I'm On Cocaine, Like It Was 1980

DUDEZ. In the course of about a week, my life took a full 180 turn. No, more like the illegal solid line crossing U-Turn you make at 1 am when no one else is on the road. That fast. Por serio. I quit my job, got MAD sick, got flight plans made to see my mom back in Atlanta in two weeks, I broke up with my boyfriend and then got back together, I FINALLY got my goddamn cable money, and I had a motherfucking epiphany.

And I met a boy. But more on that later.

I realized, ugh, finally, that I am in control of my own life. My boyfriend was sorta upset that I never seemed to hear him when he told me that, but I'm pretty sure it was a lesson I had to learn on my own. I was bogged down, drowning in the deep end of the pool because I'd chosen to do a cannonball into it instead of climbing down the little ladder, unable to see the light at the end of the tunnel, too possessed by depression and frustration to want to do anything except stumble through the day as effort and pain-lessly as possible.

But then I went to Sunset, like always, on Friday, (and it turns out I've been to Amoeba so much that random employees are starting to recognize me as I scramble between the sale VHS and the sale LP sections), and I went to 7-11. Then I got some hot dogs and sat in front of the CNN building watching Larry King on the big TV with the homeless people.

I felt calm. I felt like things could work out. I felt happy. (Granted, I was unaware that a 50.00 parking ticket was waiting for me three blocks away) I felt unstoppable and empowered and that's how I feel now.

When people are assholes to me (which they usually are), I repeat the words Don't Take It Personally over and over in my head. I feel like I can finally make decisions with my needs more so than others' in mind. I feel like it is possible to seperate yourself from your environment, and not allow it to bring you down or turn you into the bottomfeeders that dwell in it. I know what I want in a friend, and I'm committing myself to finding some. I feel like life can throw a shit ton at me and I can handle it. I'm ready. Come on 2oo9. You're my year.

And I've finally decided on a tattoo: never stop the hustle. And it's going on my forearm so whenever I get tired, or weary, or weak, I can look down at it and remember that this shit is for me. The things I do may benefit others, they may hurt others, they may change the whole goddamn world, but at the end of the day, the things I do are for me.

Ohai, and did I say something about a boy?

So I got suuuuuper sick on Tuesday (election) night. Shakes, body aches, light-headedness, nausea, the works. I went to the fancy schmancy hipster-ish Earth Bar that sits adjacent to the dry cleaners and got something called a Wellness Shot, which is basically a shot of lemon juice, cayenne pepper, and various oils. It tastes like hot shit. And not in the cool way. The dude serving it up talked to me for a bit about how I was feeling and said he hoped the shot worked. We even joked around a little bit. It was sort of freaky though, since that is exactly how I met my boyfriend. He was working in a hipster-ish juice place and I happened to meet him the day I quit/got fired from my job. So apparently bad events are opportunities to meet great people I guess.

Anyway, he happened to stop by tonight when I was at work to ask how things went down. Grossly but shamelessly (as is me), I told him how I basically threw up everything that was in me on Tuesday. He said, "Bummer." And then smiled. He's so sweetcute. Huh. I just realized I don't know his name. Oh but he doesn't know mine either. Ah well. Serendipity. So he said goodbye and then I watched him climb onto his motorcycle and drive off. That's when I knew:

HE SHOULD BE MY FRIEND.

Although I do instinctively want to fuck scruffy haired boys that have cute smiles, I really just want them to be my friends, to teach me how to skateboard and laugh when I burp when we're drinking 40 oz in a treehouse (note: build a treehouse), or assist in my judgment of other chicks at the mall, or stick up for me when someone says something mean. In all honesty, I seek a brother in a male friend (probably since I did have a half-brother, but never ever saw him, so basically didn't have one at all), but oh well. Dysfunction!

Um, plus he has a motorcycle. I die, I die, I die. The chance to ride on that thing would be bitching, espesh if we were going back to his place to play video games.

Now that would be the bomb.com.

Deuces,
Erika