he put it. He said Jaden told him it honestly was his own ticket that was drawn, and Chooch said he believes him and has made peace with the whole situation, friendship intact.

He is way more mature than I am, that’s for sure. I’d have held an unrealistic grudge for years and probably would have signed the subject of my hatred up for Scientology or advertised their kidneys on Craigslist.

You don’t know what I’m capable of.

If there’s one thing Chooch learned through all of this, it’s NEVER SPLIT A STRIP OF RAFFLE TICKETS. And also, two buckeyes for $1 seems like a rip-off.

Keep reading for the not-anticipated conclusion to the cliffhanger from the previous post! So exciting!

….we were halfway back to Leslieville. Henry suggested that we keep walking and just jump on a streetcar when we got tired, but I was having so much fun! The sun was setting, lights were coming on, and the streets were bustling. I loved it—it reminded me of being in Europe as a kid! I asked Henry if just walking the whole way back to Leslieville was do-able, and he muttered, “I mean, I guess.”

I took that as CHALLENGE ACCEPTED so we continued our leisurely stroll through Chinatown where we stopped to get tea at Ichi Tea House, and checked out some street art.

I excitedly hypothesized, “What if G-Dragon was getting ice cream from that ice cream truck right now!?” and Henry just scrunched up his weathered skull-mask in a “don’t be stupid” expression which is basically just his everyday face these days.

Shit started to get fancier by the block and we realized we were in the fashion district, so G-Dragon could have definitely been nearby! I made Henry to see if there was a Gentle Monster in Toronto because maybe he would be there, but there was not  Gentle Monster in Toronto.

Sigh.

Henry and I might have held hands a little. You’ll never know.

We rolled up on this by accident and I was so happy! It was really the only touristy thing we did. (I had a small desire to go in the CN Tower but I also was worried about how much time it would take. So maybe next time when we have Chooch with us!)

There was some dance competition happening on a stage in this plaza but it wasn’t Kpop dancing so what did I care. Just a bunch of dumb little girls in their stupid leotards.

I had to pee really bad when we were downtown still so we popped into a Tim Horton’s, where I accidentally let the door close behind me on some really old homeless guy. A cop was coming out of Tim Horton’s as I was going in and hurriedly held the door open for him and it was like, a really big To Do.

Dumb Probably Pro-Trump American Broad Lets Door Slam on Homeless Man.

Seriously though the cop acted like a fucking hero and I’m surprised he didn’t arrest me to really drive it home, you know? I even said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there!” but the old man didn’t even acknowledge me so maybe he didn’t even realize that his face was nearly smashed by the door that I so recklessly failed to hold.

MAYBE I’M BLOWING IT OUT OF PROPORTION.

Henry owned this block. 

After I peed and Henry bought a bag of Timbits, we continue our trek until suddenly, almost without notice, we went from the flashy fashion district to DARK, EMPTY STREETS and SHAMBLING UNSAVORIES.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god,” I whispered through clenched teeth, clutching Henry’s hand.

“Good one, Erin. Yeah, let’s walk back. This is great,” Henry sighed.

We walked past an ominous park where we could detect the shapes of people having some kind of suspicious interaction.

“Yeah, that doesn’t look bad at all,” Henry said, keeping his focus straight ahead, pretending like he saw nothing.

We walked past some winos hanging on the front stoop of an apartment; one of them screamed to me, “SHE JUST DID HER LAUNDRY!” and I just wanted to cry.

Also, my feet were really starting to feel the effects of the EIGHTEEN MILES we had walked that day.

But soon we were at the bridge to Leslieville, the homestretch! And because this was Canada, the beautiful land that birthed Degrassi and Drake, nothing happened to us. Even their hoodlums & hooligans are nice! 

When we turned on the street of our airbnb, there were several girls sitting on the road in just their bras and pants, so that was interesting. The house behind them was on the market for $998,000, but I guess even rich neighborhoods get trash on the streets every once in awhile.

By the end of the night, my Fitbit said I had walked 42,0000 steps — a new record for me! (That I know of, anyway.)

What a memorable day. Even with all the walking we did, I had a hard time falling asleep because it was G-Dragon Eve!

After a morning & afternoon of ambling about Koreatown<3, we rested at our Airbnb for approximately 20 minutes (lol sorry Henry) before I declared it was coffeetime. Henry consulted a map, because that’s what big strong men do, and determined that we could just walk to the cafe I chose (Hailed Coffee, read more a few posts back if you’re so inclined) and then walk a few blocks to a subway station to set off for Hogtown Vegan, where we unanimously decided to eat dinner.

Neither of us were particularly hungry yet after stuffing ourselves at Korea House, but we figured with all the walking we were about to do, we’d arrive at Hogtown Vegan right before my hunger turned me into a claw-bearing, hissing hothead.

Our walk to the subway took us through Greektown! It was really tempting to hang out there and get some falafel. Toronto, you have too many options!

By now, I was feeling fine with the subway. If we had relied on our own car or Uber, we never would have had the chance to experience Toronto this way. I’m glad Henry listened to me when I suggested it.

(Lol jk – this was all his plan and my initial reaction was YOU WANNA WHAT?! WHY?? because you know me and that public transportation battle.)

This time when we exited the subway at the Christie stop, we went right on Bloor instead of left, where my beloved Koreatown <3 is. (Don’t worry, babe—we’ll be back.) 

I was just wondering out loud if there was also a Little India when we crossed over to another block and the beautiful stench of curry filled our nostrils. I don’t know it was an official India section of town, but there were definitely a lot of Indian restaurants! So again, I was tempted to trade in Hogtown Vegan for some paneer and samosas.

Ugh, choices!

It was around this time that I made Henry look up incoming flights from NYC, because I wanted to go to the airport and stalk greet G-Dragon.

“That’s what kids do!” Henry cried, but he still looked up the flights like a good boy. He claimed that all the flights had already landed and that there were no more NYC flights listed for the day, but he could have told me anything and I would have had no choice but to believe him since I couldn’t verify on my own phone, thanks Canada-less data plan.

Hogtown Vegan was roughly 7? 8? blocks from the subway station. Who knows. Hopefully no one comes here looking for accuracy. We’re all about the FAKE NEWS ’round here.

“We’re” — you know, me and my staff.

I just learned that Hogtown is a nickname for Toronto. I couldn’t figure out why else a vegan restaurant would be named Hogtown because typically, if I saw a restaurant with that name, my mind would go straight to bacon and I would think it was some mega-meat hut.

True to Toronto’s form, the staff in this joint was so great! I really liked our waitress — she was so fucking cute and when I started my order with my signature meek inquiry of, “Can I have….”, she answered, “Of course you can!”

I don’t know why I order food that way. Instead of being all assertive and STATING what I want, I always pose it as a shaky question. Maybe because I’m so used to the waiter coming back and saying, “OH I’M SORRY BUT WE’RE ALL OUT OF THAT” or “WE DON’T ACTUALLY OFFER THAT ANYMORE YOU HAVE AN OUTDATED MENU I GUESS TOO BAD SO SAD” so now I feel the need to question if I can have what I want.

Ugh, my life.

Henry got something. He liked it.

I ordered the Unchicken and Waffles, which came with a  dollop of sweet potato mash (it was terrific, better than Thanksgiving) and collard greens which I just can’t like, sorry Mother Earth for rejecting one of your babies. Anyway, my entrée is what Hogtown Vegan is known for and I’m not surprised — that was the best fake chicken I’ve ever had in my 21 year meat ban. Typically, when I eat things like this, I have to go into it with the mindset that I’m not eating something that is meant to replace the thing that I no longer eat, so that I can fully appreciate the thing for its own unique flavor.

DOES THAT MAKE SENSE OR NAH?

But this unchicken was fucking bomb. It tasted real! The texture was SICK! I have never had fake chicken with such realistic mouth-feel!

The food here was hearty as fuck. I couldn’t clean my plate so Henry had to help me (and he was happy to, believe me). When you eat at a place like this, it will quickly dispel the myth that all vegans are malnourished waifs.

Trust.

Meanwhile, there was family of three at the table next to us. Their little boy was probably about 3 and he made me miss Chooch SO MUCH that I actually started crying for a minute or two. Henry rolled his eyes and reminded me that if Chooch was there, we would probably be bickering because that’s our schtick.

We bicker. Quarrel. Nit-pick. Compete.

We’re ridiculous.

But being there with Henry made me realize that as much as I love being together as a family, sometimes it’s necessary for Henry and I to get away for a bit and be a couple. I think he was less stressed because he only had one person’s happiness to maintain all weekend, instead of contending with me and Chooch crying about being hungry and wanting him to buy us things and CARRY US HENRY, WE’RE TIRED. So in other words, this was almost like a real vacation for Henry!

There were moments of tension—because we’re a couple and we’re traveling, nerves are gonna be struck eventually—but this particular evening was WUNDERBAR.

We finished up dinner and continued to stroll around Bloor Street, stopping at a super new-age-y pet shop called EarthEchoes, the proprietor of which was strutting about the shop in bare feet and some really scary guy with face tattoos was feeding the reptiles.

“Jesus Christ, that guy looks like he just got out of prison for murder,” Henry said.

This place was nuts. There were snakes and chameleons and tropical birds EVERYWHERE. I totally fell in love with Bradly, the store’s pet Savannah Monitor.

“Are they mean?” I asked Henry while Bradly was flicking his tongue at me from between the cage bars.

“Um, yeah,” Henry said before I shoved my whole arm in the cage to caress Bradly.

Henry pulled me out of the store before I took off my shoes, got a face tattoo, and started luring in homeless people for Bradly to feed on.

I talked about how awesome that store was for like, three whole blocks until we dipped into a junk store.

Then Henry distracted me before I found a new wheelchair for the collection by suggesting that we get a beer, which is something that I can do now.

“Get a beer.”

Except that I have to ask questions like, “Do you have wheat beer? OK but if I like <x> and <y> then will I like <z>?” and then I order the opposite of what the bartender suggests and Henry is like, “You won’t like that” but then I like it….

…for the first two sips, until the after taste kicks in.

And that’s exactly what happened at Disgraceland!

I got something that I can’t remember. It was on tap and Henry said I wouldn’t like it but the bartender let me taste it and I was like, “Wow this isn’t bad” and it actually wasn’t bad except that at the end of the day, I just really don’t LIKE beer. I have just found a few that I can TOLERATE. I’m learning that this is a big difference. But at least I’m trying, unlike Henry and coffee!

I love a good basement bathroom!

The bartender was really great. He was very helpful, and also super apologetic that he didn’t really have much in the vein of wheat beers to offer me, so he started listing off suggestions in the area of bars that are well-known for their crazy beer collection and how this broad at this bar used to be the bartender at some other bar, and blah blah blah. I didn’t have the heart to tell him we were dumb Americans on vacation and had no idea what he was going on about.

I just appreciated that he was attentive but not overbearing. And I really enjoyed the ambiance of the bar. The music was grungy, the art on the wall featured spider people and I wanted to buy one but the one I wanted, one that reminded me of Robert Smith and Lydia Lunch, was already sold. :( Henry was happy though because they were all $200.

Disgraceland has a vegan comfort food menu! I wished we hadn’t just eaten dinner, but now at least I have somewhere else to add to the food list if and when we visit Toronto again.

Oh I just checked their menu and I believe I drank the Amsterdam 3-Speed and by that I mean that I nursed it forever and then made Henry drink the last third.

“I was just going to ask if you guys wanted another round, but considering she just gave you the rest of her beer….” the bartender laughed.

I felt like I had to justify the fact that this was actually good for me, that I basically considered it a win, because he was nice and I felt like I was offending him, like he hatched all the beer himself in his bedroom beer-incubator.

Also on Bloor, we went into Through Being Cool, which I had heard about via some Toronto vlogger, because why Google when you can just have pretentious local YouTubers tell you about all the cool shit to do in town. Through Being Cool is a vegan bakery but they also sell vegan goods from other local companies too. I’m not sure if they’re named after the Devo song or the Saves the Day album, but their name is definitely what drew me in.

I’m easily hooked.

I had no idea that this place was even on our route, so it was a happy accident.

Neither of us had any room in our bellies, but we wanted to get some donuts to take back to the room with us, save them for breakfast,  chuck them at orphans, use them to play ring toss with a nude Mounty on Viagra, it’s really none of your business.

However! While we were looking at the packaged food in the cooler (things like vegan chicken salad and homemade vegan cheese), a couple came in and ordered a bunch of donuts. Then another guy came in and got to the counter right before us and he ordered a dozen donuts which made Henry agitated because “Who orders a dozen donuts at 7:30pm?!”

But then he fucking took the DONUT I WANTED. Some raspberry thing and it was THE ONLY ONE OF ITS KIND.

JUST LIKE G-DRAGON.

IT WAS THE G-DRAGON OF DONUTS AND THAT MOTHERCANUCKER TOOK IT.

So I did my “JUST FORGET IT” song and dance and we left.

It could have ruined my night. In Pittsburgh, my night would have been shot to hell. I probably would have flipped a garbage can. But Toronto Erin was minding her temper, although she did bring it up at 37 sporadic moments during the night, but just in a casual, “Remember when that guy took my donut? I hope he chokes” kind of way.

And then we began our trek back to Leslieville, which was supposed to be via subway but it was a really beautiful night and we were enjoying the sights, and the next thing we knew…

Lol cliffhanger.

Somehow, I’ve been a vegetarian since 1996 and have approximately zero vegetarian friends in this godforsaken city. This means that I’m usually the “pain” when it comes to going out to eat with my friends. Like the time original plans got botched with Jeannie, Wendy, and Barb and we ended up eating at some place called Carve instead of Proper (which has amazing artisan pizza but was super crowded), and I’m sure you can guess by the name what kind of food CARVE specialized in.

(I used past tense there because that shitty meat palace is closed now, LOLing all the way to the post office to drop off my PETA renewal.)

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been stuck eating a basic salad or some lame vegetable wrap, or even worse: not finding ANYTHING on the menu and having to ask if there’s a special meatless menu, which always winds up being some angel hair pasta afterthought.

Don’t mind me, walking down a puddle-lined street with a pleather suitcase of sighs.

Pittsburgh actually has a decent amount of vegan/vegetarian joints these days, and Henry is secure enough in his carniverous lifestyle to go green every now and then, and now Chooch is a vegetarian too but let me tell you: that don’t mean SHIT. Kid is just as picky as ever and pretty much hates everything and thinks all the creative faux-meat creations are “too spicy.” No matter what.

“Too spicy.”

Before my friend Alisha moved to Arkansas, I was kind of the bane of her dining existence. It was always, “Shit, Erin can’t eat here, though.” And then she would taunt me at times too, but that’s nothing—pretty much all my friends have done that to me every now and then.

In a funny turn of events, Alisha has actually recently become vegan! So when she came to Pittsburgh last weekend to visit, I was stoked to have someone to not eat meat with.

Plus, I hadn’t seen her since 2010!

She wanted to go to Onion Maiden and I was excited to give it a second try. The first time I went with Henry, I ordered a hot dog only because it had house-made vegan kimchi on it and I think that was a mistake because it wasn’t filling enough for a dinner entree. Henry just flat out wasn’t impressed with it at all, so he was like, “Ya’ll have fun with that” and then went to Tom’s Diner and probably got a gyro or something gross, who knows.

Alisha and I both got an appetizer to split:

• Alpha & Omega: smoked cashew rangoon
• Bunn 0))): enoki, cucumber, Korean mayo, hoisin

One guess which one I ordered.

Anyway, oh sweetly sweating seitan sacks, both appetizers were TO DIE FOR. I wanted to lay my head down on those sensual, steamed baos and take a sex dream-laden nap. I wanted to honk them, motorboat them, gently rub them over G-Dragon’s perfect face.

You know, all the normal things you want to do when a plate of precious steamed buns is placed before you.

For my entree, I had The Woods, which was an edible work of tasteful food pornography featuring lily flower, wood ear mushrooms (my favorite kind of mushroom except that Henry started using it too much and I was getting tired of them), tofu, ginger pesto (fuck yes), and kale. I ate the FUCK out of it.

Alisha had the Headbangers ball: tofu croquettes with lemongrass, black rice, ginger, cilantro chutney, slaw, and peanuts.

Oh shit, I also had a side of vegan kimchi which I had to eat with a fork and that just seemed wrong, so so so wrong. But I gotta get my Korean staples in whenever I can.

It was the perfect food to accompany 7 years worth of catching up. Onion Maiden redeemed themselves this go-around, and Alisha redeemed herself by issuing an unsolicited apology for being a meat-bully back in the day! It was unexpected and really sweet—I loved this night!

***

The next day was Vegfest on the Northside, basically a collection of vegan food trucks and various animal-friendly vendors, plus some live entertainment. This was its third year and I’ve got to be upfront with the bots reading this right now: I purposely avoided it the first two years because vegans and vegetarians can be super pretentious hipster pricks and even though I have probably been living that meat-free life for longer than a lot of them at these things, I never feel included. Maybe I’m not sanctimonious enough? Should I shame my burger-chomping friends more often? Wear patchouli?

There are a handful of vegan restaurants I’ve wanted to try for awhile but the vibes are strong and wrong, if you know what I mean. Forever an outsider, oh well.

But since Alisha was in town, she was going to be there with her friends Melissa and Corey, so Henry, Chooch and I took the trolley on over for a day of cruelty-free food-stuffing.

We got there about an hour after it started, and the lines were already NUTS. We were able to snag some vegan donuts and a veggie tart from Goat-something Bakery. I forget their name, but I cherished the fact that no one had seemed to notice that they existed since they were set up next to the Onion Maiden truck and a million people were too busy wiling away their day in that line.

I had the lemon lavender donut, natch, and it was too die for.

After sitting with Alisha & Co. at their table for awhile, we decided to attempt to get some actual meals. I had purposely skipped breakfast and I needed real food. I wanted a hearty lunch! Fucking feed me.

It was mayhem. Total pandemonium. People were walking into each other, food lines were intermingled, BABY STROLLERS WERE EVERY FUCKING WHERE. Every nerve in my body was sparking. This was my worst nightmare. People and lines.

Things standing in my way of food.

I wanted to cry.

I got in line for Blue Sparrow because they had a Korean foccacio I wanted (lol) but the line was actually doubled over on its self because there was nowhere else for it to snake. I had to stand stockstill, with my arms pressed into my sides, because there were people on my both sides of me and I didn’t want to bump flesh with strangers ugh. Some old dude ahead of me said that Blue Sparrow had to keep stopping taking orders because they couldn’t keep up. So we were essentially standing in a line that had nothing happening, no end in sight. Henry and Chooch walked past me eating the cold pizza they bought from some other vendor (the last two pieces, even!) and I looked at them with sad eyes and said, “I CAN’T DO THIS!”

“Then let’s go find something else,” Henry said. Because this was fucked. They weren’t satisfied with their pizza and I still hadn’t procured even a nibble of tofu, so we used our heads and walked a block down the street to El Burro, which has a vegan menu, and within 10 minutes, we had lunch.

We took it back to the park so we could still hang with Alisha and Co., who were on the prowl for dessert. We got in line for Wolf Teeth Donuts, who SOLD OUT while we were in line. And then I found out that Blue Sparrow had also sold out a few minutes after I left the line, so I would have wasted my fucking time if I hadn’t left.

Vendors were selling out left and right and we were so pissed and disappointed. You would have thought it was Vegfest’s first year, and that the city of Pittsburgh has never hosted a single food truck roundup for them to learn from.

I appreciate and support the meaning behind Vegfest. It was awesome seeing so many local people living a meatless life, all in one spot like that. Yes, a lot of them were annoying as fuck, but I tolerated them because it was for a good cause. I DID IT FOR THE ANIMALS YOU GUYS.

But I’m still mad about it. How are you going to advertise an event that’s supposed to last from 11-5 and then have most of your food vendors sell out within the first two hours? In the words of South Korean girl group Red Velvet: dumb dumb dumbdumbdumb dumb.

We had a good time chilling with Alisha at least!

Now I just gotta work on a plan to lure her back to Pittsburgh for good…

Usually when Henry and I road trip for a concert, it’s a whirlwind of checking into some crap hotel, struggling to find somewhere to eat, going to the show, waking up early & coming home. Never anytime time to explore, sightsee, or immerse ourselves in a new place.

Originally we were going to leave Saturday morning and get to Toronto in the evening, but Chris talked us into leaving a day earlier so that we could have time to explore and see the city. I am so glad we did this. Thank you for the push, Chris!

We woke up early on Saturday because I was REARIN’ to go. Henry had made the unilateral decision to use public transportation and at first I was on board with this, but then when it came time to step on the streetcar on Queen St, I FUCKING PANICKED.

“I don’t think I can do it!” I cried around the fist I was biting.

It doesn’t matter whose fist.

Stop asking about the fist.

Henry was all GODDAMMIT but then remembered that this was my Special Weekend so he swallowed some Prozac and read another chapter from the Tucking Thee Penis Betwixt Thee Legs manual. He declared that it was fine, this was all just fine, not a problem, he understands how anxious public transportation makes me. We walked another block and caught a different street car.

Of course, it was one of the old dingy ones and not the pretty ones we kept seeing rumbling gently down the street. Ugh.

A VIEW FROM THE WINDOW.

We were only on the street car for a few blocks when Henry chirped, “OK, let’s go” and lead me off the street car right into a subway station, ughhhhh!! Henry didn’t disclose that there was a second leg of this pub-transporting odyssey.

We barely had to wait at all for a train to come. I was still pretty leery of this whole procedure (hi, my name is Erin R. Kelly and I’m scared of the mundane) but I blindly followed Henry through the whooshing doors and proceeded to stand alone and scowl at him from across the train because what’s life if it’s not dramatic.

But you know what? It turns out that Toronto’s subway system is pretty fucking amazing, fast, convenient, and it helped us get to Koreatown, so I can’t hate it. I just can’t.

Altogether, it took us about 17 minutes to get to Koreatown from Leslieville using the street car and subway (this doesn’t include the walk from the airbnb to where we caught the street car, but you get the point. This blog post is boring because Henry is feeding me dry information). I would highly recommend it! It ended up being kind of fun and made me feel like I was on vacation and not just killing time by driving around in a strange city before a show which is what typically happens.

We took the subway to Christie Street. When we emerged from the subway station and rounded the corner, I was nearly felled by all the glorious hangul everywhere!

I kept making Henry stop so I could read signs. It was an excelsior learning experience! I know it seems trivial, but this was so exciting to me. I dream every night and every day of going to South Korea, and this was like a tiny little consolation.

However, it was only 9:30am and nothing was open yet. So we just strolled around and drooled over all of the menus posted outside of the restaurants. There were so many to choose from! So different from Pittsburgh.

Henry and I had a small spat because we were both hungry and I didn’t really think this part of the day through. So it was all, “YOU’RE THE ONE WHO HAD TO COME HERE SO GODDAMN EARLY!” and “WELL I DIDN’T SEE YOU SENDING AN ITINERARY TO THE PRINTING PRESS MOTHERFUCKER!” but then we walked to get ice cream and took the street car back to Koreatown for lunch, and everything was amazing after that because Ice Cream Saves.

But first—Kpop shopping!

There was an adorable card shop called Just You – Sarah & Tom that Henry was trying to keep me from seeing. He was rummaging in his cargo shorts for a BB gun to shoot my eyes out when my hands found the door handle and I was whisked away to Kpop Heaven.

A chorus of “Hello! Annyeong!” greeted us before the door had a close behind us. The most adorable Korean women were running the shop, demonstrating some of the knickknacks for us, fawning over my tattoos, talking to us about Kpop—-it was heavenly! Even Henry’s frown was no match for the joy brewing up in that bitch—it got its hooks into the corners of his mouth and tugged them right the fuck up.

ADMIT IT HENRY, YOU LOVED IT.

Especially when “TT” by Twice came on the store stereo and an impromptu dance party broke out.

I wanted to buy every Kpop album they had available but Henry was like DO YOU NOT WANT G-DRAGON MERCH THEN so I settled on two sticker packets for me and Chooch to share: BIGBANG and Twice.

Our favorites. <3

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After such an amazing experience, we were ready to eat. We chose Korea House, and it was motherfucking magic. I love the ambiance!

Being able to read the menu and know what most everything is was so rewarding. Learning Korean is a struggle for me, but I haven’t give up. And when I’m able to use it in situations like this, it just motivates me even more.

I ordered the bibim naengmyeon. Henry has made me versions of it at home and the first time I tried it, I was like, “OH FUCK NO.” Even though I knew it was a cold noodle dish, it was still very alarming and jolting the first time it was placed in front of me. But then something just clicked and it became one of my favorite things that Henry makes me.

When I ordered, I said the actual name of the dish. I didn’t point and I didn’t rely on the number. And the ajummah knew what I ordered! She didn’t make me feel dumb like the time I was at a Mexican restaurant and tried to order rojo sauce on my enchilada and the waitress kept asking “What?” in escalating volumes until I finally just whispered, “Red sauce” with my head hung in defeat.

While we were waiting for our food, the younger guy working there turned on the TV. I figured he was going to put on the news or some sport thing, but instead, he turned on a Jay Park YouTube playlist!

“This is just like being at home,” I giddily squealed to Henry, who was just like, “OH BOY.”

But he loved it. Korean food and kpop videos are life, you guys. Such life.

GOD YES.

The only problem is that I am in a constant war with noodles. It doesn’t matter what the cuisine is. Have you seen me eat spaghetti? By the end, I look like I just went down on a can of slutty tomato sauce. Fork, spoon, chopsticks, my motherfucking phalanges — I AM A MESS WITH NOODLES.

When Henry makes me noodles at home, he cuts them for me (because I’m 5), and in the YouTube videos I watch of people eating food in S.Korea (my life is so full), I often see them using kitchen shears, which is a relief to know that the noodle experts need some help sometimes too.

But the waiter didn’t bring me any noodle scissors. I tried to use my chopsticks to cut them, but then I gave up for a while and just focused on eating the banchan—American restaurants really need to get on the ball with offering complimentary sides for the table. Holy shit, it was a veritable rainbow of pickled delights.

By the time I started working on the noodles, two Korean guys were seated next to us and my noodle-eating stage fright set in. Right before they walked in, I had felt a surge of bravery and started to shovel a huge mound of noodles into my waiting maw via chopsticks, and then immediately realized I hadn’t thought this through. I was frozen, a mile of noodle-drapes hanging out of my mouth, cheeks blown out like a chipmunk, sweat springing up along my hairline—I was seconds away from choking. I kept trying to inhale and suck back the strands of cold strangulation to no avail.

I was only making it worse.

Noodles were flipping and flapping around, splashing my eyeballs and Henry with gochujang,

“Oh my god, what are you doing!?” he hissed. I was in tears, noodles hanging in shame from my mouth like their mom had just caught them watching deep throat porn. I couldn’t breathe because every slight inhale was causing more noodle to slide down my gullet. I just wanted to enjoy my lunch without danger of asphyxiation.”Do you want me to ask for shears?” Henry asked.

I shook my head violently, and in a moment of panic, I reached up with my hands and began tugging the noodles out of my mouth with my fingers, LIKE A BARBARIAN.

“Oh for Christ’s sake,” Henry said, and walked over to the counter to ask the waiter to put me out of my misery.

He returned with shears, cut my fucking noodles like a good dad, and then life went on.

Meanwhile, one of the guys at the table next to us also ordered a noodle dish, and he was given shears with his meal without asking!

Speaking of asking, I heard him ask for more bap and I knew that he was asking for a side of rice!

I LOVE KNOWING THINGS.

After lunch, I celebrated not choking to death by buying some G-Dragon pins across the street at Mr. Pen. We also went to a large market but their candy aisle was kind of a letdown, surprisingly. Sorry, co-workers. I mean, I still bought candy, but not as much as I intended.

After a sufficient Korea immersion, we took the subway back to Leslieville because I promised Henry we could “rest” for awhile, but all that really meant was that I wanted to change clothes, send Chooch some messages since I had wifi at the airbnb, and get coffee before heading back out for dinner.

I’m not one of those people who take vacations to relax, clearly. MORE LATER!  TORONTO IS SPLOOGING CONTENT ALL UP ON THIS HO.

In a fit of giddiness Saturday morning, I asked Chooch to take a picture of me in the shirt I bought at the G-Dragon concert last week, because I love it so much. 

He took several, but I liked this one the best because I’m looking over at Henry who was in the middle of saying (lovingly) that I’m so dumb and we were all laughing about how it must feel for Chooch to have a sixteen-year-old as a mom…but when I saw this picture, I realized it’s a perfectly accurate depiction of me lately: just, happy. Laughing. Feeling excited about little things. 

Are things perfect? Am I suddenly stress-free? Fuck no. But everything in the nucleus is stable and that’s all I can ask for. 

This weekend was full of good things and I smiled a lot. Until we watched Game of Thrones and I got upset that (NOT REALLY A SPOILER BECAUSE GAME OF THRONES) horses died. 

“I just feel so bad for the horses, though,” I cried. 

“I mean, you know it’s not real though, right?” Henry asked hesitantly, because one cannot ever be too sure with me. 

“I know, but….still.” 

Ugh Sunday nights are depressing in a myriad of ways. I should have bought more than one G-Dragon shirt for extra smiling power. 

One of the things that was recommended to us by Chronica before our Toronto trip was an ice cream joint called Sweet Jesus. They could have stopped right there and I would have been sold on the name alone. My Grandma Kelly was always saying “Sweet Jesus!” when I was a kid, so this place appealed to me on a personal level already!

But then they mentioned that Sweet Jesus has a butter tart soft serve, and I had to for sure check this out.

They had a small walk-up window shop right down the street from where we were staying in Leslieville, but if you don’t know this about me yet, I am hugely particular and wanted to go to the main location that I saw in all of the YouTube videos I had been watching on Toronto ice cream places, and this is why we got rid of cable because we’re basically YouTube (and DramaFever) exclusive now.

So basically we got rid of regular TV in favor of vloggers.

Hmm.

Anyway, Henry thought this was absurd because we walked past the Leslieville Sweet Jesus at least 78979 times that weekend, but he knows better than to try to silence my chaotic world in order for me to listen to reason.

On Saturday, we woke up early to go to Koreatown and by doing so, nothing was open yet. God, I’m so smart! So Henry started looking up other options, and he noted that the Sweet Jesus I wanted to go to opened at 11, so I decided that we could always just pregame our Korean lunch with a little softserve. I mean, that’s what vacation is for, right?

(Pfft fuck that noise, I’d do this on a regular day at home too because I’m an adult and no one controls my life BUT ME. And also the government, I guess.)

Henry started looking up streetcar info, but I suggested that we just walk because he said it was only 48 minutes away by foot and fuck, I walk so much more than that in a day, so why not? WHY NOT EARN THAT MOTHERFUCKING SINFUL SOFTSERVE.

Plus, this allowed us to walk through Little Italy (where I had my water/hobo piss splashing accident; see the coffee post) and Chinatown, which was really fun and made me feel like we were really making the most of our time there.

So when you ask me if I thought Sweet Jesus was worth a 48-minute walk, I will say yes, and that’s why.

As for the actual ice cream though, I thought it was fine!

They sadly didn’t have the butter tart toppings though, so maybe it’s a seasonal thing. This threw me for a loop and I was having ordering panic.

I wound up getting the red velvet option because I always snatch up that red velvet shizz.

The 90s yo-girl in me appreciated that the sizes came in Biggie and Smallz. We both got a Smallz, even though they came in plain white cups and not the pretty blue ones with the cool design. Of course I dwelled on this! But I was inspecting the orders of the people in front of us and there was no way I was going to be able to down a Biggie.

Not without some warm-up.

#ColdFellatio

Henry ordered the lemon / coconut cream pie variety.

Henry was “not impressed” by the experience at all, but I think it’s mostly because I made him walk for 48 minutes and the finish line didn’t include an orgasm. He was annoyed that all the good stuff was just a coating and once it was gone, all that was left was ice cream, but I pointed out that this is true of soft serve pretty much….everywhere. I mean, the sprinkles only go so far, Hank!

As for me, I appreciated that the soft serve was more of the rich custard variety. I thought it was fine all on its own, and the toppings were just gilding the lily, really. LOL, j/k — dump on those extra fucking calories, I’m on vacation!

I think it’s good that we went so early in the day because some of the YouTube videos I have seen have mentioned that this place gets packed.

There were only three people ahead of us at 11:30am though! Soft serve brunch, how you doin’?

I liked mine though. I’m not sure this would be an old standby for me if I lived in Toronto, but the novelty of it was just good enough for tourist purposes. It was definitely Instagram-friendly, and isn’t that what everything is based on these days? And I for sure inhaled it, and you probably would too, maybe even AS IF IT’S YOUR LAST, OH SHIT KPOP SEGUE IN THE HOUSE:

Up next: KOREATOWN!!!!

It’s been awhile since I took some legit pics of my son-thing so I figured I should do the right thing and pull him out into the backyard, kicking and screaming.

When you spend too much time with your doll and start dressing alike.

That’s all for this issue, chingu.

One of the biggest differences between Henry and me, perhaps even greater than the age difference, is my crippling dependence on coffee and his extreme dislike of that beautiful brown broth-babe in the buxom mugs and….and…SORRY WHO TURNED ON THE COFFEE PORN?

I mean, just look at his grimace up there!

While we were in Toronto, I wanted to try and hit up as many cafes as possible without going into cardiac arrest. I had a half-assed list that I had prepared from various vlogs I had peeped and also my nemesis Yelp, but some of them were off-the-cuff.

Of course there was the obligatory Tim Horton’s stop on Friday, right before we got into Toronto, when I was having major coffee-craves and starting to picture visualettes of me cracking open Henry’s jugular and gulping on that to tide me over.

Friday evening, we were walking around Leslieville when I realized it was time for my third serving (I’d usually be on my fourth by now but I had beer with dinner instead because Henry wants to have couples beer bellies and pressures me to drink).

This is all fascinating stuff, isn’t it? Like a super personal inspection of my pathetic life? Can you tell that I’m just stalling because I’m not ready to write about the G-Dragon concert?

Ugh, the agony that is my life. It’s not easy being a sixteen-year-old zipped up inside the flesh-bag of an adult working professional.

OK, so Friday evening we stopped at Tango Palace, which I already mentioned on Friday’s liveblog but my OCD nature demands that I mention it again because everything needs to be organized or I’ll lay awake at night with a fluttering heart rate.

Which will probably be more from caffeine intake than actual prescribed OCD symptoms.

So, back to Tango Palace. I just had a plain cup of coffee because I hadn’t had a PLAIN CUP OF COFFEE ALL DAY and it’s not all about frozen mochas and halfcaf skinny soy lattes or whatever it is that the cool kids order so confidently while I’m in the bathroom reciting my order out loud in front of a mirror even though I’m going to end up stuttering it anyway when it’s show time because PRESSURE.

Yeah, so…it felt great to just walk up to the counter and say, “JUST COFFEE.”

Henry got nothing and then proceeded to sit at the table and pout.

I mean, it was just a plain cup of coffee so there’s not much to report on but the ambiance of that joint was supreme. I also noted that in addition to the barista being friendly, everyone in the place seemed like regular people, and by regular I mean that no one was dangling bangles of pretension and coffee snobbery from handlebar moustaches. It was a nice, cozy vibe and I’m glad I got my coffee in a mug instead of to-go. Sometimes it’s nice to just take a break and talk your boyfriend’s face off about an upcoming concert that you’re super stoked for, you know? As opposed to talking off the side of his face while you’re walking around being obvious tourists.

I don’t have a picture of it, but in the back of the cafe, there were two mannequins laying on top of a ceiling-thing. I was happy they were there.

Saturday morning, I tried to use the Keurig in our airbnb and wound up practically flooding the kitchen. Henry came out of the bathroom and actually thought it was from his shower, but nope — just me struggling with a Keurig when all I know how to use these days is a French press. Needless to say, I didn’t drink much of my busted coffee, so the first thing I did when we got to Koreatown that morning was stop at a small cafe called Hodo Kwaja, where I ordered a beautiful, refreshing 얼음 커피.

God, that’s iced coffee, OK.

When the friendly ahjumma handed it to me, she said, “You try first and tell me if it’s OK,” and then she gestured to the row of sugar packets and creamers.

I tried it and said, “It’s perfect” BECAUSE IT WAS.

I felt like singing a Bruno Mars jam to it.

Maybe I was just punchdrunk from being in Koreatown, but it was a wonderful way to the start the morning. Plus, Henry got a bag of walnut cakes with pat (red bean) filling and they were just delightful. Love you, Korea.

About an hour later, we were in the midst of a longer-than-it-was-worth walk to Sweet Jesus. We walked through Little Italy on the way and passed Voodoo Child, which was on my list! However, this happened right after I stepped on a loose pavement tile thing, which resulted in the cold, dirty water which had been collecting underneath it to splash onto my leg, and my mind immediately went to: IS THIS WATER OR IS THIS HOBO PEE and in my mind I felt I looked like I had just been sneezed on by Morla, but if you ask Henry, he’ll tell you I looked like less like a filthy Atreyu and more like I had one tiny dirt fleck on my shin.

Needless to say, we didn’t go to Voodoo Child after that because I was too busy limping under the weight of the filth I was now carrying on my leg.

A bunch of other things happened, but that will be another post.

In the late afternoon, we pub-transported it back to our airbnb, changed clothes, didn’t rest like I promised Henry we would, and then hoofed it to Hailed Coffee, which was about a 15 minute walk from our pad in Leslieville.

This place was on my list because “hailed” is Arabic for cardamon, which is added to this joint’s signature coffees. My heart bleeds for cardamom, so we had to go. Plus, they sell an array of dates! Henry and I love dates! The kinds you eat, not go on.

God forbid.

I ordered the Hailed Cappucino and urged Henry to scoop up some dates, but he was being a big coffee-hating bitch baby and opted to stare sadly out the window instead.

[I just had to take a time out because Catherine was telling Lori about the time Jeannie let me cut her hair one night on late shift and Glenn was all, “Why would anyone let you near them with scissors” and then Lori said one time she had a Vietnamese lady dry cut her hair, and she pantomimed the motion of the blade sailing across a fistful of hair and I had SHIVERS. Like, the good kind. Because I am obsessed with the sound of dry hair being shorn. Oh when that sharp blade crunches down….BRING SOME HOME TO ERIN. And now Glenn and Todd are horrified.]

But um…back to the coffee! I think Hailed was my favorite of all the coffee I had in Toronto. There is just something special about cardamom and also, why don’t I order cappuccinos more often!? 90’s coffee culture is BACK.

I just wish we had gotten some dates to go with this bangin’ mug.

Much later in the evening, we were about to begin our walk back to the airbnb from somewhere stupidly far away. Henry had been complaining about having a headache all day and then suddenly realized he hadn’t had any iced tea. Because it’s OK for him to be addicted to tea but my coffee craze is a burden, OK cool. We were in Chinatown for the second time that day (we get around, guys), and decided to stop into Icha for some iced tea. I got classic milk tea because I’m more Asian than Henry. He got…something else, I don’t know. I quit paying attention to him once my bubble tea was placed in my mitts. I vaguely recall the tea blend being brewed in front of him in some weird mad scientist-looking orb thing.

They’re apparently known for their craft teas. I would highly recommend this joint if you’re looking for something non-coffee at some point, and the people working that night were so friendly and helpful! There is nothing worse than walking into a new place and making a rash decision because you’re so nervous about what you’re looking at.

OK, there are like a million things worse than that but it never feels like it when  you’re frozen in that moment!

He said he liked his tea, in case you were wondering. Hold on, I’m going to text him and find out what it was.

*crickets*

“I just got an iced oolong.” That’s his final answer.

The next morning, a/k/a Sunday, a/k/a my birthday, a/k/a G-DRAGON DAY, we left the airbnb first thing in the morning and walked the short distance to Boxcar Social.

The aesthetics of this place spoke to me in ways that lovers are just not capable.  However, I was nervous at first because the barista seemed like maybe he was going to be snobby, but he was fantastic and super helpful when Henry was perusing the tea menu (he finally found a way to enjoy cafes with me, or at least make it more tolerable for himself). I hate when you go to a coffee place and feel confident enough to ask, “Say, what’s good up in here?” and they just dump a bucket of shrugs on you.

A little guidance please!

I got a soy latte and it was divine.

Henry settled on whatever this fluffy pink thing is and I derived great pleasure from watching his thick, rough man-hands lift that delicate glass by the stem toward his bristling, tea-thirsty moustache, leaving behind a soft brushing of foam on the bristle-tips.

Who hit play on that coffee porn again?

I kept hoping one of these owls would transform into David Bowie. :(

I loved it here. They even do coffee flights! Just not when we were there. :(

This was the only cafe we stopped at on Sunday because the rest of the day mostly consisted of standing in one line after another inside the Air Canada Center. However, I did have an iced coffee that Henry fetched for me at some basic bakery down the street from our airbnb while I stayed back to have my obligatory “everything sucks on my birthday and no one loves me” tantrum even though the day was absolutely fine and I had no reason to feel this way but all y’all bipolars out there can feel me, I’m sure. Henry also came back with a butter tart which I made a point of not sharing with him because it was MY BIRTHDAY NOT HIS. And then suddenly I felt fine! Hey blood sugar, I see you.

I think my main take-away is that people in Canada just truly are nice. I never felt out-of-place anywhere we went, like I wasn’t vegan enough to eat at Hogtown Vegan, hipster enough to sit at the bar at Disgraceland, or trendy enough to order anything more than basic coffee at a pretty cafe. I don’t know where Pittsburgh gets off being so exclusionary, but that’s definitely how I feel in my own city — like I don’t fit in anywhere, and that deters me from going to a lot of places.  I didn’t get that feeling once in Toronto. Toronto, please adopt me.

So now you know where I got my coffee fixes at while we were in Toronto. I can’t wait to go back because we never made it to Strange Love and that was #1 on my dumb stupid no-good list.

Our next trip is a quick stop in Chicago over Labor Day weekend, so if any non-bot is reading this and feels like telling me where to go (AND DON’T SAY TO HELL), I welcome any recommendation!

Back in May, when I was still FB-abled, Castle Blood shared an event from some local paranormal group called Ghosts N’at. Turns out, they had visited the Castle and did a walk-thru to determine if it was a conduit for paranormal activity. They found enough evidence to host an investigation tour open to the public.

First of all: Do I believe in ghosts? Yes.

Do I believe that Castle Blood, which is quite literally an abandoned funeral parlor that came back to life as a haunted house (the Halloween kind, not the Amityville kind), is haunted? Yes, because my friends own it and have had real experiences and I believe them because FRIENDS BELIEVE FRIENDS WHO HAVE SUPERNATURAL ENCOUNTERS.

Everyone knows that, god!

Do I believe that these paranormal groups are legit? I mean….

The last (and OK—only) ghost hunt I ever did was in 2011 and I think I believed. I didn’t feel like I was getting scammed, I felt like I walked away with lots of questions that couldn’t be explained, a certain level of unease, and definitely memories that will last forever. But with that one, I think it was more visceral than anything else. When you’re in an abandoned school in January, obviously with no heat, in the middle of the night with strangers, then yeah — you’re gonna feel some things, hear some ghostly whispers, and see some fucking shit because you’re shambling about dark corridors with nothing but a head lamp.

All of this is to say I sent Wendy the Facebook event and she was like LETS DO IT. And so that’s how we how ended up standing outside of Castle Blood in Monessen on a Saturday night in July, getting bit by mosquitoes* while waiting for a bunch of JONNY COME LATELYS – OH YEAH I SAID IT.

*(But not Wendy because she sprayed herself generously with Off! and made sure to remind me of that every time I reached down to swat a mosquito off my leg, ugh.)

We were put into groups based on the colored wristbands we were given and of course the late people were dumped on us. Wendy called that one!

Eventually, everyone arrived and the two leaders of the group, Brett and TJ, came out to give us a quick run-down of the group and then my friend Ricky (a/k/a Gravely MacCabre of Castle Blood fame) took the stage to talk about the history of the house, which is 100 years old and a historic landmark of Monesson. When Ricky bought the house a few years back, he told us that he for sure felt a presence inside, even during the day, when he and his crew were working on cleaning it up and getting it ready for haunt season.

After the spiels were wrapped up, Brett said we were free to mill about, use the portajohn, have a seat, etc, and that we would get started in about 15 minutes. I thought Wendy was going to explode. The instructions very clearly stated that everyone needed to arrive by 6:50 in order to register, and that the action would be starting at 7:00. Wendy was actually EARLY — this is major — and for what?!

Meanwhile, she called me out on my immediate crush on Brett because I’m so obvious and predictable.

“Let me guess….you have a crush on him and you already checked his hand for a ring,” she taunted.

UGH.

WHAT DO GHOSTS AND ERIN HAVE IN COMMON?

THEY’RE BOTH TRANSPARENT.

I snagged this photo from the group’s Instagram. I’m so interested in what Brett is saying, shhhh!

There were four rooms being investigated on this night: the viewing room, the embalming room, the parlour, and the upstairs dining room. My group with the orange wristbands started in the viewing room with Kenny, who we were told was the real enthusiastic and passionate investigator of the group, and that he gets “real creative” and “thinks out of the box.”

For some reason, I was kind of intimidated of him. Like, I felt that I needed to sit up real straight on the church pew or he was going to start accusing me of chasing away the ghosts with my bad posture. He started in with his introduction but was shortly interrupted by TJ’s wife, who popped in to say, “You lost some of your group!” and behind her shuffled in THE LATE FAMILY.

UGH.

THEM AGAIN!

Apparently, they were in the Castle Blood gift shop when our group departed, and they obviously bought something too because the dad was holding a bag that rustled loudly the entire time!!!

Kenny encouraged us to take pictures while he set up all of his EVP crap and whatnot. Beneath the coffin, he had some toys laid out (LOL FUNERAL PUN) in case there were kid ghosts around.

He also had this laser grid projected onto the wall, so we had to sit very still in order to not make it move. At first I was like, is he trying to trap a ghost in a laser grid? But then he explained it was so that we would know if a spirit was in the room, moving it, because that’s the first thing a ghost is going to go to? If I’m a ghost, I’m entering someone’s body and destroying shit. But yeah, let’s just bump this here laser flashlight to spook some people.

First, we introduced ourselves to whatever ghosts might be watching us from the rafters or from behind the eyes of a babydoll. That was fun.
“Hi spirit, I’m Erin.” I felt like such a tool, but it was even worse when he forced us to go down the line and ask questions for the EVP reading. I AM NOT GOOD AT INQUISITIONS unless Henry is on the other end of it.

Or Christina.

When it was my turn, I was like, uh, are you scared? I don’t know what to ask a ghost?! Were you murdered?!

We played the EVP recording back and there was no result. After an eternity of Kenny trying to get the spirits to play with the toys, he decided that maybe it was an adult, so he poured it a shot a whiskey, and THEN SUDDENLY the girl at the end of the pew next to the whiskey FELT SOMETHING COLD TOUCHING HER ARM and her boyfriend was all, I FEEL IT TOO! And then the guy next to me got in on the action and said he felt a cold breeze. I was like, “Bro, I think that was just from when Kenny walked past us?” and then the prop candlelabras (it IS a haunted house, after all) started shaking and TJ’s wife was all THOSE ARE SHAKING AND NO ONE WAS WALKING NEAR THEM! And then THE LASER STARTED GOING WONKY and everyone was all, OMG GHOSTS ARE REAL WE BELIEVE! But Wendy and I were just like, “Wait, are we being set up here?”

I mean, it was a lot of shit happening at once. And then just like that, Kenny’s walkie talkie went off because it was time to change rooms. Kbye.

The next room was what Castle Blood refers to as the Farewell Room, the last room of the tour before you spill out into the gift shop. But back in the day, this was the embalming room. Our investigators of this room were Tim and Patty, a married couple who I thought I wasn’t going to like but they turned out to be pretty cool. We also did an EVP reading there, after Patty said that the first group had a ton of activity and one of the ladies was contacted by her dead daughter or something, I can’t remember. So that right there opened the door for expectation.

This was around the time Wendy and I realized that we two of the only n00bs on this hunt—it seemed like almost everyone else had done at least one other investigation with Ghosts n’at. 

One of the questions during the EVP session was “Is there anyone here in this room that you know?” because now people were eager to find out if their deceased loved ones were hovering above. I won’t pretend like my Pappap didn’t cross my mind once or 5 billion times but I’m also not going to force it. If these things are real and true and he wanted to make contact, he would.

Anyway, I’ll try to keep this brief: we used this thing called the Phasmagram or something, which was some program on a laptop, connected to some weird glowing gadget that looked like a Lensbaby. (That’s a type of camera lens, you guys, get with it.) The EVP session didn’t provide much other than what sounded like a voice saying either Stacey or Casey, and something that made the guy next to me think his dad was there. The Phasmagram was cool — it made the “voices” all distorted and wah-wah-sounding. The guy next to me was convinced at this point that he heard his dad’s voice and was all, “DAD?!” and then started crying and had to leave the room so then I started crying and his girlfriend was all, “Yeah, his dad just died on Tuesday.”

OH MY GOD.

I was so fucking emotional by then that I was buying everything they were selling. It was 100 degrees in that tiny room and I had goosebumps like whoa.

Fucking Phasmagram thing. (I think that’s what it was called, I can’t remember. Sue me.)

The third room was the parlor with Brett! Absolutely nothing happened here except for me realizing that one of the ladies in our group LOVED ASKING EVP QUESTIONS. She was even interrupting Brett at times, like it was a race to throw her questions out there when no one else was really participating. The one girl who was a part of the Late Family was too bust sitting with her eyes closed, holding dowsing rods.

I was starting to peace out at this point. The EVP session was a bust, which I guess is kind of reassuring because if it were a scam, they probably would have planned for something to happen to every group in every room, right? The best part was when TJ appeared in the doorway and scared Brett.

Then we had to take a mandatory break, and Wendy and I were both like, “WE DON’T NEED A CIGARETTE OR A PEE BREAK, CAN WE JUST GET THIS INVESTIGATION OVER WITH?!”

The last room was upstairs with TJ. I got bad vibes from him, and Wendy did as well, as soon as we arrived there and before we even knew he was one of the leaders of the group. So the story behind this room, the “dining room,” is that it’s the room where Castle Blood has all of their fresh meat start out in, and most of them end up quitting because they get an uncomfortable feeling of being watched by some unseen presence. I can get behind that. I totally believe in those oppressive feelings of GET THE FUCK OUT. I get them occasionally at cemeteries, even the ones I frequent often and am most familiar with. Some days it just feels like it’s not right for me to be there.

Anyway, in the room, we used some contraption called the spirit box, which was something that TJ built and then connected to an app of some sort, because that’s how all ghosts communicate in the digital age – through apps. They won’t be left behind!

TJ said all night, with the three other groups, it sounded like a German family was fighting with each other. So he turned this thing on and it sounded like garbled anger. Every time TJ would ask it a question, it sounded like the voices would say “shhhh!” and then start talking softer. THEN THE FLASHLIGHT HE PUT ON THE FLOOR GOT BRIGHTER AND HOW DID THAT HAPPEN WHEN IT WAS THE TYPE OF FLASHLIGHT THAT NEEDS PRESSURE APPLIED TO A BUTTON ON THE SIDE?! I admit that I jumped when that happened but Wendy had 7 explanations for it and she’s probably right that it can be explained away.

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Meanwhile, the guy whose dad died walked up to TJ and tried to hand him his phone. “Here, I have this translation app. Let’s use it and see what they’re saying.”

Awkward pause.

The phone is offered again.

“Um, nah, I’m good. Thanks, man,” TJ stuttered. “Um, I don’t even think it’s German, really, but uh, you know, jibberish.”

“It sounds like it’s backwards,” I offered, and some other guy piggy-backed off that to point out that sometimes apps are coded backward or something nerdy like that, and TJ got SUPER WEIRD and completely cut him off to say, “OK! Let’s do an EVP session now.”

I don’t know. It struck me as super odd. Like he was thrown off by our offers and suggestions?

He started the EVP session with a really important question: Do ghosts poop?

OK fine, it was mildly funny.

The highlight of the EVP session was when it sounded like some man was laughing when TJ asked, “Was that you that made the flashlight brighter?” OK FINE THAT WAS CREEPY! But other than that, nothing really significant. And the Inquisitive Lady’s “did you have any pets here?” question was surprisingly not answered. JUST LIKE NONE OF THEM WERE BECAUSE HER QUESTIONS WERE LAME.

OK fine, I would have liked to have known if any animals had ever lived in that house too. Ugh.

Wendy and I were able to come up with logical explanations for most of what we experienced, but we’re not saying that we think we were scammed. I certainly don’t feel like it. I believe that this group is passionate about what they do and that they wanted us to have a good experience. Did I feel like there were any presences with us in those rooms? No. Would I spend a night there alone? Nope, go fuck yourself.

And that was it. Chooch accosted us when we exited the house, and that was probably the scariest part of the night — no, I take that back. The scariest part was when I made Henry drop me off at the end of Brookline Blvd on the way home because there was only 30 minutes left before midnight and I was in the middle of a Weekend Warrior FitBit challenge with Octavia and needed to get them steps, them steps, them motherfucking steps, even if it meant walking down the bar-lined streets of Brookline after hours on a Saturday. But don’t worry, Chooch came with me and he had my ghost-hunting flashlight because everyone knows a flashlight in the eyes is the best defense against drunks.

It’s amazing how much I have to say about two and a half days in Toronto. We saw some shit, eh. We ate some food, we rode some pub-tranz, we pounded some pavement. I was initially going to just start with Saturday and recount the day’s events, but there’s just too much for one measly blog post. 

So let’s break it down. We’ll start off light, with a collection of street art we saw during our time on Maple Leaf turf. The street art was top notch. And since Chooch wasn’t there, Henry had to be my mural stand-in. He was not very happy about it BUT GUESS WHOSE BIRTHDAY WEEKEND IT WAS THATS RIGHT NOT HENRY’S. 

This was somewhere on Bloor, and I was half-tanked on a beer that I forced down at a dive bar called Disgraceland which I liked a whole lot. (The bar, not the beer.)

This picture has a weird glow to it because it was across from some amazing home decor place that had the coolest illuminated facade. While I was making Henry pose for this, he said some girl was walking by the window of the store behind me, laughing at his discomfort. #InstagramHusband

Hey-o, this was somewhere in Dovercourt. I’m so good at knowing where everything is! Jk, my photos are geotagged. Thanks, Apple. 

This was a taco joint in Koreatown. I know right?!? Apparently it’s not just Korean things in Koreatown. :(

(I’ll write more about Koreatown later. I had my best/most awkward meal there.)

I wonder what the landlord would say if I let someone spray up the side of our dumb duplex….

I already posted these last two on my live blog but TOO BAD FOR YOUR EYEBALLS BC HERE THEY ARE AGAIN.

This is one of my favorite parts about being in a new city: finding art all around us. 

That the one thing I will say about Newark too–we didn’t get to spend much time in the city because KCON took up most of our time, but their street art was on point. 

I’m glad that we were on foot for so much of our time in Toronto because it made it easier to appreciate all the little nuances and personality of each section of town. 

I asked Henry if he has anything to say about the murals I forced him to stand in front of; he said no.