Spear Hunters, Rainbow Feathers, And Spirit Killers

Man, I would love to have a band called that. I think I'll just start bands to name them. We'll have one badass song and then disband. That would be so punk rock.

So I'm standing in my room, putting away my notebook and my roommate's friend Cindy is in there, using my roommate's laptop like always. I say hi and she asks me about my portfolio. (For our English 155 class we have to put together an end of semester portfolio filled with the essays we've written this semester.)

She asks me if I find that class hard and I say no. Boring? Yes. I have an extreme aversion to expository writing; it is more than obvious, I'm sure, that I prefer the more elaborate, richer storytelling side of writing. But hard? Nah.

Cindy then tells me that she really hates that class because her professor is so critical of her writing. She says that she has always had people tell her they liked her writing, and she has always gotten A's on her assignments. But this one professor thinks her writing is "complicated."

I tell her she can't let one person's opinion become fact. She says she doesn't want to major in Psychology anymore, and that she wanted to major in Journalism like me, but has lost her love of writing from taking this class. She says she dreads it now.

It makes me sad to hear things like this, because I can actually relate. In 10th grade, I had a teacher who would never give me more than a C on any paper I turned in, then once told me I was a good writer. I was like, WTF woman? Give me a fucking A then!

But I know I'm a fucking good writer. It just proves that you can't let one person stop you from doing what you want and love. I told Cindy she couldn't let it get to her because she'll be facing that all her life and if she let's it bother her, she'll just be sad and depressed.

Can you fucking believe it? I'm giving out goddamn life lessons now. Who would have ever thought...

But it's true. I remember when I was the Features Editor for my HS newspaper (hell yeah, I wrote the album and movie reviews AND won an award for my review of Justice's + thank you!) and I had to do news writing. I hated it. So very much. But instead of saying, "That's it, I never want to write again," I just said, "I'll never write on a newspaper again. But I'll keep writing."

You guys, never let anyone come between you and your dreams, desires, hopes, wants, loves, lusts, passions, whatever. Just remember: one person having a fucked up opinion does NOT make it fact.

E

If You Could Only FEEL What I Am Seeing

My math class, Developmental Mathematics 93 AKA Math for those who didn't care enough in high school or on the SATs or on the ELM exam, has been a constant source of entertainment since the year started. From the slightly overcast redhead, to the dudes doing the gangsta lean in the corner, to the kids that are always playing with each other's hair, to the "I'm really just doing this for the credits" tutors, I look forward to going to that class for the people. The lessons? Dude, I learned this stuff twice already.

That's right. I had to repeat Algebra in 9th grade.

Anyway, so what's currently panning out to be a potentially exciting and interesting plot development are the love triangles sprouting up all over the place. Well, they're not exactly "love" triangles per se, since they're all crushes, but this is fun!

Let me lay it out for you guys. There are about 7 key players in this production:

Me (puleeze don't ask how I got stuck in this. It just doesn't pay to be a cute girl who can get along with guys well these days)
Chris
Eduardo
Adrian
Hot Topic Redhead Girl (HTRG)
Blond Chick Whose Name I Don't Know (Blondie)
Girl Who Hangs Out With The Girl Who Lives In My Building (Understudy)

So, despite only knowing him for about 3 months, Blondie likes Chris. She shoots him smiles and laughs when he does stupid shit. Unfortunately for her, Chris likes me. These feelings are unreturned, obvi, because I sorta have a little crush on Eduardo. He's really awesome. It's like a baby crush though...it's definitely not going anywhere. Enter Adrian, who hails from Napa Valley and likes me. He asked me to hang out with him Friday night but I told him I had other plans. (Yeah, sit in front of the cough stuffing my face with cereal right out of the box and making good friends with the Internet) Luckily for me, HTRG enjoys Adrian's company. In fact, I thought he was trying to get with her before he suddenly started trying to woo me for some odd reason. Now here's where the Understudy comes in. She has a thing for Eduardo, who reeeeally doesn't like her. Whatevs. I could touch him before she could. But I won't. I can keep my hands to myself.

You see what I am walking into three days a week? A room full of undersexed, overly hormonal kids who are all lusting over each other. I swear...if you came in there, you'd see it too.

E

WTF To Infinity

Hmmm...boys are weird. Espesh boys that hint at things and beat around the bush in reference to things that don't even make sense to you. My boyfriend is talking to me on the phone and is all mysterious and whanot, saying, "I know your dirty little secret."

I am like, "what are you talking about?"

He just repeats the same sentence. I tell him how vague he's being and then he says that he's purposely being vague.

Then I say, "Being vague is for poets and hipsters."

But that's the end of the topic. What is he talking about? It sounded like he was smiling when he said it. Ah well. If he's talking about the blog, then ohai Sam! I love you! But if not then he's found something of mine that I didn't even know about.

Dudes. Boys are so weird. I wish I could throw cats at their heads sometimes. Then again, I'm pretty weird too. Maybe that's why we mesh so well.

Deuces,
Erika

I Got 99 Problems and A Bitch Is One

When I lived in Atlanta I knew generally mean, bitchy people existed, because I saw them occasionally in school or on the train (that's right you guys, I actually use to take the public transit train...sometimes even twice a week!), but I never really came in contact with them. That's why the reality that there are some people out there who are just awful, terrible humans hit me so hard when I moved out here and started frequenting Hollywood.

It's still hard for me to see and experience firsthand the cruelty and rudeness people can exhibit. Just at work, I took a little longer to deliver this man's order. It wasn't my fault, it was a computer malfunction that said his order was somewhere it wasn't. When I brought the order to him he told me, "You know, I would have appreciated it if you'd told me you were going to take so long. I've been standing here for about ten minutes (total lie)." So I quietly said sorry and finished processing his order. After he left I heaved a sigh and said, "whoa, asshole," to another customer who'd been standing there and nodded in agreement.

Then tonight I was at Ralph's, standing in the Rotisserie area to get those fantastic potato wedges that they are ALWAYS OUT OF DAMMIT, and I saw this old lady and this burly dude in line. The dude turns to the lady and says, "You know, it's really rude to have your cart right next to me like that." She says, "There's nothing I can do." At first I think this is a joke, but then realize that he is serious. I can't even believe it. He says, "Well you could have left your cart over there outside of the line." Here this thirty-something dude is, bitching at this wrinkly-stockinged, orthopedic shoe wearing, grey haired old lady who looks old enough to be his granny. I'm in shock. He just storms off and the lady looks worried and confused.

Still, even with all the awful people populating this planet, I'd like to believe that the good outweigh the bad. There's evidence in all the people who have ever given me a hand, given me a job, or given me a chance based on the kindness of their hearts or their sheer amount of compassion. I don't think I'll ever understand why people find their worst qualities and choose to display those to the world, but at least karma will take care of them.

Deuces,
Erika

I Obviously Have A Lot To Learn

Basically I had someone tell me to stop wallowing in my self pity, to go do something with my life, to enjoy the journey, to have fun, to get back up and keep moving forward, to get over myself, to make friends, to stop saying I can't, and to stop trying to have and do everything all at once.

And these were all things I needed to hear. Although I'm not sure if that softens the blow or helps the fact that it hurts so much to be told those things so frankly. It also leaves me somewhat lost and confused towards what the future holds but it also tells me I should stop trying to predict things so much. Maybe I will stop completely. Everyday a new surprise!

Oh well. Cory and Topanga never died.

And you know what's sad? I started crying in Barnes And Noble today. Just my luck they would be playing the new Dr. Dog album (and skipping to the saddest song!) right when I walked in.

*btw, the Chester French giveaway ends this Tuesday (11/2)!*

Deuces,
Erika

Why Are We The Unhappy Ones?

Life continues to surprise me. Seriously. Just when I think people are going to do one thing, once I've really prepared myself for the worst possible scenario, once I've steeled my stomach, locked my knees, blocked out any ways of feeling pain...nothing happens.

I've been going through a few relationship difficulties (mostly, if not fully on my part and my inability to fully express everything that I am thinking without either exaggerating or withholding some of the truth) and at this point, I would have left me. But like I said, people surprise me with their love, compassion, patience, acceptance, and strength. Good surprises.

And in Missbehave news, Emilia wanted to name a mouse after me. So there.

Deuces,
Erika

Fame Is Wasted On The Infamous

I was just thinking to myself, while slowly twiddling my thumbs and idly my time away waiting for my boyfriend to send me my old White Rice drafts, that we are all so talented. And not in that, "Oh, everyone is special in their own way" kind of meaning, but that we are all actually, legitimately talented.

Alex has a byline in a national cheer mag, V should pretty much be writing music related columns in a hip music magazine based in the ungentrified part of Brooklyn, Sarah (of the Lolita relation) has a way with words like no other, and let's face it: I'm awesome.

Just kidding you guys.

But really, we are the youngest members of the Peach Pit (which I still think is cute), and we have so much talent that it's basically oozing out of us. Ewww...gross...But it's never going to go anywhere because we have no ways of getting it out there. Which is why I want to get back in White Rice so badly, because here we are, in the best time to be alive (really though, even with the economy, we're basically living in a time where culture is teetering on the precipice of becoming a serious free-for-all, an explosion of personal creativity and expression) and I want to take advantage of everything. Every time I pass an empty storeroom with a For Lease sign on it, I want to buy it up and make it White Rice HQ. I daydream about sending famous-ish people emails asking them to write short columns. I have a dream but no connections, a will without a way.

If I don't have to buy alcohol or rent a car, why shouldn't I be able to accomplish everything now? Where is this supposed "min age" that is written into people's minds? Maybe it is my "world is my oyster" naivete that is pushing me to believe that I can do it all, and do it all now. In any case, I think fame is wasted on those who choose to do nothing with it. There are so many people out there who just need that chance, to really change the world. Geniuses, masters, brilliant people, who can revolutionize everything, have dreams that are dying everyday because they are not going anywhere.

But the future is coming sooner than we think.

Deuces,
Erika

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

Are You There Internet? It's Me Erika.

This picture was taken at my mom's house last summer. I did not want said picture to be taken. Note the extreme casual wear I'm rocking. That t-shirt belongs to my mother. It somehow has holes in it in very odd places. That was back when my bangs grew free and happily and people mistook me for a 15/16 yr old alot. But I do look skinny in this picture. Ohai, and this is my bf sitting next to me. So I guess you finally get to see him. His name is Sam. He's 23 and he always buys the beer. He used to have very cute short, curly hair, but he shaved it off and now he thinks he looks like a chick magnet. Dudes are crazy sometimes.

I am not one for admitting defeat or incorrectness. In fact I rarely ever do it. If someone is right and I'm wrong and it's obvious, then I have no choice but to say, "Oh I'm wrong," or "Oh I fucked up. Sorry." But those times are few and far between.

Back in Atlanta, I was so unhappy. My close friends didn't get me, the dudes I did like to hang out with always had previous engagements, my bf spent a lot of time working, my mom couldn't identify, and even my dog was slowly starting to hate me. Well, maybe. She started ignoring me alot more and in turn I stopped feeding her. Just kidding.

LA was my ticket to happiness. The cure for my sorrows, my hopelessness, this feeling of being completely lost in my own life. I kept telling people I was leaving the South and never EVER coming back. Most people just went "ohhhh" and remarked how lucky I was. I got cold feet a few times but the reassurance of the people around me that I would be fine kept me going.

I spent my first evening in LA by myself, eating El Pollo Loco, listening to my Niko LP, and sitting on my bed with the window open, a warm breeze carrying in the sounds of far off conversations and outside noise. I texted my bf: You know what Sam? Sitting here on my bed, looking out at the blue sky ad palms and golden buildings and listening to Niko and eating chicken out of a Styrofoam container...I'm truly happy.

Fast forward a month and a half later. I'm on speaking terms with only two of my roommates. I have three friends, V notwithstanding, and they're kind of cool. All I do is go to school and then come home, day in and day out. I filter through so many emotions daily. I haven't been laid for almost three months now. I pretty much take care of this apartment on my own. I'm hopeful, but at the same time discouraged.

But every time I go to Hollywood I'm reminded of why I love LA so much. The constant excitement, perpetual ADD stimulation, the opportunities and the people and, most recently, the strip clubs, make it an amazing place to live. It's truly like no other place on earth. Plus I'm an LA kid at heart...my hometown is Inglewood (holla!) and a ton of the pictures of me smiling and happy as a kid were taken when we lived in Los Angeles.

What gets me is that I don't live in LA (the city). Of course I live in LA (the county), but I really live in the Valley. It's ironic actually, because when my mom and I came here awhile back, I thought to myself, "This must be where people come to die." But then I think to myself, well, when I graduate I can live in LA. I can live in the heart of W Hollywood, which has been a longtime dream of mine. I can get my magazine ambitions underway. I can head out to strip clubs every night.

So I thought to myself, why should I stay in the Valley if it makes me unhappy to do so? Longer story shorter, I've made the decision to go back to Atlanta, transfer to the state college, and finish my education there. Then, when I'm ready, I can come back to LA. I love it too much to stay away forever.

I guess a part of me wanted to prove to myself that I could do it. That I could handle being 2000 miles away from my fam and friends and still make it. I think that every time I don't call someone I know and I rely on myself to just "figure it out," as my bf likes to say, I am proving myself. Every time I use my map of LA instead of calling my mom, I'm doing it. Every time I meet someone new because I made the first move to talk to them I'm doing it. And I feel good enough with this month and a half, so I know I'll be even prouder of myself nine months from now when the school year's over. And that quote JEWELS said only made things better.

But a part of me feels like this is admitting defeat, saying that I can't stick with anything without eventually just returning to what's easy and comfortable. Because I'd almost rather be minorly unhappy and take the easy way out than be majorly unhappy but know I'm doing what's right.

In any case, this time next year I'll be blogging to you good people from the dirty, smelly city of Atlanta. It's not a place I'm fond of, but the gang from Tilly and the Wall really love it, so I guess there's my consolation prize.

Deuces,
Erika

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

Isaac Hayes, RIP

What the fuck is going on? Bernie Mac, Isaac Hayes, George Carlin, Estelle Getty...is God just getting jealous because there are so many angels on earth? What about South Park? I mean, this is ridiculous. Is the apocalypse really coming sooner than we think? I'm going to go brush up on the book of Revelations now...

Deuces,
Erika

She's Just Asking To Be Raped

I got my car back!!!! I was soooo excited that it was recovered and everything was still in it, because we were definitely dealing with the stupidest motherfucking criminals of all time. They left my radio and my wallet and my umbrella. They stole my Zune and the shittiest pair of headphones I own. Ah well. I can get new shit.

Soooo....moving on, my friends and I are having a garage sale. We were putting signs up in my neighborhood when we saw this girl kind of strolling dazed down the street wearing a big sweatshirt and super short shorts. It was around 11:00 pm. I didn't stare, because I didn't care. Sometimes you are inconvenienced by your clothing and your situation at the same time.

My friend doesn't get out much. She doesn't really live in reality. She's never had anything stolen, or done drugs, or stayed out late. Her life is in a bubble. It's rose colored and makes the outside world look very scary and the inner bubble very appealing.

She said to me, "You know, I find it hard to feel sympathy for those girls who are just asking for rape."

I couldn't believe that had just come out of a woman's mouth. I said, "No girl is ever asking to be raped. No woman deserves it."

She replied, "But they might as well. They're just stupid girls."

I almost opened my mouth to protest but realized it would be a futile argument. She would never see my point because she's never know anyone who was raped.

My aunt was raped. She caught a very rare STD which became a very rare cancer. And she died from it, only in her 40's. I don't know what was going on when it happened because I was just a kid, but I'm goddamn sure she wasn't being stupid or asking for rape.

And just when I thought this conversation was making headway. Nah. It's where it always was.

Deuces,
Erika