Bun had been haunting Gillcrest for the last 10 decades,

No one had bothered him, not even the wool-clad Mormon mission-maids.

But then one Tuesday a stranger arrived with a bag—

The new resident of Gillcrest, it was a horned stag!

Bun watched this scene unfold from a darkened upstairs window,

and wondered, “How in the hell can I chase off this bimbo?”

The new resident brought with him nine pounds of lunch meat in a chest,

three truckfuls of IKEA and paint swatches tucked near his breast.

His name was Bart and he was quick to make himself at home,

Tucking into bed with a trashy airport tome.

Bun waited for Bart to close his eyes for the night

Before pulling out a nightmarish delight.

A mannequin, green like slime and with nary an arm

Out from the closet to cause all sorts of harm.

When Bart arose the next morn’ with a stretch and a spit,

His heart skipped a beat at the sight of the broad’s plastic tit.

“I swear this tart wasn’t here when I turned off the light,”

He swiped at the beads of sweat along his lip, butt clenching in fright.

Bart fled from his room and sank down into a corner,

Wondering if he was dealing with the supernatural or a burglar.

Bart thought he heard some blips, some gurgles, and a bleet,

Coming from the basement far under his feet.

“That’s probably just the house groaning, or feral cats under the foundation, boning,”

Bart laughed nervously, thinking he might call his Mother for some chaperoning.

Oh, but it was Bun, partaking in his daily routine:

A rousing game of Pacman and a few swigs of hooch at 10:14.

Bun floated back upstairs just in time to hear Bart on the phone,

Talking to his mommy who made him feel a little less alone.

She said to vacate the spooks behind the peregrine doors,

“You need to redecorate, and make this house yours!”

Bart assessed his new home from a red corner chair,

and thought, “How can I change things up around here?

I’ll knock down this wall and tear up that shag carpet,

and turn that grand bathtub into a germ-filled ball pit.”

It was like reliving his midlife crisis of 1994,

Which came with a Porsche and an affair with a Gabor.

(Not Zsa Zsa.)

“He wants to put a ball pit right here in my loo?

I gotta get rid of him with something stronger than ‘boo.'”

Bun needed to sit down and have a good thought.

So he went and did just that on the master pot.

Bun considered going the poltergeist route,

Tossing around dishes, chucking an old rubber boot.

Not wanting to break his things, he went with something more malleable,

And summoned an army of one of each stuffed animal.

Teddy bears and puppies and some weird doll-thing,

Surged upon Bart, pinning him to the wall like one big butterfly wing.

 

“It was probably just a fluke, something-something about gravity,”

Bart’s mom sighed over top of her daytime TV.

“You know what you need, a good healthy lay.

Go call up Bernice from 1-900-PONYPLAY.”

Bart knew she was right, some company would do him good,

So he tried to fix himself up, he did what he could.

He lubed up his horn and filled his satchel with smelling salts,

Then when downstairs to wait for Bernice and all of her faults.

(Daddy issues.)

After waiting in his chair for more than an hour,

Bart thought he saw something, a figure the trees tried to devour.

“Is that Bernice?” Bart thought, bringing his binoculars  up to his eyes,

(He always kept them handy in case a neighbor bared their thighs.)

But what he saw didn’t resemble a hag rode hard and put away wet,

No, this looked more like…somebody’s Easter pet.

And what was that, just behind the bunny and to the left?

A head in a ditch, the chin had a cleft.

Was that Bernice, beheaded by this cuniculus killer

But Bart rubbed his eyes, and the bunny was gone, nothing out there but filler.

Bun came back into the house and changed his clothes,

Killing that stripper bitch left him bloody and anxious for her to decompose.

Bun knew that if he played his cards just right,

He’d have his estate back by the end of third night.

Just a few more moves left in this game by his pawn

Before Bart would be shitting his pants on the front lawn.

 

Bun spent time in the game room with his clown crew

While elsewhere in the house, Bart’s paranoia grew.

Was this some real life Amityville Horror ghost attack,

Or just another Vietnam acid flashback?

The bedside phone rang on Bart’s third night,

Not once but thrice, the trill giving his  faint heart a bite.

The first two calls were white noise, static silence,

Not even the slightest semblance of a sentence.

But the third call exploded with the angry bellow of Bun:

“Bitch you’re in my house, best run motherfucker, run!”

 

That was enough to get Bart to peace the fuck out, see,

So he called up a ride from the Teenage Hooker taxi company.

He waited and waited by the window, so harried and eager,

His hooves percussing the floor to the beat of Bob Seger.

“A real man would have lasted more than one day times three,”

He could already hear his mother say in between sips of her tea.

But mother can suck a dick, Bart thought as he ran out of the door,

To jump in the back of the cab driven by a whore.

(Out of Uber territory.)

Bun rejoiced on the deck beneath the sun’s bright rays.

“I got my house back and I have lunch meat for days!”

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

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This last weekend was relatively boring, which I guess is what can happen when you purposely decide to make zero plans. 

Just watched a bunch of Olympics and then straight up cried my eyes out last night during the closing ceremonies. I won the gold medal in denial. (Monica said that’s because I didn’t have to go up against that Linda Lasky and she’s totally on point with that assessment!)

Other than that, we drove around aimlessly through South Park on Saturday looking for decent pavilions for the upcoming pie party because I apparently chose a really popular day and both of our go-to pavilions were already rented, along with 85% of the other ones. 

Don’t worry, we found one. 

Then later we went to Loving Hut for some meatless buffet action and Henry is now suddenly an expert at soy-based foodstuffs. 

Sunday was YARD WORK day at the Gillcrest which really only affects Henry. Don’t worry – he likes it. He gets to talk to deer and turkey and look up into the sky at random birds. 

I feel like we also ate a lot of cookies all weekend too and then I wonder why I gained a pound. 

Anyway, here are some pictures. 

Chooch had this shirt screenprinted at Warped Tour. Don’t worry – he knows he can’t wear it to school, God. 

The theme of this year’s pie party is “exotic.” One of my old high school friends asked if it’s family friendly and I was like “Pffft why wouldn’t it be” and then remembered the Facebook event page’s cover picture is a pie that says whore, so….

I ate one of these because fuck the patriarchy. Henry was so smug when he bought them, too. 

I’ve had snapchat since its inception and never bothered with it until one day when it occurred to me that waaaaaait a minute, this is just another platform on which to harrass Henry. Duh. 

Chooch is coming around to the idea that there is a new Corgi puppy where Maverick used to be. :(

This fucker. 

Chooch got a free cat cookie over the weekend and still cried about life. Biggest whiner ever. 

On that note, it’s Monday morning and I’ve got my own shit to whine about to all of the lucky people here at work so ciao for now!

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Watching Olympic rhythmic gymnastics this morning and it will never not remind me of Get In Shape, Girl, the pastel “fitness” kits for girl-kids in the 80s. I had several of them but the ribbon one was by far my favorite. 

If I had known back then that this was an actual Olympic sport, maybe I would have kept it up. I was so good at twirling that shit! All I needed to learn was rhythm, grace, teamwork, and you know, actual gymnastics. Instead I just got fat. Oh well. 

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Gilbert was adopted yesterday afternoon after years of living in my art orphanage. His story is below. (This was back when I used to sell monster paintings as a way of tricking people into buying my short stories, HAHAHA-ugh.)

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

There was something about the way the sunset ensconced Gilbert’s head in a fiery halo that made Maryannsuellen think of the stained glass in her church, and how she was always afraid that the colored panes would come crashing down around her; the crudely created depiction of The Crucifixion vivisecting her, unfurling her skin into flesh ribbons which the paramedics would likely chuck out the back of the ambulance for sport as they barrelled past Feck Farm, leaving the local pigs to feed on skin suey. 
Maryannsuellen gave a little chest pop to ping the paranoia pressure away and hugged Gilbert a little tighter, a bit more desperate than she tended to embrace someone. Just in case.
Gilbert scraped her from himself and laughed nervously. “Maryannsuellen, please.” With one last uncomfortable chuckle, Gilbert saw himself out of Maryannsuellen’s brownstone and began his walk home.

A Newport hanging from his bottom lip, and a cowlick in his bangs, Gilbert rummaged in his slacks for his lighter. Realizing he must have left it on Maryannsuellen’s night stand after their post-coital smoke (which he mostly partook in to combat the awful glaze of funk she left on his tongue), Gilbert made an impromptu stop at Calvin’s Corner Club for Cheap Crap. He didn’t typically patronize this particular store of convenience, as it was located at a crossroads known for amateur ninja violence. He saw it on the news nearly every night. But he really wanted a cigarette, and also to possibly see what kind of naughty rags they had behind the counter.

So Gilbert really shouldn’t have been surprised when, getting no further than the threshhold of the store, his carotid artery was stabbed by a Kohga ninja throwing star.

The next morning, Maryannsuellen read about Gilbert’s murder in the paper. She was still sobbing in her grits hours later when her cat began rubbing against her ankles, a hint that he would like to be eating his lunch now, please.

Snapping out of it, Maryannsuellen’s gaze lifted from her now-congealed grits to the scratched Zippo laying on the crest of piled porno rags from Calvin’s and the bills for her oxygen tank.

She picked it up, twirled it around between her thumb and forefinger and ran a ragged fingernail along the etchings left by too many meetings with the asphalt. “At least I’ll always have this small part of him,” Maryannsuellen said fondly of the stranger she brought home the previous afternoon from the furry convention. And the impatient beckoning of her 3 o’clock john distracted her from any more thoughts about Gilbert.

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I’m so mad about this that now I can’t sleep so I woke Henry up to yell at him about it and he’s like “ok wow” & is sleeping again already while my eyelids are being propped open by STICKS OF RAGE. I’M GOING TO WRITE A LETTER.

What makes me feel even more sad for humanity is that if you replaced the Victorian aspect with  “for arriving with their same-sex partner” or “for looking Muslim,” it would seem almost less shocking because we’re “used” to hearing about that type of discrimination and that’s just fucked up that this is where we are as a society. (This is not to say that being “used” to those types of headlines evokes any less anger because BELIEVE ME BROTHER, it doesn’t.) Life is too short to make people feel like shit for being themselves. I hate that it’s 2016 and this is a real thing that happened. Seems so dumb. Everything is so dumb. 

These people are beautiful and they can come to my garden any day, but just please call first so I can make a garden real quick out of paper plates, construction paper, and Henry’s underwear.   

Sorry for THREE POSTS IN A DAY, what is this–LiveJournal? No, this is mania. 

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This will be my last viewing party with Judy, so sad. I don’t really care about anything that’s on but I’m watching anyway because there’s nothing else on. 

• Henry’s sitting on the floor like the dog he is, eating an Air Head. Stay cool, bro.
• We’re watching the three American runners get their medals and Judy screamed maniacally, “I WONDER WHAT TRUMP THINKS ABOUT THIS?! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” ??????????
• Henry’s talking about the Olympic medalists having to pay taxes and Judy is all THATS RIDICULOUS and I’m like SNORE. ZZZ.  
• Someone’s daughter was on Price is Right and had to pay taxes. 
• Taxes.
• More taxes. 
• I just asked Judy what she thinks about Ryan Lochte’s latest controversy and she got real somber. “How ’bout that! Ain’t that something? ……why would he do that? All them robberies n’at they have over there and they have to add to it? What a disgrace to the United States.” Henry interjected a bunch of HEARSAY in there too like he’s some kind of third rate Matt Lauer or something God go to bed Henry.
• Henry just asked what the decathlon is?! I was like “it’s when they do 10 different things, asshole. THAT’S WHAT DECA MEANS.” God, forget about going to bed. Go back to school. 
• Omg Judy is giving herself a hernia with all her pole vaulting exclamations. And then in a calm voice, she said “Nice looking man.” He was ok. 
• “I wouldn’t have gotten it that far,” she said as a javelin was thrown.
• Judy is all over Ashton Eaton right now. Phelps is but a memory. 
• “Oh I love this commercial. My favorite commercial.” It’s the “Make America Great Again?” commercial where Trump is on Letterman being exposed for having his clothing line made in China. “OH ID LIKE TO SMACK HIM.”
• Judy’s concerned because the men are milling about before the 1500m portion of the deca and no one is talking to each other. “why don’t they TALK to each other?!” 
• Henry’s doing math. I’m so bored. This night is boring. I miss swimming. :(
• They just called Ashton Eaton a walking talking action hero like WOW he doesn’t seem that great to me. 
• “is it cold there?” Judy just asked and Henry is like ARE YOU DUMB, NO. 
• “That’s as fast as they’re allowed to go???” Judy cried and Henry said no they can go as fast as they want. “well they’re NOT going VERY FAST. Oh give me a break, people! I thought they were just WARMING UP!” She is so disappointed. 
• I asked if Eaton won and Judy just yelled at me for not knowing. “YEAH!” God sorry Judy. What an anticlimactic win. 
• OH SHIT I JUST REALIZED ASHTON EATON IS THE GUY IN THAT BEST BUY “First!” COMMERCIAL NEVER MIND I LIKE HIM. 

• Judy made an “ew, ugh, gross” noise like she saw a spider and then threw down the advertisement she was reading about Trump. Whoever thought Henry’s mom and I would ever have things in common?!
• Too much milling about in between races so Judy is distracting herself with a magazine. She just yelled DO YOU LIKE THESE???ANIMAL PRINTS?! and held up a page of workout clothes. I gave her a noncommital “sure” and she pointed to the ones she liked, some wild looking leggings. Maybe that’s what she’ll wear when she outruns those slow-ass decathlon 1500m runners. 
• Judy critized this Dalilah Muhammad broad for being too skinny (“I thought they were supposed to have some meat on them”) but look who won the damn race. 
• “That Jamaican boy” is coming on next. 
• Judy’s beloved Ashton is being interviewed but she’s too busy reciting some white tuna fish recipe in Shape to no one in particular. 
• Judy is not invested in track and field. She’d rather talk about ricotta and “that balsamic vinegar.”
• Henry just said some Canadian runner looks like an older version of one of choochs friends and Judy and I just adamantly agreed so now Henry has this smug, self-satisfied look on his face. Don’t get too used to it, asshole. 
• Oh hey Usain bolt just won a thing. 
• “They have BMX in the Olympics?” Henry asked. “you’re asking us?” Judy said incredulously. 
• I was reading out loud about the two Australian swimmers banned from the closing ceremonies because they were out past curfew and Judy said “yeah! They don’t mess around over there. That’s where they should send murderers. Chop their fingers off or something.” ????? I don’t know if she’s talking about Rio or the IOC. 
• It’s 10:11, too early for Judy to take her pills. 
• It’s a commercial now. Judy is appalled because she got a letter from her eye doctor saying its been a year since she’s been there. “I was just there in May! Simple people. I was going to call them but they don’t even deserve a phone call. You know they pay people to send those things out. That’s a shame.” 
• Smuckers Team USA commercial has Judy feeling some type of way. “I LOVE peanut butter and jelly, omg.”
• Some Puerto Rican got kicked out of this hurdle race for a false start and Judy told him to go get drunk. Then they showed an American and she said “is that our boy?” But I just ignored her because I don’t know who our boy is. 
• This Olympics doesn’t feel right without Bela Karolyi. My mom said he was on during the gymnastics (like, duh) but I never saw him which is why I had ZERO INTERST. I need to go paint his sweet Romanian face (again). I miss him so much. 
• Announcer: her entry was not very good. “Oh for CHRISTS SAKE lady,” Judy spat in vehement disagreement. Now she’s chastising some Chinese girl for not being as good as her fellow Chinese diver. “That’s not gonna cut it, girlfriend. Trust me I know.”

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• After the commentater critized another diver, Judy just yelled THEN YOU GET UP THERE AND DO IT BITCH. Well, she did—-in 2000. And she won the gold. So….
• “I’m going to punch her.”
• Judy’s mad that this 15yo Chinese girl doesn’t look happy that she won a gold but it’s hard to be emotive when you’re a robot, you know?
• “these are the times im glad I don’t have a computer” and I think she’s implying that she’d be starting flame wars in the comment section right now. That’s what Amber2 thinks that Glenn does all day at work. 

OK GOOD NIGHT. 

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Love this band, love this song, love this video. 10/10. 

(I guess you could consider this a “GREETINGS FROM ERIN’S LUNCH BREAK” since I’m on my late shift break and the song is called POSTCARD. God, will the wonders ever cease over here at OHE.)

(Also, I ran out of people to send lunch break post cards to so if you want one, holler at me in the comments.)

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With the exception of Warped Tour, Henry hasn’t gone to a show with me since JUNE. While I’m mostly ok with being a loner these days, it’s still nice to have the big dum dum with me so I told him he was going and he answered with a sigh that could be heard around the ‘Burgh.

I woke up Monday morning feeling positively giddy at the prospect of Henry going to see Sianvar with me after work. Sometimes I kind of enjoy his company, I guess, I don’t know. Stop looking at me like that.

As the door guy was putting my rubber ducky wristband on me, I dorkily cried, “Were you at the John Carpenter show?!”

He looked taken aback but then smiled and said that he was.

“I knew that was you!” I said. “I couldn’t imagine where I knew you from but then I realized it was from here.” I mean, god knows how many wristbands he’s applied to my arm.

So then we talked about how great that show was and Henry was all, “WHAT WERE YOU TALKING ABOUT I’M A JEALOUS BOYFRIEND” after I rejoined him.

God Henry. Maybe if you wouldn’t send me off into the wild without a chaperone, these connections wouldn’t happen.

We had some time to have a drink in the back of the room, where we talked about the OLYMPICS with the bartender. There a million reasons why I absolutely love going to shows at the Smiling Moose but a big one is that the bartenders there are so FUCKING NICE. I’m not a big bar-talker, but any time I have gone there, I have engaged in the most pleasant conversations with the girls behind the bar. The bartenders at the Altar Bar were absolute assholes and that was one of the reasons I didn’t give a fuck when that venue closed. Smiling Moose forever!

While we were leaning against the bar with our drinks, some older man with a cane came limping toward us and said, “Sup crew?”

I was so fucking excited at the prospect of being in someone’s crew that I way too happily exclaimed, “Hi!”

He looked at me weird and then repeated what he said, which was actually, “Restroom?”

:(

I pointed the way and the bartender laughed. “It’s because you guys look like you know what you’re doing!”

I mean, duh. Don’t ask me for directions to the restroom at work, but if we’re at any music venue in the city, I can draw you a map on your palm with my eyes closed.

Meanwhile, the first band had started playing and I was s-s-s-stoked because it was one of my favorite local bands, False Accusations! Henry was like, “Oh boy” as soon as he recognized them. I chugged my Ace, slammed down my empty glass, and left Henry at the bar in favor for a spot near the stage.

THE SCREAMER WAS WEARING AN ALEXISONFIRE SHIRT, WOOOOO!!

https://www.instagram.com/p/BJO7nLfAFHk/?taken-by=ohhonestlyconcerts

 

Henry joined me just in time to put his hand on my shoulder and gently pull me out of the way before I got cold-cocked with the neck of a guitar. Guys, I love your band but I’ve got some brittle bones! Go easy on this old broad.

These are the times when Henry wishes I liked Coldplay or Of Monsters and Men like other ladies my age.

What DO other ladies my age like?! I’m so out-of-touch with my demographic.

(Also, see the guy in the dress shirt in that video? NEMESIS. I hated him at another show at the Smiling Moose but now I can’t remember show or why. BUT I DON’T FORGET A FACE.)

The next band was Atlas Decay. They had a lot of family and friends there because they’re local. I liked them well enough but I was anxious for Sianvar so I drifted off a lot. Also, I started to recognize some people in the crowd, like this one girl who was also at the Hail the Sun show last year and wound up becoming friends at the bar with a guy who is security at Mr. Small’s; a photographer we talked to outside of Diesel while waiting for the doors to open for the Hotel Books show (Henry stopped me from saying hello to him because he thinks I get weird when I talk to people); and my high school Instagram friend who started following me two years ago after some other show at Smiling Moose (Henry wouldn’t let me say hi to him either because he thinks 37-year-old women talking to 17-year-olds at shows in weird).

Also, there were a ton of people who were there alone! This is never the case when I’m there alone! There was a girl in a Circa Survive shirt who I totally would have talked to if Henry hadn’t been there with me. She ended up buddying up later with some other guy who was there alone and at one point I think they were talking about the upcoming Anthony Green show and I believe they were trying to remember what band Mat Kerekes (who is opening for him) is in and I SO BADLY wanted slide into their real life DMs and say, “Excuse me, I couldn’t help but overhear, and I believe CITIZEN is the answer you’re looking for” but Henry gave me the “DON’T DO IT” look.

After Atlas Decay was Save Us From the Archon! Oh, how I love these proggy Pittsburgh peeps. Their bassist Samantha recently left the band to pursue her career so I was pretty bummed about that because the scene needs as many girls as it can get. And Samantha was a fucking bitchin’ bassist, you guys.

“What’s her career?” Henry asked.

“I don’t know but I bet she’s stupid-smart, being in a band like that. So probably an astrophysicist,” I shrugged.

SUFTA was recently signed to Tragic Hero Records, so they weren’t just playing at Smiling Moose that night because they were local support: they were playing there because they’re actually ON TOUR with Sianvar. I’m so stoked for them! They had a ton of family and friends there that night, including one of their moms, who dragged a stool right over to the stage and sat there in her denim farmers dress, literally headbanging and screaming.

INSPIRATION.

#MOMGOALS

My heart soared.

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Henry was ready to murder his eardrums around this point and his frown was getting so deep and droopy that I feared it was going to usurp the whole lower half of his face, like an actual Snapchat filter.

“You should just be happy that you’re spending time with me!” I shouted over the mathy vibes.

“I’d rather be doing that at home on the couch,” he grumbled.

“Yeah, but this is like…a date!” I said optimistically.

“Dates are when both people have fun,” he sighed.

“Eh…not always.”

Here’s Mom chatting up my photographer friend and Circa Survive girl.

Around this time, some guy arrived wearing a Number 12 Looks Like You shirt and I got unreasonably excited about this.

“Remember when I liked them?!” I cried.

“Not really,” Henry mumbled.

“Yeah it was probably in like 2006 or something. When I went through my really heavy screamo* phase.”

“Nope.”

*(Real screamo as in “not the Used” or any of the bands that are commonly mistaken for screamo because people JUST DON’T UNDERSTAND.)

So I wanted to tell that guy I liked his shirt but then some other guy stopped and said, “Hey man, I like your shirt” so then I couldn’t because I was standing right there and I would like a TRY-HARD.

UGH, my life.

MY DUM DUM LIFE.

My Iron Lung was next. I was totally in their way when they were trying to get all their shit before they set up, because I am always in the way no matter where I stand in that place. It’s inevitable. Even Henry was like, “Stop being in the way” and I was like, “WHERE DO YOU WANT ME TO GO THERE IS LITERALLY NO PLACE FOR ME ON THIS EARTH.”

God, what a deep fucking realization for me, you know? Life parallels. Ugh.

So yes. My Iron Lung — they were great! The singer reminded me a bit of Pacey from Dawson’s Creek meets Alex Vincent all grown-up from Child’s Play, so I was into it. But again, I was anxious for them to be done because Sianvar.

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

My Iron Lung reminded me of the Iron Lung Glenn that I made for Halloween at work one year. (It’s totally blurry, too bad so sad.)

OK, but then it was finally time for Sianvar, and as each of them walked past us to take the stage, I made all kinds of swooning/fainting couch pantomimes and Henry just frowned.

(Did I mention that earlier in the night, he elbowed me and said, “There’s Will”? Because he did. Because he reluctantly knows everyone in this scene whether he likes it or not!)

Quick summary: Dance Gavin Dance is one of my all-time favorite bands and if you didn’t already know that then this must be your first time here (I’m sorry). The founder/guitarist of that band is a brilliant man named Will Swan, one of the most underrated musicians if you ask me (and a lot of other people, probably). Sometime ago, Will started his own record label called Blue Swan and it is the home to some of the most magnificent, unique post-hardcore bands of our time. There is a distinct sound associated with this label, and Will had curated some beautiful groups of musicians to represent that.

One of those bands is a Blue Swan supergroup, featuring Will, Donovan from Hail the Sun (they’ve recently been signed to Equal Vision, a bigger label so you can’t blame them), Sergio from Stolas, and Michael and Joseph from A Lot Like Birds. Together, they gel into this mystical, sonic beast and even Henry was like, ‘They were good.”

I mean, they were fucking exceptional. My eyes didn’t know who to look at! So much talent!

Henry said he hates how Donovan moves and I was pretty offended. Henry can be so judgey sometimes. I mean, how would Henry like him to move?! How would HENRY move if he was a singer on stage?!

Donovan moves like Pinocchio at times and that appeals to me, so suck it Henry.

Also, I love how Donovan stares over everyone’s heads with an intense, murderous gaze and sings so hard that he starts to rage-shake. I think he’s an amazing frontman and his voice is unreal, like why aren’t more people talking about this time? Why isn’t Hail the Sun a household name? Why did Chooch RUIN MY HAIL THE SUN EXPERIENCE AT WARPED TOUR?!

(I realize I just saw them last winter, but I’m not over my sour Warped Tour HTS experience. Thanks, son.)

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I liked that Sergio chilled up on a windowsill at one point, like “I’m just gonna sit here and casually play these complicated guitar parts while staring dreamily out the window at Carson Street.” Henry just rolled his eyes when I asked him if he too thought that was awesome.

Henry just doesn’t get excited about anything and I feel genuinely sorry for him. That cunt.

After the show Henry asked me if I wanted to talk to Will Swan and then we both just laughed because yeah right – me, talk to someone in a band? I don’t talk, I blubber. And then I cry. So we just left before any of that could happen. I’ll just be over here admiring you from afar, Will Swan. Le sigh.

***

After the show, we stopped at GetGo for our super fancy date dinner and when we got back in the car, Henry dropped the car key and spent the next fifteen minutes swearing while practically fisting the space in between the car seat and console where lip gloss, change, prosthetic fingers, and apparently car keys go to die.

It was so stupid that I started to crack up and then, you guys — get this: HENRY STARTED CRACKING UP TOO.

God, what a great night. Thank you, Sianvar.

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*(Henry is obviously the ho.)

You know what really helps get a bitch through the day? Knowing that there’s ice cream with good friends on the other side.

We met up with Chris and Monica at Millie’s on Friday and even though it was HOT AF, we laughed a lot (even Henry, somehow) and had a good, quality hang.

We got there early and roamed the streets, looking shady as hell. Then I saw some guy I had a crush on in middle school and frantically texted Chris to HURRY because safety in numbers.

My friend Angie was all, “I doubt he remembers” but that’s just because she’s never been on the receiving end of my crushes and has no idea the lunacy and desperate aggression fueling it.

Lots of CALL-AND-HANG-UPs.

But now this lucky man-sack’s got my attention, yee haw.

When we spotted Chris and Monica, we sent Chooch off to fetch them and somehow in the span of 30 seconds, he managed to act enough of a fool for Monica to greet me with a, “Hello, just got here and I already called your son an asshole.”

I didn’t even need to ask why! The kid can get on a fucking nerve or 187, you think that you goin’ to heaven put sluga all up in that chest and hell is where you be dwelllin’….

Sorry, that was an impromptu Bone Thugs n Harmony takeover.

Anyway, the whole reason we even went to Millie’s was because I saw on Instagram that they were adding some fresh peach flavas up in that piece (Bone’s still in me, bitch please) and one of the flavors was some type of fabled peach and sweet corn?! I texted Chris and she was all, “Lemme just shove this gat down my pants and we’ll roll right on up, white girl.”

Because that’s what Wish Bone would say if he spoke on Chris’s behalf.

(I have been in some type of MOOD all evening, my apologies. I ate a brownie that Hot Naybor Chris brought over and I can’t for certain tell you that there wasn’t pot in it. Never mind that it was from some grocery store.)

Spoiler alert: the peach and sweet corn ice cream does not exist. Little punk ass bitches lied to me on Instagram. Or you know, just used awkward syntax which forced me to not understand the flavor listings.  I asked one of the young broads behind the counter and she at first looked at me like I was speaking in sweet corn tongues, but then she said, “Oh, I don’t know. I mean, sweet corn is the base of the popcorn ice cream….?” which I tried a sample of and it was just OK, sorry Rick Sebak. I saw you said on Instagram that it was a million shades of amaze, but I just wasn’t down with the endless chewing of ice cream.

So I got the brown butter peach which I thought was excellent until I reached my second choice flavor, nestled below it like the humble sleeper hit of the summer that it has proven to be: Ella’s almond butter and honey.

Fucking Hallelujah I am saved.

Monica also got that flavor and she agreed with me so now we’re talking about writing fanfic for it. I want it to be filthy basement hardcore and she’s thinking more of a sensual 18th century back door erotica. I’m sure we’ll meet in some type of BDSM middle.

Ugh, Chooch got basic vanilla as usual but this time turned Millie’s on its head by forgoing chocolate for SALTED CARAMEL, which he then spent 25 minutes complaining about, causing Chris to interrupt herself to say, “Wait a minute—-did you say that salted caramel sucks? I WILL FIGHT YOU.”

And Monica crossed all of her fingers under the table, hoping that that night’s diary entry would be titled:

Friday, August 12th, 2016 – The night Chris finally quit that asshole kid.

Ugh, he is so fucking terrible at eating ice cream, I honestly can’t stand it.

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Chris said she got a taste of what it’s like to carry my eyeball purse around Chooch, because he heard some lady tell Chris that she liked her hair and he got super jealous because god forbid someone else should get an ounce of attention in the presence of the Almighty Drama King.

After we finished our respective scoops, Chris suggested that we go for a walk about the ‘hood, so we took our show on the sidewalk. Chooch and I acted like morons while Chris pointed out all of the deadly wrought-iron fences she dreams to have ensconcing her future yard.

My Ice Cream Crew. I want to make us matching ringer tees. We need a better name first. Monica?

Accidental flash brings out my Nosferatu teeth.

Henry was so annoyed.

Chris kept saying she wanted to “see the church, the big one” but this was the only one we could find:

I wanted to break in and Henry said no.

When I finally realized what church Chris was trying to walk to, it was too late because we all had to get home and watch the Olympics. Bone Thugs have a song about that too but I can’t think of the words right now.

Something about diving into that icy blue and swim swam swum like da’ popo’s after u.

This was the perfect salvaging of a shitty day. Ice cream friends are the best friends!

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It’s been a while since I unwound with a bullet-point post so why not start the week off right—super casual & relaxed.

That’s how I look in my wrinkled clothes. Oh Monday. What’s an iron.

• The Olympics might still be happening, but they’re over for me. My heart is empty now that swimming is done. (Ask Henry – I cried real tears about it yesterday and he was like “Are you for real right now, of course you are.”
• I’m on the trolley and I just yawned. REAL LIFE. Then the girl behind me sneezed and I slipped and said bless you. Ugh.
• Last night, I was reading about the Bieber/Selena Instagram feud, sparked by pictures of his new girlfriend, Lionel Richie’s daughter, when a LIONEL RICHIE SONG CAME ON THE RADIO. What does it mean, other than I listen to soft rock!?

• Tonight I’m going to see Sianvar, which is a supergroup consisting of members of Dance Gavin Dance, Stolas, Hail the Sun, and A Lot Like Birds. This is the first time in a while where I actually sprung out of bed on a Monday, so that’s how I know I’m excited. Also, Henry is going with me so I’m even more excited because now it will look like I have a friend.
• Maandag means Monday in Dutch. The more you know.
• Ugh I hate it when I get a crush on Henry it’s so dumb ew.

• Came into work and two of the main new printers have some FATAL ERROR message on then and now everything is all jacked up. HAPPY MAANDAG, MOTHERFUCKERS.
• Wendy just told me I’m wearing fall shoes and I’m like IDGAF WAHHHH!

• I was having a bad Friday and then Catherine gave me a delicious sugar cookie and that was awesome but now Monday is terrible too and I want another one of those cookies immediately. This Maandag can suck a frikandel.

• I got to watch some daytime TV with Judy on Thursday because it’s my late shift day and when Live with Kelly came on, Judy started up with her Jerry O’Connell ranting again and you know what? Judy’s right. Fuck Jerry O’Connell. That dummy.
• Honestly, what is my deal?! I’m sitting here like, “I can’t wait to leave work and see Henry” — I disgust myself.
  • I mean, he spelled Foreigner wrong when he texted me last week to say that “Foriegner is on, NBD.” THIS IS WHO I HAVE A CRUSH ON!?
    • Speaking of Foreigner, how have I never noticed the similarities between “That Was Yesterday” and Depeche Mode’s “Policy of Truth”?? I made Henry listen to both songs back to back last night and he said he has no idea what I’m talking about.

• That faux-pepperoni life. Chooch is still going strong with his meatless lifestyle. I’m shocked. He still doesn’t like vegetables though.

• Olympic lounging, you guys. The competition is strong at my house.

• Warped Tour is over and now it feels like summer is officially over too because I follow along via Twitter and Instagram for the entire tour, and I actually started to cry about this yesterday, along with Olympic swimming being over and Phelps supposedly retiring for real this time, and it’s too bad my tears aren’t the cure for cancer because they’re ever-flowing.
  • Speaking of sensitive, Chooch lost his mind last week because he found out that his favorite dog, a Corgi named Maverick who walks by our house all the time with his owner, died recently. Now the guy has a Corgi puppy named Spencer but Chooch DGAF because he’s no Maverick. Anyway, Chooch spent a large portion of the night crying about this at his desk while looking at a random picture of a cat. Henry’s mom felt that “THAT MAN SHOULD COME OVER HERE AND APOLOGIZE!” And Henry cried, “For his DOG DYING!?”
• I made a new Etsy shop for all of the sweet 1980s clothes from my Pappap’s house that I’m trying to get rid of, but there are a lot more that I still need to get pictures of, so if anyone wants to be a model for a day, hit me up. The clothes are super small and nothing is getting past my big fat hips, or I’d just do it myself. (I’d definitely wear an animal mask though because my face is the worst.)

• Henry and I binged our way through Game of Thrones during June and July and it took me a while to notice CHARLES DANCE in the opening credits, at which point I nearly fell off the couch in excitement. “CHARLES DANCE IS IN THIS AND I DIDN’T EVEN REALIZE!?” I cried in Henry’s face. “…..I guess?” he answered with hesitation, probably afraid of what answer is right or wrong. And so I had to explain to him that when I was in middle school, probably 6th grade, there was a made-for-TV version of The Phantom of the Opera, and he was the Phantom! “I was so obsessed with this version, that I cut out all of the advertisements for it from the TV Guide and taped them to my wall,” I told Henry, my heart threatening to burst with joyous memories. “Of course you did,” he sighed. So then any time he was in a scene on GoT, I would get really close to Henry and yell, “CHARLES DANCE.”
• When I ran into my old friend Casandra last week (and whose name I consistently spelled wrong in my last post because I’m terrible), we briefly reminisced about the last time we hung out, which was at one of my house parties in 2004 (probably?) back when everyone would get drunk and try to hit me with a frisbee as I skated up and down the road in front of my house. We called it “Hit Erin With a Frisbee.” So inventive.  Anyway, it made me feel like I should have a party soon, only maybe during the fall, when it’s not 187 degrees in my house.

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• Henry finally hung up several pictures that have been laying in a pile in a corner, crying. Those bitches over at A Beautiful Mess would probably have a coronary if they saw the randomness of my gallery wall. I DIDN’T PRE-PLAN IT WITH BLUEPRINTS, OMG.
  • I’m still trying to figure out what I want to do with the small piece of wall above the fireplace mantel. Henry is still firmly against glitter, but I feel like something needs to happen in that spot before he hangs the Mouse Attack light up there.
    • Don’t worry — I have time. It’s going to take him forever to get that light to work.

• I was cleaning under the sink in Sharon’s bathroom when this travel bottle of Sambuca from our trip to Greece literally rolled off a shelf into my hand. And then right after that I found a piece of paper that had my name written on it in her handwriting and it was just a bit much for my heart to take. She was in my dream last night, but it was the awesome 1980s Aunt Sharon that I have the best memories of, and it was a lot better than the nightmares I had been having about her sporadically over the last 5 years. Those After-Death signs and signals are so creepy-awesome and it’s been comforting, even just hearing a Bon Jovi jam on the radio in my bedroom, given how shitty and traumatic the last couple of months have been. I  hope things get better soon. :(
  • Maybe RIOT FEST will help!!
• Still trying to get Henry to agree to a Labor Day weekend trip to Louisville so we can see Artifex Pereo. Ugh, he’s being such a DAD about it.
• Three more hours until Sianvar….
• I gave up my seat on the trolley last week to some little kid who was standing with his dad. I hope that one day, when they’re having Christmas dinner, the boy says, “Hey dad, remember that time when the nice lady with the bloody teeth necklace let me have her seat on the trolley?” I could be a legend in their family. YOU DON’T KNOW.
• Gayle gave me 75 cents so now I’m eating a dinner of Cheezits. Thanks, Gayle!

OK, one more hour until I get to repeatedly beat my head off the wall at Smiling Moose. Don’t trip over a dead body when you’re Pokemon Go’ing, friends. Merry Maandag.

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I follow Kesha on Instagram because why wouldn’t I follow Kesha on Instagram, and as soon as she posted about the limited run, small venue tour she had spontaneously put together, my ticket-buying reflex went on HIGH ALERT. And like any good teenager, I was right there on the computer the moment tickets went on sale, because I wanted to see her perform reimagined versions of her songs with the CREEPIES as her backing band.

I mean, fuck yeah, right.

The show sold out in like a day so good thing I excel at this shit.

After eating dinner down the street at the Grant, Henry pulled up to Mr. Smalls to kick me to the curb while his mom screamed and I mean SCREAMED, “have a good time, sweetie!

” while Chooch sarcastically cried, “bye MOMMY I love you!

”

Ugh forever.

Chooch was also mad at me because he didn’t know I was going to see Kesha until that day and felt betrayed that he wasn’t invited to tag along.

Waited in a long line with a bunch of annoying people. Stood near the right side of the stage with a bunch of annoying people. Suffered through a super lame DJ set by DanceCRUSH (yawn) with a bunch of annoying people. I thought the girl member of DanceCRUSH had on a shirt that said CUNT on the back and I thought, “Wow, how progressive, maybe I like these people” but it turned out that it said “Climate” so she went back to being basic and actually her mannerisms and were fairly annoying so I had to stop looking at her and instead I focused on the crowd, the large majority of which was standing still, looking bored, because if this is what they wanted to stand through maybe they’d have gone to a high school dance.

But finally, Kesha and the Creepies took the stage at 9:15 and the couple dry-humping next to me finally moved over far enough that I no longer felt like I was in danger of contacting anything.

You guys at one point they kissed SO SLOPPILY that when their nasty lips finally broke the seal, numerous strings of sticky, slimy saliva kept their faces connected and it was like the most sexual hatching of Gremlins ever. I started burping up the beer I forced back earlier at Grant’s.

Meanwhile, there were these two glittered girls in front of me and we were coexisting harmoniously, screaming when Kesha came out, jumping around together, just being genuinely stoked and enjoying the show, when the boyfriend-girlfriend duo of DanceCRUSH emerged from backstage. The girl part of the duo came barrelling over, pushed me back into the wall, and forcefully hugged the two girls in front of me. And then proceeded to TALK TO THEM in a very annoying “I’M A REALLY COOL LOCAL DJ WHO PLAYS TOP 40 HITS ON MY LAPTOP DID YOU SEE ME UP THERE ON THAT STAGE PULLING FACES AND DABBING?” voice while her boyfriend apologized to me for blocking my view and moved over so his stupid hat wasn’t hitting my forehead.

So he gets a pass.

His girlfriend was a fucking grade A asshole though who, as a “performer,” should have more respect for keeping her faux-ghetto mouth shut while someone is on stage singing but what do I know.

Ugh, I just closed my eyes and saw her stupid face and her stupid fucking hair bun in my mind.

And it was funny because the girls in front of me were clearly trying to enjoy Kesha after they got the HI HOW ARE YOUs out of the way, but that fucking DJ douche just kept on running her mouth and her personality was so exaggerated and cartoonish, like she was created for a Parks and Recreation episode but then scrapped because she wasn’t funny enough.

So basically I missed “Dinosaur” in its entirety because of her inconsiderate jawing off and bun-bobbing but after a few minutes, she screamed, “BRB!!!!!!” to the girls and then walked back to the secret side stage door AND NEVER CAME BACK, SEE YA BITCH.

And then the rest of the night was absolutely perfect, no assholes were around me, Kesha was a beautiful glittered sight, and it was good vibes only.

“Nothing bad is allowed inside these four walls. Not your ex-boyfriend, not my lawsuit—” and we all started screaming so loud that I’m not sure what she said after that.

She did mention her lawsuit a lot and I was extra glad that I got to be one of the people there supporting her in person because the whole situation makes me sick and even if I wasn’t already a Kesha fan, I would be hardpressed not to have her back. There was a lot of “Fuck the man” and “Free Kesha” chants throughout the night and it must have really made her feel great.

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“I’m tired of people saying I can’t sing,” she said at one point, and I’m here to tell you that Kesha can SANG y’all.

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https://www.instagram.com/p/BJGtOo9Am0H/?taken-by=ohhonestlyconcerts

What a fucking hot, sweaty party. After that idiot DJ went away, I decided that I loved everyone around me and it turned out to be one of the best solo shows I’ve attended so far. My throat hurt for two days from all the screaming and it was wonderful!

Kesha is an inspiration. She ended the night with “I Shall Be Released’ and it was really hard to keep the old eyes dry. I hope she never gives up and I hope that Dr. Luke eventually finds himself out of a career. I know that’s not likely because men get away with so much disgusting shit in the music industry, and in general. Oh, to be a privileged white man!

Speaking of privileged white men, when I left Mr. Small’s, Henry was nowhere to be found. Usually his Dad Game is strong and he’s sitting in the car on a darkened street, looking like the fucking Night Stalker, so that I can just jump right in and not have to stand on a corner with strangers.

I didn’t see him and I noticed that he hadn’t texted me his location, which is like Rule #1 in the Dad Handbook, so I called him THREE TIMES and he never answered. I called Chooch, who also didn’t answer. Finally, as I stood there in the dark, the rage brewing inside me, he called me back and gave me some shaky excuse about “traffic.” I snapped at him to hurry and as I hung up, I heard someone call out my name and it ended up being my friend Casandra whom I haven’t seen since like 2004! She recently moved back to Pittsburgh from LA and it was so nice to her familiar face again! She and her husband Steve waited with me and we spent that time catching up and kind of half-assedly waiting near Kesha’s bus with a small crowd while some dickhead guy sitting on the sidewalk kept trying to deter us.

“Do you guys really think she’s going to be here, in such an obvious spot? She’s going to be on the other side of the building,” he said in this lazy lilt that, along with his smudged eyeliner, totally rubbed me the wrong way.

When we continued to stand there and talk, he interrupted us AGAIN and said, “Seriously, I’ve been doing this for like five years and I’m telling you, she’s not going to come out here.”

OK GREAT, GUY! COOL STORY!

“Well, I’m waiting for my ride, and I’m going to just keep standing here anyway, so….” I said, turning my back on him and continuing my conversation with Casandra, so seriously STOP INTERRUPTING. Jesus Kesha, why are your fans such assholes?

Anyway, running into Casandra was like the cherry on top of a fantastic show — I’m glad that someone I know was also there and experienced the majesty that is Kesha and the Creepies!

****
The next day, I was talking to Chooch and he said, “Oh yeah, when I saw that you called me last night, I figured it was because the show was over so I went upstairs and woke up Daddy.”

THAT SON OF A BITCH WAS SLEEPING, THERE WAS NO “TRAFFIC.”

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Today I found out that the band Divorce. called it quits two weeks ago and then I just watched Phelps swim his last race and now the Olympics are officially over for me. 

Also it’s 187 degrees in my house and I’m laying here with three fans on me (not Dans like my phone originally tried to tell you although having three Dans on me COULD be pretty interesting depending on what kind of Dans they were and if they liked good music) and I think I might be internally melting. I made Henry go buy me electrolytes and he was like what is that and I had to basically spell out GATORADE for him, God why do I have to be dating such a dum-dum. 

Chooch is at his aunt Kelly’s house for the night so at least there are only two humans here radiating body heat like really uncomfortable, lazy super heroes. 

BRB going to stick my head in the freezer again. 

Ok I’m back because I was thinking about how earlier when Henry and I were having dinner at Eat n Park ( HOT DATE ALERT), “Warm Blood” by Carly Rae Jepsen came on and I started crying over my salad, seriously, because it made me reminisce about her show that Chooch and I went to last winter and how fantastic it was (and also how there is no humidity in February) and then that in turn made me think about how I will always associate her with Olympic swimming thanks to this video from the 2012 London Olympics, oh god I’m crying again please someone get the tranq gun. 

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We took Henry’s mom to the Grant Bar for dinner on Wednesday, which is down the street from Mr. Small’s and has THE BEST COCONUT CREAM PIE ON EARTH.

I’m not kidding. I’m a coconut cream pie savant, having studied all types of crust, custard, and creamy caps (I prefer a whipped topping over a meringue, for your information). I know a good coconut cream pie. I’ve been disappointed, I’ve been underwhelmed, I’ve been satiated, but rarely have I been WOWED. That old dude at Grant’s knows what’s up. Honestly, I can never even remember how I felt about the actual food every time I’ve left that joint, because it’s the pie that stays on my mind.

THAT FUCKING GOLD MEDAL PIE.

“You’re going to love this place,” Henry said to Judy as we walked in. “Everyone here will be your age.”

And sure enough!

We had a great time at Grant’s except that I hated our waitress. I mean, she wasn’t THE WORST but she was definitely stand-offish and having a rough night and I’m sorry, but if I’m afraid to ask a waitress questions, then what’s the point, why didn’t I just go to a fucking vending machine for dinner.

First of all, I asked for cole slaw in lieu of a potato product for my side, and she MIGHT HAVE TOLD ME at that time that all sandwiches COME with a small side of cole slaw, but instead, she brought me like three servings of cole slaw and I was like, “Oh. OK, wow.” I mean, perhaps I would have asked for cottage cheese instead!

Second of all, I decided after we ordered our food that I wanted some type of beer so that I could calm my nerves because I was going to the show alone and walking into the venue is always the hardest part for me because NO FRIENDS, SO SAD. I didn’t have a drink menu but Henry pointed to a sign on a wall that had some kind of dumb beer special on it so I was like excuse me can I have that and she made a huge deal about needing my ID and then took forever to come back to check it and I was so frustrated because she made me feel like I was abusing my power as a customer by ordering a bottle of beer and I’M SORRY I HAVE SOCIAL ANXIETY AND NEED THIS RIGHT NOW PLEASE DON’T MAKE ME FEEL WORSE.

Third of all, I realized she reminded me of an old boss and that just made it worse.

Meanwhile, Judy was all, “LEMME TRY SOME OF THAT BEER” and took a swig.

She wasn’t impressed.

She shrugged and made an “eh” expression and Chooch leaned over and said, “That moment you make the Trump face” and it was PERF.

“I was always more of a whiskey and water person,” she said matter-of-factly.

And then we got the last three pieces of coconut cream pie!! Henry had to settle for lemon cream so he acted like a little pussy bitch about it.

I wish you could taste this pie right now. I wish I hadn’t eaten a grilled cheese so I could have had two pieces of pie and Chooch could have gotten apple instead, I don’t give a fuck. I wish that old man pie baker lived in my kitchen cupboard.

Apparently, Judy’s mom made a killer coconut cream, so we all braced ourselves  and waited for her to denounce Grant’s limp-writ

Because I was going to a show, I didn’t get to watch the Olympics with Judy that night and I was pretty sad about that. But we got some swimming action in last night! She kept talking about Linda Lasky and I was like, “WHO IN THE FUCK IS SHE TALKING ABOUT’ so I googled her and all I found was a bunch of basic, non-medaling women. Eventually I realized she was referring to KATIE LEDECKY.

The fuck.

Also, she doesn’t care WHAT color Ryan Lochte’s hair is, because MMM MMM MMM. He’s darling! Also, it’s “Lockie” not Lochte. She was very perplexed when he didn’t medal and kept murmuring, “Lockie, what happened to you?” over and over, and it was so depressing.

Judy’s favorite swimmer is Esther Williams. I hadn’t heard of her and when I looked her up, I realized she is old as fuck—so old she’s dead.

Then it switched to gymnastics and she was filling me in on a lot of the things I had missed during the week. “And there’s Aly and….the black girl.” Oh Judy.

Henry took her home today at work, so I had to watch all the swimming stuff without her so no surprise Phelps got a SILVER. NOTHING FEELS RIGHT!!

I just realized I’ve been watching TV all night on the non-HD channel. I’ve been spending way too much time with Judy.

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It’s been a while since I posted photos from my glamorous afternoon walks so here are some right now, can you stand it.

Was Missy shot?

I just like this side street ok?

This view of Liberty makes Pittsburgh look even smaller than it actually is.

A symbol of my fake Irish heritage. (FUN FACT: I’m 0% Irish. Don’t let my name fool you.)

RIP Altar Bar. Saw some good bands up inside you but you were kind of a shitty venue SORRY BUT ITS TRUE. The sound there was awful. I’ll miss walking by on my lunch breaks, trying to catch a glimpse of the bands performing that night, though :(

Ugh ew disgusting I hate Wholeys. Bleh.

I remember when this area used to be the shit. Long live Metropol & Rosebud. At least Costume World is still there?

Wow guys you’re in for a treat: here is where I buy stamps for the post cards I don’t write anymore! (I ran out of recipients. But we had a good three month run!)

Across from the post office is one of the Crazy Mochas I frequent. This one is weird because literally never the same person is working, I can’t understand it. On this day, the most beautiful half-Samurai bun’d man made me a perfect iced soy latte and be busted me every time I tried to paparazzi him.

Also at this Crazy Mocha, if I get there at 1:30, I will always see this super old man who orders the same no-nonsense thing every time: small coffee, filled up with a little room at the top so he can put in his cream, and he pays with a crumpled dollar. I love that man. Carrying the torch for Simpler Coffee Times.

REFECLECTION OF MY IDIOT LEG in the revolving door of the Westin, where the memories of the furries live on in our hearts.

And then I saw the winner of the day’s best t-shirt contest. Michael Myers All Day Every Day.

***

Meanwhile, back in the office, two of the new copiers had malfunctioned, which was hilariously ironic because hello NEW and also because it was the first day that the Ricoh people weren’t on our floor for trainings.

Everything was eventually straightened out (Barb would have had a fit, though) but all this did was make me miss BECKY the Ricoh trainer even more.

I don’t know, why I got it in my head on Monday that I wanted to be her favorite person on the floor, and it was like totally nauseating to Glenn. Todd said, “Well, I think it worked because I heard her mention your name in some of the other training sessions*,” and Glenn was like, “STOP FEEDING HER EGO.”

*(All of the sessions took place literally right next to our desks so everyone on my side of the floor are essentially Ricoh pros now.)

And also, Becky saw the painting that I made for Ethan when she was standing outside of his office talking to him, so then the conversation shifted to how TALENTED I AM (lol) and I was fucking dying because Glenn had his earbuds in, probably listening to some right wing extremist AM radio show, and he missed the whole scene. I considered asking them to replay it but I had actual work to do.

:(

Todd mentioned the next day that he heard the conversation but then he thought, “This is too much” and put his headphones on.

I’m so underappreciated around here!

I’m going to go look for Becky on Facebook now, bye.

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We got a late start tonight but made it home  in time for Ledecky & Phelps. She still doesn’t know that I’m live-blogging this. 

• “18 years old and he’s got an attitude like THAT?! Ew.” Re:Australian swimmer Chalmers’ face. 
• She just made disapproving grunts at the previews for Girl On the Train. But then the Nationwide commercial came on and she approved. 
• Now she’s talking about some guy who used to come into the laundromat who looked JUST LIKE SCOTT HAMIL and she wanted to walk around town with him and have him give out autographs. ???
• “He ain’t about to give them reactions,” Judy said as they showed Phelps in the waiting area.
•  “Her boobs must be like SMASHED in there” as Katie Ledecky tugged on her suit. “LETS GO KARIE, KATIE, whatever.” She’s very proficient when it comes to properly pronouncing her last name though. Somehow. 
• “GOOD GIRL SHE DID IT!”

• Chooch made her popcorn to help calm her nerves. 
• “THAT’S HER MOTHER” after they literally said “here is Ledecky’s mother.”
• You guys Henry’s mom is giggling like a SCHOOLGIRL over Phelps winning his 20th gold. She hates Le Clos so bad and is just flipping her lid right now. 
• “I like speed skating.” “That’s in the winter, mom,” Henry calmly corrected her. “Skiing is ok too,” she went on. 

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• Judy just explained the Geico butt-dialing commercial to me: “See it’s calling itself. This commercial is so stupid.”
• “I want a Michael Phelps jacket.”
• “I DIDNT KNOW GRANDMA USED TO BE A SWIMMER” Judy just shouted to Henry who is only two feet away. “Yeah she swam for Schenley high school. She used to do the backstroke and all those butterflies.”
• Judy thinks she can probably go to the Strip District and get one of those Olympic jackets for cheap. “Well, maybe not cheap…”
• That guy’s got so many jobs,” Judy said angrily about Ryan Seacrest. “He must not have a life.”
• RYAN LOCHTE *homer drool* Sorry. That was me, not Judy. 
• Uh…there’s still another Phelps race to go and Judy left the room to sit and read the CIRCULARS?!
• Judy’s back just in time to offer up a swimming lesson: “You have to learn how to breathe too and all that.”
• This relay thing is about to start and Team USA just walked out. “MmmMmm, we got all the good ones. Phelps, and um…one two three…four good ones.”
• PHELPS’ cap just broke???
• “I can’t believe he lets them put those marks all over him” – Judy obsessing over cupping again. 
• “I hate when they do that – she’s a little bit crooked. What the hell they got, a magnifying glass?” We’re watching gymnastics now. Balance beam, specifically. 
• We both agreed that these girls are fake-nice to each other after they complete their routines but they all really hate each other. The Olympics is bringing me and Judy together you guys. We like and hate the same people. 
• Ok Judy has to take her pill soon whatever that means and I’m going to bed while she continues to mull over the fact that the women’s gymnastic leotards cost $1200. 

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