"They're Going To Pan The Camera Back To Him, But He's Already Gonna Be Gone."

Whoa. I sorta internet died for a second guyz. I know I'm usually over hurr on the daily, popping in and talking about life and love and television and clothes and stickers and ponies and myspace.com, but lately I've been occupado (how the hell does THAT get by spellcheck?) at my mom's house. She's decided to sell the house I lived in in my precious, memory laden high school years. Like I care.

The real important part lies in the fact that I have to clean out everything and make piles of what stays with her when she jetsets to LA (yep, that's what I wanted, to live in the same state as mi madre un tiempo mas - that's one more time, right?) and what goes to Goodwill and what she sells at her garage sale. This is all sorts of crucial 'cos I'm sort of a packrat and I'm always terrified of throwing away some chunk of my childhood that I'll want in twenty years when my children are old enough to care about "vintage" and "retro."

Obvi this is an emotionally and time consuming process; I've been here for two weeks and all I've managed to clear up is one wall...well, it's a corner, mas o menos.

Anyways, if you guys are ever all like, "We need some Erika up in hurr," which I doubt ever happens, feel free to head over to my Tumblr, which I update like two hundred times a day, or you can totally SKYPE me. Not really.

So we'll let this just be my away message, in case I don't talk to ya'll for a minute. Oh, and of course I had to go out with a video. I love this song. It would play at the end of my personal life movie, as I walked into the sunset and the screen faded to black. I mean, obvi I have an active and well exercised imagination.



E

Comics Are Cartoons For Adults

I am so tired. Just tired. Je suis fatigue. I'm hungry and suddenly find myself wondering what ever happened to Joss Stone.

Anyways, this morning was volunteering at Glenwood Elem School. In case you didn't know (which you definitely probably didn't), I volunteer a few hours every week at Glenwood ES in Sun Valley, a small, low income city in the San Fernando Valley. It's pretty easy to miss; the exit for it is right off the 5 frwy, on the way to LA. Almost the entire population is Latino; I think there's only one non-Latino in that whole school that I've seen, and he's black.

My class, room 11, is awesome. The kids are bouncy and loud and remind me of 2nd grade, when you didn't want to listen to any adults and all you wanted was the other girls' approval. Today, I had to help out a little girl named Daniela, who can speak English fine but has trouble writing it. Like serio trouble. The class was writing Santa letters and she needed help.

I said, "What do you want for Christmas?"

She said, "I want the Hannah Montana."

"Hannah Montana everything?"

"Yeah."

*Sigh* "Okay, let's tell Santa that."

It got to the point where I was so exhausted that I had to tell her which letter to write. I would make the sound and she wouldn't know the letter so I had to get crafty. A was the house letter, O was the circle letter, h was the chair letter, N was the little mountain letter, and M was the big mountain letter. It took us 45 minutes to write eight sentences. I was so tired after that that my volunteering for the day was done, son.

Speaking of done, my religious studies class will be offish over in two weeks. Holla! No one ever take that class, okay? To further illustrate (literally) that point, I am going to show you what I do in that class. Uh, I mean besides sleep and skip.


E

MGMT Can Have The Kids

A lot of tiny creatures in my life don't like me. Stray cats run from my touch. Babies pout at the sight of me. Woodland animals scatter upon my entrance. Toddlers see me and go the other way.
Sometimes my dog ignored me. I don't know what's wrong with me. It makes me worry about having children.

I'm pretty sure I want to have some. I'm also pretty sure I hate children. When I babysat, it was always tiring and grueling. I charged 4.00 an hour to babysit a brother and sister who pretty much watched themselves. But I still hated watching those children's TV shows. There was one DVD with a mouse/rabbit that spoke complete gibberish. Then there was Spot the Dog. That show was okay I guess. I thought it was inappropriate for them to call Helen Hel, though. It seemed wrong for children's TV.

Anyway, young children in my old neighborhood were constantly accosting me, even when I wasn't doing anything involving them. I would just be hanging out, talking to friends, when they would join convos. I would say mean spirited things to them, like "Leave us alone!" They remained undeterred. I would ask if they had friends their own age. They would answer yes. I would then say, "Why don't you hang out with them?" Unyielding. We took the convos inside.

Then, when I'm in any public place...grocery store, movie theatre, bathroom, mall, parking lot, what have you...there's always a badass kid doing stupid shit and a parent not controlling him. This happens to me in dressing rooms of shitty clothing retailers like Target or Kohl's. There's a little boy that always wants to try to peek under your door, like a little asshole in training. Parents stand there helpless while he stares at women oddly.

And then there's my personal family. I am not good with them either. When my cousin was about one and a half, I tried to hold her while stepping over a baby gate simultaneously. I was only about eight. I dropped her on her ass. This occurred again, only headfirst. I don't hold babies anymore from the trauma she/I endured.

I also worked at the Sanrio store for six kid filled months. Thanks to this prison sentence, I hate Hello Kitty and yet can rattle off all her friends by heart. It also really impressed into me a deep hate for spoiled little brats. And their parents.

My boyfriend told me if he ever has kids, he doesn't want them to turn out like me. He said this in regards to my eating habits, which are pretty childlike. He says that grilled cheese covered in ketchup and hot sauce, pickles with pepper, hot dogs and pudding, and Spaghetti-O's straight from the can are weird meal choices. I go, pssssh! I was raised on hot sauce. He just doesn't get it.

But then I thought...if I do have kids, do I want them to turn out like me? Drinking at 14, pot at 16, virginity gone at 18...hanging out with 20 somethings at 17 and networking to get into 21+ shows underage? I'm not sure if I would be disappointed or impressed. Or just send them off to boarding school in France?

Deuces,
Erika

Life Over At Myspace High

So I kind of hate Myspace. It's really just a way for uber creepy dudes to spam you like crazy and leave way disturbing messages in your inbox talking about your obvious sexiness or DSL-related oddness. It's also a way for any one single person at your school to find you, say some shit, and still remain completely anonymous. Oh yeah, and it's a way for Myspace hoes to fill your bulletin folder with different methods pertaining to fucking them. You know, so you have options.

But lately I have been on Myspace far too much, you know, chatting with people I enjoy chatting with, but I have also been following this ongoing Myspace drama that's been unfolding in the bulletins folder faster than wet origami.

I assume everything started off with a rumor. Some girl is left confused because she doesn't know what was said or what she's accused of doing. Then apparently her "bff" is unforgiving. Fast forward a million "what did I do?" bulletins later. Said "bff" has blocked some girl on Myspace. Some girl changes her screen name to something of the "Oh No You Didn't" variety. She tells the "bff" that she's done kissing ass and that all her "friends" can kick rocks. All of this, of course, is spelled in Lolcatz. Then some girl changes her screen name to a variation of "Fine Fuck You." I assume from that the "friendship" has been e-dissolved.

Confusing? Hilarious.

Oh, and I have been watching a lot of Divorce Court lately. I really need cable.

Deuces,
Erika