East Coast Or West Coast Bitches?

So Public Domain just came out with two new shirts for each of the long dueling, unequally amazing coasts. Duh, because I'm an LA kid for life, I pick West Coast. I'm pretty sure everyone lives here. But I have reason to believe some of you are dwelling on the East, and even more surprising is the fact that a few of you may be living in the grey space between the coasts!


E or W. Take your pick ladies. And then cop the shirt, because it's only 20.00. We'll all get together, wear them, get really drunk, and then get geographically belligerent! Holiday memories for everyone!

The Less Brown Side Of The Leaf

It would seem that everyone is in a bit of a funk these days. Well except Alex, who has no reason to be anything but ecstatic since she just got an article in a nationally published magazine. Which is awesome and completely snaps worthy. Oh, am I not conveying the enthusiasm? Sorry. !!!!! There we are then.

So a recent conversation with the dude in my life has opened my eyes completely. It led me to this realization.

My name is Erika and I am a bullshitter.
(Hi Erika.)

I have been half-assing my way through everything in my life. Just enough work in school to get me a passing grade, just enough effort in my work life to not get fired, just as much exercise to lose five pounds (only to gain it back), and just enough things I want to provide me with the minimal amount of happiness. I've never committed to a single thing in my life, only tried something for a little while and then complained that it wasn't working. But this is a terribly un-fulfilling way to live. It's gained me the reputation of never being serious about anything. Of being lazy. Of being noncommittal. And I'm all of that. But I'm none of that. But I'm tired of being like this. I'm in the height of my life, where the world is truly my oyster and I really can do anything. And goddammit, that's going to require me to commit to something. If I want the shit my heart desires I'm going to have to work and sacrifice for it. I can play later, right?

My boyfriend calls me and talks so happily about all the positive changes in his life and how good he feels. And I always feel bad, because fuck, I want that too. I want to be able to describe my life to people with such happiness in my voice and vivacity in my eyes, instead of the weary monotone and dull, glazed eyes I have now. No one can help me. They never could. It's all on me. And I'm going to do it.

I finally got a chance to write a completely new, fully badass, totally fuckmazing chapter in my book of life. I've got my gorgeously trannylicious leopard print, feather tipped fountain pen poised to draw the first line of that big letter at the beginning of fairy tales. And you better believe it's going to be an awesome letter. Like the scrolly, embellished kind with the little leaves and vintage emblems in the corners and whatnot.

You hear that world? Big changes are going down bitches! I'm going to work hard (at this slave labor job I have), I'm going to get a place of my own, I'm going to put effort into my relationships, I'm going to eat healthier, walk more, take opportunites, stop smoking (um, except those fantastic clove ciggies V has), I'm going to indulge in my hobbies, pursue my goals, sing more, laugh more, love more, and treat myself to a movie at the Sunset 5 once a month. I'm going to get amazing grades so my mom buys me a new laptop and I can stop using this hugenormous one from like 2002, with the broken N key, L key, and space bar. I will pay to have the internet put back on my Blackberry and talk to Smarah on BBM. I will paint my toenails and do my reading assignments when they are assigned. I will not let my surroundings get me down. I will not feel self-conscious when those LA brats stare me down. I will learn to live without my television shows and I will fight through the tears, the fatigue, the disappointments, and the anger so I can reach my potential. And maybe get a fucking haircut. Actually, I sort of like the shaggy mop that's taking shape on my head right now.

This is the promise I am making to myself.
(applause)

Deuces,
Erika

Pants: The Antichrist

I found this in my My Documents folder. It was written a long time ago, but had never been uncovered since the original time of entry since my Microsoft Word trial period expired and I never bought the program...until now. So here you go ladies. Let's see how much you wanna wear pants now!

Oh, and on an unrelated note, I accidentally told my boyfriend that I got an offer to start blogging for Missbehave. Then tonight, while talking to him and musing that I felt like I had nothing on which to focus my energy. He said, "What about your writing on Missbehave?" Ai-ya.

Read on:

"I Hate Pants" by Erika - written 1/4/2008

For some odd reason, my place is always way too cold in the winter. Don’ t get me wrong; I’m not Sherri Shepard or anything; I know winter equals hellaciously chilly weather, especially in places like Canada and Rhode Island where it’s winter like, 24/7. Gawd…if I moved up there and opened a cute winter-wear store with like, oh, I don’t know, Bedazzled knit caps and embroidered gloves and shit, man, I would be so rich, dude…But I digress. I thought the whole point of having a place of shelter was so you could live in a climate unlike the one around you. If it’s balls hot outside you want to go inside and cool off. The same is true in the winter. If the nerdy guy on the Weather Channel says it’s like, thirty degrees (ten with the wind chill) outside, I want to be living in sweet, sweet warmth. Ha! unto those who did not purchase sufficient heating/cooling systems. Everyone knows Kenmore is a scam. I should be able to walk around like it’s the middle of flippin’ April in this bitch, not have to cover up in four or five layers of wool and cotton. That’s for those poor saps waiting at the bus stop. In keeping with the aforementioned mindset, it’s not incomprehensible that I should traipse around my house wearing a shirt and leggings. (I make compromises, though, homie. I wear a sweater and socks. Can you even imagine how hard that is for me?) Even then, I’m still past the point of freezing and when I complain about it, like I so easily and always do, my mother tells me to put on pants. Que?! I shouldn’t have to put on pants in my own house! And let it be known that I don’t wear pants not because I feel ugly or weird in them, but because I just don’t flippin’ like pants! The idea of wearing them all the time everyday is second nature to me. And not second nature in the whole “I’m an Olympic diver because swimming is second nature to me” kind of way. It’s like the “I went to Mexico and ended up with a bottle of Valium and food poisoning because Spanish is second nature to me.” Hmmm. In saying that, I feel I may have used the term “second nature” incorrectly, but screw it at this point. What I’m really trying to say, in retrospect, ain’t all that important, but to me, pants are a sign of restriction, i.e. they restrict me from enjoying the nice and casual looking “Crisscross Applesauce” sitting position. Not to mention they’re hella hard to wear sans belt. Try bending down innocently to pick up that Post-It note from the floor and realizing that the entirety of the world can see your cherry colored Thursday panties. (And oh yes, it’s a Monday.) In other words, I like to eschew pants as much as possible. Give me a figure flattering cotton shift from H & M over a pair of “raw” jeans from Cheap Monday any day. We can’t all be size twos. Thus, we cannot all wear jeans. Honestly, this point is becoming more and more moot the longer I bitch about it, so I shall leave you with this pro-anti-jean slogan: Jeans are for losers. (Alright, so I’m not a slogan machine.)

Deuces,
Erika

Do The DANCE

Remember how I was saying that V and I found a radio station that was playing all 80s all weekend? Well they played a ton of great 80s jams that ranged from the ubiquitous to the rare and awesome sauce. So since it's been a day and these goddamn catchy tunes are still in my head, I'd like to share them with you. Come on girls!

Pebbles "Girlfriend"



Madonna "Lucky Star"

Shocking Revelations

Every morning since I moved in, I have been waking up to an empty apartment. My roommates are all gone by the time I open my eyes. I used to think it was because they just had a lot of shit to do early in the day, but now I'm thinking it's because they secretly hate me because I have food in the fridge, a room to myself, and the only TV with cable in my room. Maybe it really is the former, but that wouldn't be as awesome.

I thought this would be like perpetual summer camp. When will we start braiding hair, baking cupcakes, and trading Powerpuff Girls stickers?

Mis ideas son todavia no bueno. Tambien es mi espanol.

Deuces,
Erika

100th Post!!!

Actually, this picture was easier to find than you would think.

So this is it! My 100th blog post! I never ever thought I would get to 100, honestly. When I started this blog in May, my first post was about my mad contempt for that stupid rapper Tyga. And look how far I've come! I've made friends and gotten to know people, I've learned things and even made a few blog-enemies!

You might even say that I've arrived! Well, world, here I am! And I'm taking you by storm! I wanna say super sincere thank you's to Monique, Valentina, Storey Schifter, Jtalk, Lolita Hazed, ShannonElaine, Alex, Mz. Sullivan, and all the people on Missbehave who've ever said something nice about me, my blog, or what I write in it. Oh, and to anyone who ever took the time to email me when there were no comments. And I espesh wanna say jumbo popcorn sized thanks to Sarah Morrison for being so awesome and inadvertently giving me a million more readers! Hearts, girl, hearts!

Here's to another 100 posts! I'm winning out and I'm dropping bottles on you hoes! Don't stop believing!

Deuces,
Erika

Yay For Crim!!

This is Criminal Records. If you live in Atlanta, you should be there.

The death of record stores? Psshah! They're totally alive and well. And even have a day made just for them! In compliance with the AWEsomeness of record stores 'round the country, Paste Magazine compiled this little ditty:

The 17 Coolest Records Stores In America.

Why 17? Who the hell knows? They're not in any particular order, although Criminal does come second on the list...not saying, just saying.

Check to see if your hometown shop is on the list...and then cry/grumble with anger when you see it's not. Because we all care this much about record stores.
Amoeba Records, Los Angeles, CA
Criminal Records, Atlanta, GA [read about Criminal here]
Other Music, New York City
Cat Head Delta Blues & Folk Art, Clarksdale, MS
Waterloo Records, Austin, TX
Aquarius Records, San Francisco, CA
Dusty Groove America, Chicago, IL
Ernest Tubb Record Shop, Nashville, TN
Shangri-La Records, Memphis, TN
Music Millennium, Portland, OR Ear X-Tacy, Louisville, KY
Louisiana Music Factory, New Orleans, LA
Newbury Comics, Boston, MA Grimey's New + Pre-Loved Music, Nashville, TN
Turntable Lab, New York City
The Electric Fetus, Minneapolis, MN
Jerry's Records, Pittsburgh, PA

Big ol' congrats to Criminal Records for keeping it criminal 365 24/7!!

Deuces,
Erika