Pittsburgh threw a huge victory parade for the Penguins last Wednesday and it was estimated that over 400,000 people were in attendance! I was one of those people because I have the convenience of working downtown so me, Amber2, and Mitch took an early lunch and walked on up to the parade route where we were fortunate to get a really decent spot only three heads back! (This was after Glenn reminded me to pee before we left so that I wouldn’t go in my pants.  #workdad.)

All the pacing and panicking I had done that morning was in vain, because it ended up being totally chill and one of the very few times I can recall ever feeling like I belonged somewhere in Pittsburgh, and that the idea of bumping elbows with hordes of Yinzers didn’t repulse me. Everyone standing around us was so wonderful!

….except for this creepy Steve from Blue’s Clues douchebag who came bursting through the crowd out of nowhere as soon as the parade started and wedged himself between Amber and me. I was like, “THE FUCK IS YOUR PROBLEM, DICKSTICK?!” I eventually slipped around him and forced him to move over so I could have my old spot back, but this put him in the crosshairs of some VERY ANGRY YINZER MOMS who started screaming things like, “WE BEEN STANDING HERE FOR 4 HOURS AND NOW WE CAN’T SEE, YA JAGOFF!” and he would just turn and look at them with this infuriating pudding face and then resume taking photos with his dinky point-and-shoot.

I told Amber that he was actually kind of scaring me and she offered to switch places but I decided that I needed to be BRAVE and take a stand. Also, I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to see if we switched.

I kept watching his hands because I was so afraid he had a grenade in his pocket.

But then all I could focus on was all the glorious PENGUINS driving past us so he could have been holding a butterfly knife to my throat and I may not have noticed because of all the hearts in my eyes. It sucked not having there Henry there but he couldn’t leave work and I’m a bigger fan than he is anyway, so oh well.

Suck it, Henry.

The Bonino Bonino Bonino guy was there!!!!

My friend Kaitlin’s husband, Danny! I always get so excited when I see him in the background of the games on TV. It’s like kind of knowing a celebrity!

Kris Letang!

TURN AROUND BILLY, UGH.

TURN AROUND DUPUIS, UGH.

I think Fleury was sitting across from him too, ugh.

Henry and I were talking about Fleury earlier today and I started crying. :(

2/3 of the HBK line!

Sheary, Kuhnhackle and Lovejoy.

You guys. Mario Lemieux. Heavy breathing.

Bonino and Kunitz!

The Malkin Mobile!

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Oh you guys, it was just too much for me. I cried some legit tears. This team just means so much to me! What a great day!

***

The other day, I noticed that Amber has her Thank You, Pens! sign hanging up on her desk and it’s in near-immaculate condition. I have no idea how she was able to preserve it. It was so hot that day that as I was holding the sign between my arm and side, it adhered to my sweaty, moist skin and part of the Pens logo transferred to my arm so it looked like I had a huge bruise for the rest of the day.

No one asked about it, but I was prepared to blame it on when I tackled Blue’s Clues right before he was able to launch his grenade.

The face Henry makes when I make him stay up on late on a WEEKNIGHT watching some girls’ reaction video to the new Pierce the Veil album and then I start crying at the same time she does. 

In other Henry news, I liked him for a minute yesterday. LET ME BACK UP…

My Father’s Day gift to him was giving him some peace and quiet while Chooch and I went to see The Conjuring 2 with Corey, which ended up being a BEAUTIFUL LOVE STORY, you guys. The Warrens are relationship goals, for real. 

I was thinking about them while I was on my break yesterday and it made me miss Henry. So I called him and of course he was all WHAT DO YOU WANT I’M WORKING (he had to go back to driving because of DRIVER DRAMA – typical at the Faygo Factory). 

“God, I just wanted to tell you that I love you kind of!” I cried. 

“…..why? Where do you want to go now?” he asked hesitantly, mentally preparing for how much my latest I NEED TO SEE THIS BAND road trip was going to cost him. 

“Nowhere. I was just thinking about Ed and Lorraine Warren and it made me miss you,” I whined. 

“….I don’t know what that means,” Henry said, sounding thoroughly confused. 

NEVER MIND, HENRY. The moment’s passed. 

I don’t always love Henry but when I do, it’s brief and inexplicable. 

Back to my Pierce the Veil videos. BYE-EEEEEEEE. 

Last Sunday, Chooch and I went to the Pierce the Veil “Misadventures” show at the House of Blues in Cleveland. When they announced that they’d be performing their new album Misadventures in its entirety for this tour, I was all in. I bought tickets for Chooch and myself the second they went on sale (balcony seats because I’m not taking a 10-year-old into the pit for PTV — those girls are aggressive!) and then Henry agreed to be our chauffeur.

Henry likes Pierce the Veil, but what he likes even more is that our kid also likes them enough to be my concert partner and Henry can go off and be an old man somewhere.

Since we had actual seats, I didn’t feel the need to get there hours before the doors opened, but even 45 minutes before-doors, the line wrapped all the way down the block. I just asked Henry how many people he thought were in line when he dropped us off and he said, “Everybody.” It was the longest line I have even stood in for PTV and while it was mildly annoying, I was also really happy for them. They have come so far since the time I saw them playing for 150 kids at an indoor skate park in Buffalo, NY!

Some old man walked by and said, “Wow, this is a really long line. What band is playing?”

“Pierce the Veil,” I said proudly, like I’m their fucking mom.

“Never heard of them. Where are they from?”

I was acutely aware of all the people in line who had turned around to look at me at this point, and I ALMOST blanked! So much pressure! But then at the last second, before any of the dumb kids could steal my thunder, I answered, “San Diego” in a voice quaking with uncertainty.

“I hope everyone fits inside!” he laughed, and as he walked away, I wiped the sweat from my brow. I hate when strangers ask me questions!

However, if I overhear strangers passing around incorrect information to each other, I have NO QUALMS with inserting myself into their conversation. For instance, when the people in front of us where talking about the Stanley Cup Finals and the girl was all, “I think tonight might be game 6 but I don’t know” and her boyfriend was all, “No, I think it’s game 5. The Pens are up 3 games to 1” but I knew the correct answer.

“Excuse me,” I said, holding up a finger. “We’re from Pittsburgh. Tonight is definitely game 6. AND IF THE PENS WIN, THEY WIN THE STANLEY CUP.”

They both mumbled thanks and then turned their backs on the crazed Pittsburgher who couldn’t mind her own business. HENRY HATES WHEN I DO THIS.

It happened later on too, before the show started. We were in our seats (which Chooch found on his own and then an usher came rushing over ready to yell at us for taking seats that weren’t assigned to us and then felt stupid when he checked our tickets and muttered, “Oh, you found your seats”) when the kid next to me said to his girlfriend, “Oh man, I love this song, but I can’t remember who sings it!”

“Do you want me to tell you?!” I leaned over and asked him in this super weird husky voice I get when I’m excited. He was kind of caught of guard, I think, but he humored me by saying, “OK sure.”

“THE USED!” I cried, and he and his girlfriend were basically like, “Cool story, psycho.”

And then I ask myself where my kid gets his know-it-all-ism from.

You wouldn’t know it, but Chooch was saying, “Tampax Pearl!” in lieu of “Cheese.”

There were only two opening bands for this show and while I’m certainly no hater of opening acts, I was secretly happy that this wouldn’t be a super long show. I was way too hyped for PTV and also I was hoping that the show would over early enough that I’d get to hear the final minutes of the Stanley Cup final in the car.

What a conflict to have, you know?

The first opener was Movements. At first, they sounded like your standard Warped Tour-caliber band, but then the SPOKEN WORD happened. Chooch gave me a knowing look because this genre is my motherfucking jam and he knows it.

“Let me guess — you’re going to buy their album?” he said. FUCK YEAH I AM. AND I DID. On vinyl, son. And it sounds glorious.

I the Mighty was next and somehow I have never seen them live. I have no idea how they’ve escaped me this long since they literally roll with some of my scene faves. In fact, they’re touring with Artifex Pereo this fall!

“He looks like Chris Kunitz,” I yelled in Chooch’s ear, pointing to the bassist. And right after that, I got an alert that the Penguins scored the first goal of the game, AND CHRIS KUNITZ HAD THE ASSIST.

“They’re going to win,” Chooch said in a very calm and wise tone. “This is their year.”

And you know what? I felt really reassured and peaceful in that moment, because Chooch knows everything.

Not as much as me. But he’s getting there.

So I will now always associate I the Mighty with the Penguins winning the Stanley Cup.

Chooch made me buy him a soft pretzel with cheese before PTV’s set started. I’m pretty opposed to eating during concerts—it just feels weird to me—but Chooch was in a very good position to ruin my night if I let his hunger get out of hand. A soft pretzel in his pie hole seemed to really do the trick and we were able to coexist peacefully for the rest of the show.

This album is kind of a big deal for PTV fans because it took 4 years to create and it seemed like maybe they had lost a lot of the momentum they had built up coming off their last album.

And for as much as I love PTV (and I’ve stuck with them from the beginning), I didn’t love their last album. I still had fun at their shows but it kind of made me wonder if I was growing out of the PTV scene. Time to move out and buy a Coldplay CD…?

Thank god Misadventures was released and saved me from bland Mom Rock.  I’m back in love, people! This album somehow feels like such a throwback to their first album (my favorite) without making them sound young, regressed, or un-evolved. (You know, un-evolved. That’s a word. You must have been absent the day it was on the spelling test.) I can’t put my finger on it exactly, and I’m not even sure if they did it intentionally, but there are nuances and subtle nods to their past work, almost like secret part 2s or reprises. A “getaway” reference that just can’t be an accident. There were a lot of skippable songs for me on their last album, but Misadventures is fucking solid and I have already come close to wearing out the record.

And hearing them perform it in its entirety was fucking priceless. And for their encore, as the Penguins were watching the clock tick down in the final moments of the third period, PTV came out and played “Bulls in the Bronx” and “King For a Day” — the two songs Chooch was screaming for them to play so of course now he thinks he made that happen, and that’s OK, because I MADE THE PENGUINS WIN THE STANLEY CUP.

PANT PANT PANT.

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This might have been the best PTV show I’ve ever seen. Obviously they sounded fantastic, but that combined with Chooch and me singing our faces off together and the Penguins winning the Stanley Cup—it was a priceless trifecta. So many stars aligned, mood swings remained unswung, not a single douchebag sat near us.

I want to do it all again.

But my favorite part? That Chooch and I got along so magically! Anyone who has ever hung out with us knows this is like some rare familial occurrence. It was really choice quality time, and I’ll tell you, sharing moments like this with my kid is my favorite part of being a parent. He was just a little babe back when I started listening to PTV and now we’re both fans — that’s kind of an amazing thing. The kind of amazing thing that really makes your life feel super rich.

****

Henry was waiting for us in the car across the street from House of Blues when we came charging at him after the show, screaming “PENS!!!!! PENS!!!!!” like drunks. Henry just frowned and yelled at us to get in the car. He apparently spent his time tooling around Target and various grocery stores, which is probably what the other moms did after they dropped their kids off at the PTV show. His frown fluttered into a slight smile when he showed us the limited edition Blueberry Pie Oreos he found. Henry’s life is super rich, too.

i like your starry eyes

they yell SURPRISE SURPRISE

i’m in love but not for long

Yesterday was a good day at Gillcrest, full of productive conversations & planning…just a general sense of optimism. There is still so much to do that it often makes me feel like I can’t breathe, but Henry got the grass cut— so, there’s that.

(Hey, there’s a lot of grass over there!)

Dick in a tree.

Dick on a tractor.

Dick behind a mower.

More Gino Vannelli finds!

And this bitchin’ Winchester shirt that has stains but IDGAF.

I like to turn on the kitchen stereo so the house is full of soft rock. It’s comforting and makes it feel alive in there again.

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One can always count on Chooch for comedic relief.

My mom got a random head lamp thing in the mail as a free gift from Marlboro, so she brought it over for Chooch. But it actually was a pretty handy device for me because I was working on cleaning out some of the drawers in one of the gamerooms that has very limited light.

I haven’t worn one of these since I did that ghost hunt back in 2011!

After we left the house, Henry took us to Page’s for ice cream where I had major ordering remorse. I wanted a maple sundae but I didn’t see the sign for it, so I got the blueberry soft serve instead. And then of course right after Henry paid, I saw my maple queen on the fucking menu.

Dick at the ice cream shop.

“It tasted like ice cream. I never would have thought,” Chooch just deadpanned when I asked him if he wanted to review his ice cream cone.

Seriously, for being my back-up, you can’t really go wrong with soft serve made with real blueberries, you know?

Dick hugging a dick.

Dick with an angel.

Capped off a fine Saturday with “Crimson Peak,” which was way better than I thought it was going to be and felt actual sadness when it ended. JUST LIKE I DID WHEN SATURDAY ENDED.

Never enough Saturday. :(

We’re having a Fathers Day* picnic at the cemetery and Chooch and I immediately started complaining about the sandwiches Henry packed for us. 

“Here’s an idea!” Henry started, and then I quit listening because I know he’s saying shit I don’t want to hear. Stuff about how we should just do it ourselves next time and he’ll stay home, la la la. 

*(This was my excuse to have a picnic but then Henry had to do all the labor lol. And then we had a huge fight in the car because I needed iced coffee and nearly died. #typicalsunday)

I just wiped watermelon on Henry’s leg and now he’s throwing cherry seeds at me. I swallowed one of those at work last week. Goodbye. 

My people and I had a really lovely pre-Pierce the Veil afternoon in Cleveland last Sunday. I just love that city so much, and it’s OK for me to love it because I have zero affinity to our lame football team so I don’t feel like I’m breaking any rules of loyalty or solidarity, like when you keep being friends with someone who treated your other friend like absolute horse shit.

I mean…

I like when we’re blessed with weekend shows because then we have all the time to tool around, stuff our faces, hang with local friends…it’s just PLEASANT. A very PLEASANT feeling all around.

It only takes around 2 hours or so to get there from Cleveland, but Chooch acts like it’s a cross country hike and then winds up sleeping for most of the drive which is fine because sometimes I just want to listen to music and not his psychotically motorized voice warbling incessantly from the backseat.

(He said we have high expectations if we want him to stop talking so much. He’s so strong-willed! God help us.)

Our go-to food place is usually Melt, but the last time we were in Cleveland, we went to Happy Dog and I fucking fell in lust so hard and I’ll tell you why: Froot Loops on a veggie dog and like 50 different condiments for my tater tots!? Is this real life?! I have been dreaming of this place since we were last there in November for the Dance Gavin Dance 10 Year Anniversary show.

This was Chooch’s first time there and he was so overwhelmed with his options, 99.9% of which he didn’t agree with anyway so I’m not sure where the struggle even came from. He shocked us all though by actually sticking a toe out of his basic box and ordering Spaghetti-Os and a fried egg on his dog.

I just now asked him if he liked it and he shrugged while sadly smiling. This kid is the worst when it comes to eating. It’s cereal or GTFO with him. Too bad there are only two Cereality locations left in the world and none are anywhere near Pittsburgh.

When I was pregnant, I went through a really intense condiment phase. I was a few weeks along, unbeknownst at the time, when Henry and I were visiting Christina in Cincinnati. I knew something was awry when we went to Jungle Jim’s and I bypassed the chocolate aisle in favor of MUSTARDS OF THE WORLD. (Don’t worry — there was a fortune teller machine at the store’s entrance so on the way out, I asked her if I was pregnant. I don’t remember specifically what she said, but it was probably something about how even mild-mannered men have a threshold.

Or: “He’s not going to marry you. Move on.”

Then we went to get ice cream and after making both Henry and Christina trade with me, I eventually pushed all of the dishes away and pouted. “I don’t want any of these,” I mumbled.

“Well, what DO you want?” Henry asked exasperatedly while Christina frantically prepared to book a flight to Iran to procure me some faloodeh.

“Horseradish,” I answered without even a second thought.

I even had two hermit crabs named after condiments: Tabasco and Dijon. If Happy Dog had been around then, Chooch likely would have come out of me weighing 15 pounds (as opposed to the 10lbs2oz he wound up being without the aid of Happy Dog’s fatty sauce enabling.)

Chooch at the bar getting change for pinball, knowing I was taking his picture because when am I not taking his dumb picture.

And then there was a weird menstrual interlude, where Henry had to go to Rite Aid to get me tampons because I’m the worst woman, as he always says. It makes him so mad that my purses are full of concert ticket stubs and lip gloss, and not things that a woman/mother should have. Like Kleenex and bandaids? Who knows.

“Get used to this, Chooch,” Henry sighed as he got out of the car to make his lady product transaction. “This will be your life someday.”

“What, buying TAMPAX PEARL? Chooch said from the backseat. And then that became the joke of the day, and he said it every time I took his picture.

(He knows I hate when he makes that stupid chipmunk face so he does it ALL THE TIME. I complain about it now, but he’s going to end up being the next motherfucking Jim Carey with all the idiotic face-pulling he does. His face is like rubber!!)

After sufficiently putting a plug in the menstrual interlude, we met up with our pal Jason at Sweet Moses. Chooch brought his dumb Loom thing with him and was really insulted when Jason asked him if he was making a robot when it’s clearly a PANDA. Also, I only took this picture because Chooch was acutely aware of those girls behind him and he always shuts down when there are girls around.

Henry’s ice cream date.

It’s always nice getting to chat it up with Jason. And finally, over dark chocolate vegan ice cream, I was able to blab on and on about Bled Fest with someone who actually gave a shit and even asked, “What bands did you see?” and as I rattled them off I knew that Jason had heard of all of them and for once it didn’t feel like I was speaking a language no one else understands.

It’s really frustrating not getting to talk about your biggest passion!

Jason had work obligations to attend Taste of Chaos, so we parted ways with lots of hugs (hugging is OK sometimes) and then we went to see THE WATER. Chooch was just happy that we weren’t taking another boat tour.

The whole time we sat by the lake, I kept screaming, “DON’T GET TOO CLOSE! OMG HENRY TELL HIM TO NOT GET TOO CLOSE!” I am way too tightly-wound and paranoid to be a mom sometimes. My mind automatically imagines 87 fatal outcomes for every scenario.

12 years ago, Henry and I sat in this very spot, and Chooch wasn’t even so much of a thought yet. It’s crazy to think about sometimes. But being there with these two idiots made me feel super lucky and content with life. It was a great day, and it was only about to get even better.

(And no—not because Henry proposed to me. Because he didn’t.)

I’ve never been one to have anything useful or profound to say in the face of adversity or in the aftermath of a tragedy. Typically, I sink into a pit of hopelessness and confusion, and do a lot of crying. #secretempath

But what I am good at is pushing music into people’s ears. A bunch of bands I really love have contributed songs to this pro-LGBTQ compilation, and promoting this here is my way of adding my small voice to the cause. Pay what you want, from $1 up, and all proceeds from this compilation will be donated to support the victims of the Pulse shooting as part of the OneOrlando Fund. 

So go on! Add some amazing music to your collection while also helping the victims of a senseless tragedy and their families. You can even buy it as a gift for someone else! 

I 100% endorse this compilation and yes, I purchased it myself. 49 songs, you guys! There’s bound to be something on it that agrees with you.  I’m listening to it right now and crying because when am I not listening to music and crying except for when I’m at work wearing my Normal Lady mask?

Let me know if you get it and if you love it or what! It’s full of beauty. And most importantly, you can listen to it and PRETEND TO BE ME! (Lol.)

CLICK HERE TO DONATE/PURCHASE!!

Plus, any compilation that features Anthony Green is bound to be lit AF. 

Another long week is coming to an end and I’m ready to slam the motherfucking door on it. BUHBYE, STRANGE WEEK FULL OF MURDER AND MAYHEM. Can we call this a…circle point post? Dot point? I don’t want to use the b-word anymore. Fuck the b-word and the g-words too.

• We had a low-key surprise birthday cake for Corey last Saturday at The House. The garbage truck is an inside joke relevant to what our lives have become since March 30th. In light of recent events, it was a relatively somber cake-eating session, but I was pretty high off the fact that I saved the whole entire day when my mom announced she forgot to get candles and a lighter. I’ve been rummaging through enough drawers in that house lately to immediately summon up visions of a box of birthday candles from the 1970s in a drawer behind the game room bar, and an entire canister of matchbooks in my aunt Susie’s room (I chose a book from Tambellini’s in Bridgeville and it got shit done).

• Chooch was in a foul mood during the cake-eating session.
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  I think he partially hangry but mostly just being spoiled because he wanted to go to the craft store and get that loom shit that he’s all into now and we were like WE WILL GO AFTER THIS JUST SHUT YOUR DAMN MOUTH but he’s Chooch and also my spawn, and people like me are unable to keep their mouths shut, so he just kept needling away at our sanity and then started to CRY because who needs drama classes? Not this son of a bitch. His scowl immediately made me think of this picture that Henry took of me years and years ago at Buttermilk Falls. He learns from the best. Scowls all day.

  • He did end up getting his loom shit, but only because he used his own money. I wasn’t rewarding his behavior with free gifts! Bitch, please. He didn’t care. He even asked a Pat Catan’s worker to help him find what he needed because he is way more independent than me. (I guess maybe he gets that from Henry.)

• I purposely switched my late shifts with Amber2 so that I wouldn’t be a zombie at work on Monday since I knew I would be getting home really late from Cleveland. I was looking forward to sleeping in a little, but then I heard Chooch yell something about a succulent, and then I heard the spine-tingling sound of GLASS BEING SWEPT UP. Those little fuckers. Apparently the fireplace mantel is no longer safe, either. THERE IS NOWHERE FOR ME TO PUT MY PLANTS NOW. (Until Henry finally makes me some macrame hanging plant holders. Kara sent me some DIYs to help him get started!) Of course, Chooch only half-cleaned up after his dumb cat (I KNOW IT WAS DREW) so instead of sleeping in, my plant-induced anxiety had me out of bed at normal time and downstairs cleaning up the carnage. Then I tried to relax with a nice glass of cold brew and fucking Penelope was trying to get all up in it. CAN’T A BITCH DRINK HER ICED COFFEE IN PEACE AFTER CLEANING UP DIRT!? Fuck.
  • Speaking of cold brew: guys, get yo’selves a person who learns how to make bad-ass motherfuckin’ cold brew even when they hate coffee. Because that’s what my person does. And he is the goddamn best.
    • YES I’M TALKING ABOUT HENRY. JESUS.
      • I mean, just Henry. Not Jesus.
    • That first time he made me cold brew, though….

• And then there’s the leader of Plantpocalypse: fucking Drew.
• Did I tell you about the time a few weeks ago when I almost got HIT BY A CAR? Well, I almost got HIT BY A CAR, you guys. I was walking to the trolley shuttle (Henry’s fault already, as you can see) and I was crossing the street IN A CROSSWALK when this woman came careening around the bend. I saw her coming and thought, “Oh surely this dumb cooze is going to slow her roll.” FALSE. She just kept coming and then she saw me at the last second, when I WAS LEAPING TO SAFETY. I have never come that close to getting hit by a car, but she was literal centimeters away from clipping me. We made eye contact and I screamed, “HEY!!!!” at the same time she mouthed the words, “OH MY GOD I’M SO SORRY” and then drove off, leaving guilty fumes in her wake. I hope she stewed over that all day, because I know I sure did. I wanted to press charges at one point, but Henry was all, “Yeah but….did she even hit you?” OK, WHITE KNIGHT.
  • The perils of taking the trolley! Henry is trying to have me killed!

• Remember when banana clips were the shit? Chooch doesn’t. He was like, “But why would someone want to wear this in their hair?” Indeed, son.
  • I never wore banana clips because they didn’t look right on me. I did wear those big floppy bows that came attached to french barrettes. Oh man, I had so many of them. I think I’ll wear one to work on Monday and make Ethan jealous.
    • Because he doesn’t have hair.
      • Although, Amber1 did offer to let him borrow hers.
    • He does have a beard, though.

• My excitement for the week, aside from the PENGUINS VICTORY PARADE, which I will post about separately, was watching the first episode of the new season of MTV’s Are You the One and recognizing that one of the guys is from SO YOU THINK YOU CAN DANCE.
  • My life is so full.
• Speaking of a full life, I watched this on YouTube last night because my aunt has me all stoked for Gino Vannelli:

• Today is Thank God It’s Emarosa Friday, so I shared the new Emarosa video with my WORK HOSTAGES and now both Ambers have agreed, upon their own volition, that they will go with me to see Emarosa next time they’re in town.
  • Which is next month at Warped Tour, but I don’t foresee that happening, so we’ll just wait for the next tour, I guess.
  • And then I heard Amber2 admit that she “sometimes has a soft spot for emo music” so now I’m probably going to start making her playlists.
    • EMAROSA ISN’T EMO but that will be a lesson for another Friday. Emo is a tricky subject.
      • WHAT IF I WAS A MUSIC TEACHER IN REAL LIFE?!?!

• Chooch found a Rick Astley tape at my Pappap’s house and went nuts over it. OH THE THINGS WE FIND.
• Speaking of Chooch (but not Rick Astley), he took a page out of my manual and recorded his nemesis LARRY bitching about being under-appreciated. Sometimes I really love my kid.
  • I mean, always! I always love my kid.

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• I accidentally stood up my friend Stacey for dinner last Tuesday. I can’t even believe it and I feel like such a royal asshole. And it wasn’t even like I had blown her off for better plans! It was just another evening at The House, taking out garbage and having Why So Formal pizza.
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  But everything going on has turned my brain into mush and most of the time, I don’t even know what day it is. So basically, what Henry said was going to happen to me is finally starting to happen. “You need to pull back,” he said. “You’re getting too invested,” he said.

  • But, I wouldn’t have it any other way.
  • Anyway, my point is that I’m now officially That Person who is too self-involved to remember a goddamn dinner date. Ugh, I hate myself.
    • SEE?! SELF-INVOLVED.
• Anyway, back to me and my life. Today on my lunch break I went to Nicholas Coffee to buy a new bag of coffee for work because I used the last of my Cafe Orange blend and I can’t be expected to work an entire day on only one cup of coffee. I had every hope and intention of buying Maple Cinnamon but they didn’t have it. Right as the voices in my head had agreed with each other that Vanilla Buttercream was the way to go, a young girl breezed up to me at the counter and asked in the most bored and apathetic tone ever if she could help me. I DON’T KNOW, CAN YOU?! I nervously ordered my bag of coffee and then stuttered when she asked, “Whole bean?
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  ” because she had me so flustered with her brash 70-year truck stop diner waitress attitude. I managed to tell her I wanted it ground and then also slid one of those random Ice Cube chocolates onto the counter next to my credit card. When she came back with my total, I asked her if she also rang up the chocolate, and she waved it off with an eye roll. I started to thank her for hooking it up and she angrily spat, “IT’S JUST 50 CENTS.” I ate that Ice Cube on my way through Market Square and though it was delicious, it was marred by the bitter notes of confusion and humility.

  • But my coffee tastes fucking amazing, so I’ll keep going there and enduring the emotionally jarring customer service I consistently receive. It’s all part of the experience, really.

And that’s all for now.

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

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

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

Because life with a bipolar Leo, amirite?

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

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

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

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

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

Somehow, he was in good spirits anyway.

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

AND SO THE SUMMER OF CHOOCH & JUDY BEGINS.

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

Just gonna leave this here. #relevant

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

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

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

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

“Well, are you?” he asked again.

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

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

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

”

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

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

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

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

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

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

*******

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

Immediately I was leery of this great plan.

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

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

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Seriously. Mario Lemieux.

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

Hossa: Always the bridesmaid, never the bride.

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

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

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

Oh hello, best hockey player in the world.

Fleury was on the other side of him.

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

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

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

“)

More pictures (and larger sizes) here.

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

HEAVY.BREATHING. 

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

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

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

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

OH IT’S COMING. 

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

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

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

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

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