"Fuck You Hartsfield!" And All The Other Reasons Why Airports Blow

What's the sitches bitches? Holy cat on a cactus, I am a sad combination of tired, queasy, frustrated, and...did I mention sad? I'm currently coming to you live from Denver, CO, on behalf of their generous free airport Wi-Fi. So props up to Denver. I can't go on One D At A Time because of..."questionable material" but oh well. You win some, you lose some.

Speaking of lose some, this had to be the shittiest day de la mi vida. My flight from Hartsfield gets delayed about thirty minutes. Cool, cool. We hadn't even left for the airport so things were alright. Then my flight gets delayed another thirty minutes. At this point I am sitting in the terminal, attempting to salvage the shitty chicken tortilla soup I spent my last dollars on (oyeah, which definitely wasn't closed properly and definitely came open in the bag). I am so sleepy that not even cold air can keep me awake.

My flight finally boards at 5:00 pm. When was it supposed to, you ask? 3:35. And did I mention that I had a connector flight in good old Denver to catch? Because I did. But because of my delayed flight, I didn't actually get into the Denver Airport till five minutes before my connector left. Oyeah, and then, because my plane was so small, my lil vintage suitcase had to be checked, which meant I had to wait to get that before I could catch my other plane.

Which I didn't catch.

I'm supposed to be in LA at 7:30. Because I have to take the only other flight going out to LAX tonight, I won't be there till maybe 12:30.

Despite how it sounds, having to kill almost 3 hours in an airport by yourself ain't fun. The high point of this was probably getting to stand on those moving sidewalks instead of walking.

By the way, in the hopes of lightening up my shoulder bag, I put my school books and jacket in my already crowded suitcase. And then I closed it. Lalalala...and then I heard this cracking sound and saw that the back of my suitcase had split open under the pressure. And then upon attempting to examine this further, I hit my head on the metal pillar next to me.

It's one hour till my flight leaves (hallelujah!) and I would just like to say that no one is ever allowed to complain about having to wait for a twenty or thirty minute flight delay. Ever. Because when you do, just think of me.

Ohmahgawd that sounded totally narcissistic, right?

E

You Must Be Fucking Kidding Me

Oh my gawd. Okay dudes, so I came home tonight at midnight, tired from being on my feet for six hours straight and failing to seduce a stray cat (more on that later, no bestiality involved), changed into my PJ's (a pair of 70s style shorts with rainbows and Snoopy's printed on them and one of my bf's t-shirts), screwed the top off the bottle of Arizona Green Tea with Honey and sat down to watch some TV. Ugh, no double ugh.

This Real Housewives of Atlanta show is beyond BAD. It needs a new word to describe how shitty it is. Maybe the antidope. Yeah, it's the antidope. Not only are these women materialistic, shallow and annoying creatures, they DON'T live in Atlanta. Wanna know how I know? It's nearly impossible to buy a house that unnecessarily large in the city of ATL. Plus homegirl said it herself: "I live north of the city." They're living in Duluth and Sugarloaf. I should know, I spent a good chunk of childhood in that nightmarish rose colored suburbian bubble. Both are at least 30 minutes away from the city (without traffic). Plus these people seem like they don't actually understand the city. They constantly compare the party scene to that of NY or LA (oh whoa not true) and one of the even enlightens us about how the city is integrated, how blacks and whites intermingle. Christ, lady, it's the city of Atlanta, not Jasper or Ringgold. Chill down, Martina Luther King. Not to mention aside from the transition shots, you never actually see any scenes filmed in the city. Um and believe me you would know. The city is ugly and dirty, with poor infrastructure and not that much to look at. Plus you would see some bums, some daytime hour hoes, and a ton of people with messenger bags.

Basically this show is an epic fail. A fail more epic than any other. A severe wind tunnel of intelligence and emotion. A black hole of culture. Did I say fail?

I mean, I hate that awful city just as much as the next person who lives there, but it's my city, y'know? And I stand by its poor infrastucture and improper use of city tax money, because that's what citizens (and ohai ex-pats) do. So boo, Bravo and fake housewives, boo to you. Let's start putting the ATL back in Atlanta and creating bumper stickers that make sense!

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

Street Teaming

Did anyone see Death Wish? If not, you need to see all three of them immediately. For your sanity, not mine.

So first off...did everyone in the internet die? There's tumbleweed blowing around. Sarah Morrison is posting five blog entries a day...probably to cope. Should I prepare to attend internet funerals? I have a nice pretty red dress for the occasion. Like, a minidress is conservative, right?

I can't stand this anymore. The idea (and the reality) that some fucking kids have my property and my life and didn't work for any of it. They won't give two shits if anything happens to my planner (which has everything I do and all my numbers and business cards in it. I haven't been able to keep my shit together and I'm scheduling appointments on top of appointments because of it. My Cal State student ID was in that planner as well as really important phone numbers.) or my Zune (which is the first expensive thing I ever bought with my own money. It was 250.00 and I had to take other people's shifts when I was working for minimum wage at Sanrio to pay for it.). That pisses me off.

Because I don't feel like they just took my car. I feel like they took some of my life. They damn sure took my personal property, but they also took my peace of mind, my trust, and my future. I was supposed to drive that car to CA and keep it until I could afford to buy one for myself. That car was paid in full. It was an investment. And those fucking kids don't care.

So I'm taking matters into my own hands. The police aren't doing shit. Nobody else in my life (my mother aside) cares about this car half as much as I do. So I'm going to rely on strangers a little bit. Because, honestly, will it hurt? I'm going Charles Bronson on these motherfuckers.

I'm posting flyers for my car all through East Atlanta. I know you girls aren't in ATL but anyone who wants to help, please contact me. Le sigh. This is not how my life is supposed to be. I should be excited to move, and looking forward to buying new clothes for the new school year. But instead I'm saving up in the event that I have to start putting payments on another car. It's soooo fucked up.

These stupid kids fucked me and I'm going to try my damnedest to fuck them back.

Deuces,
Erika

Party At Missbehave's House!

Dude, if you don't know about this hella fun ish by now, you are hopeless. Missbehave is throwing a sick pool party over at Union Pool. Where is that? Uh, somewhere in NY, obvi. How dare you ask such a stupid question! Anyway, there will be free tacos (epic) and $2 beer, which you really can't get so cheap anywhere nowadays, unless you harass the guy who's running the bar and tell him he can plow you for PBR. I won't be there, even though Sarah Morrison asked to fly me in....but you should!

Plus there will be fun, dancing, giveaways from Nikita, a chance to stalk Sarah Morrison in real life, and maybe your chance to find some summer love!

Union Pool
484 Union Ave at Meeker
Williamsburg Brooklyn
Take the L Train to Lorimer
The Union Pool is 21+ only! Damnit!
RSVP here!

So go forth and have tons of fun, and then totz blog about it so I can remember how little fun I have in Atlanta!

Friends...But Not The TV Show, The People

I really need friends. I'm not gonna front like before I moved to ATL, I had a shit ton of friends, 'cos I didn't. They were all flighty sort of friends that you hung out with and whose houses you slept over and walked to and from school with, but never really connected with. Those girls would ditch you for the popular kids and pretend not to know you if everyone else was doing it.

In fact, when I came to Atlanta, I made more friends than I'd ever had. But they all, in turn, spurned me and left me sad and lost. Somehow I kept fucking up my friendships. It had to have been me, right? That's how I used to see it. They were so much more perfect than me. I had to be the one who was saying and doing the wrong things.

Some girls stayed in my life longer than others, but eventually, they all got filtered out of it, either by some out of hand fight, moving, or just drifting apart.

High school was kind of different. Granted, I faced a lot of bitches, but I thought I had three real friends. Of course, like all girls, they were a lot to handle. One was a chronic liar, one had an eating disorder, and one lived in a perpetual state of childishness. I tried again. I got a spoiled brat, a chick that didn't even have a driver's license in senior year, and a dude that thought women couldn't be rappers. (But he was also the perfect candidate to be a domestic abuser, so we won't go into that.)

In other words, I've never been able to find good, strong friends. I've never had that "tell me anything, I won't judge you, I'll just listen and give you good advice" kind of relationship. I used to spend hours on end telling my mom my problems, but there's only so far you can go with parents, y'know?

I definitely don't have issues making friends. I make friends on the internet, at shows, at the grocery store, blah fucking blah. I have trouble making friends I can hang with outside said internet, shows, grocery stores. People who I can just call and say, "Hey, I'm getting pizza, you down?" and they will actually respond, "Fuck yeah! Meet you there in fifteen." I've never had that.

Well the BBQ yesterday just reminded me of how few real friends I have, since they were all my bf's friends, and not mine. Don't get me wrong, I don't mind doing things by myself. But there's a limit. I was trying to tell this to my bf last night, but he just said, "Dude, if I sat around all day like you, I would just drive anywhere and just walk around."

Sometimes it's not that easy. Sometimes it kinda hurts to walk somewhere by yourself and see people walking and laughing and having fun and NOT BEING HIT ON BY CREEPY DUDES THAT LIKE TO HIT ON CHICKS THAT ARE ALONE, cause that ish is starting to make me crazy. Still, sometimes you want someone to spill your soul to, besides your dog.

Deuces,
Erika

About Last Night

Whoa. Last night was something else. It was some ish that I almost don't even remember. Thank god I wrote it down.

So, if you read the blog last night, you would have seen the post about the Matt & Kim Colt 45 show. It was 21+, but I knew the guy in the band, so my name was supposed to be on the RSVP list anyway. At the last minute my boyfriend decided not to go to the show, so I was left with a gripping decision...go by myself or stay home?! This is when the story goes to present tense and becomes relatively interesante.

At this point, I've already called the guy and told him I'm not going but thanks for the offer anyway. He says it's cool and calls me sweetie. I fumble with the idea of going/not going for awhile, all through Maury and then through two episodes of My Wife and Kids. Finally, I reach the conclusion to just say fuck it and go. Maybe I will get to talk to the bands like the last time I saw them. Maybe I will have a good time and a photo of me doing something goofy or hipster or doing the LA sign will get taken by Oh Snap! Kid and then I will be forever immortalized. Maybe I will run into Portia and her token Greek friend. I am hoping for the last one, because I would like to know if Portia is still in the market for a roommate. Obvi, there are plenty of possibilities.

I call the guy back and tell him I have changed my mind. I leave a voicemail. I wait an hour. No call back. I figure the time to go has passed and other plans must be made. I prepare myself for a night of fun on one. I get in the car and go.

Turns out Marlboros are 3.99 at BP, but only 2.99 at Texaco. Friendly fun fact to keep in mind. I begin driving and driving and driving for days. I go through three counties and stumble upon parts of GA I didn't know existed. I am enjoying the road and my music. Everything is copasetic.
Finally I turn around, head back into Atlanta, and pull up at El Mexicano.

(If you live in ATL and have five dollars, you have to go to El Mexicano. They don't close until 2 am so you have no excuse!)

Everything is not in full swing at El Mex. A few drunk people are laughing, a totally hipster pair of dudes are eating something in the form of a soft taco. I sit in the booth at the end of the wall, right behind this woman who just has plenty of crazy ish going down in her life. I eavesdrop, while eating my complimentary chips and salsa.

She talks of incest, masturbation, men sleeping with 16 year olds, and the very fine line of being 19 v acting 19. She is nice, though, and smiles at me occasionally. They leave, a couple comes in and out, and an old guy reads the paper. I finish my chicken tacos and finally receive said text about me being on the RSVP list. It is too late to get directions to the Unicorn, so I text him a quick thanks anyway.

Eventually I am the last person in El Mex. I end up watching the current soccer game on Fox Sports en Espanol with the two employees. They turn out to be fun, nice people. My tacos + bowl of chips and salsa + 2 waters= $2.81!

So you know, get to know your local Mexican restaurant owners. They could be cool.

After that I leave and start driving. It's only 10-ish so I can still catch a good amount of the show. I think, "Hmmm, maybe I can just stumble upon the Drunken Unicorn." All I know is it's on Ponce de Leon. I turn left and stay straight. Suddenly, I'm driving through downtown Atlanta. I am not going the right way but so many fucking streets in ATL are One Way so I cannot turn around. I keep going straight.

Some odd one hour later, I am hella lost. I find myself in Oakland City, which is a terrible place to be in the daytime and an even worse place to be at night. I try to compose myself and text my bf since he is a directions guru. Somewhere along text/drive-ing and hoping to not get caught in a drive-by I manage to find I-285. I get on it but everything looks crowded so I jump on I-20 W.

My logic makes sense to me, if I take 20 E to get into downtown Atlanta, I would take 20 W to go the other way. NOT SO. Everything starts looking weird. I start seeing signs for Birmingham. My stomach drops. I burst into tears. I am 113 miles from Alabama. It is 11:30-ish. I call my bf and talk to him in between bawling. He tells me I am going the wrong way and I need to turn around.

I do. An hour and a half later I find myself back in Atlanta. Tears have subsided. It's 1 something. I go home, brush my teeth, take off my pants, and fall into bed. Now that I am awake, everything feels like it was a dream. Well, like I said, thank God I wrote it down.

And all while this ish was happening, I could have been in BK helping Sarah Morrison move!

Deuces,
Erika

Great. Like ALLLLWAAAYZZZZ!!!

I finally got the new issue of Missbehave today. So I don't seem like some sloth-ass creature who hibernates during the daytime in her room/cave and survives off KoolAid, microwaveable mac & cheese, and weird grape soda/cereal combos, I have ventured from my homely surroundings into the nasty bright lights and dirty sandy sidewalks of the city of Atlanta before to seek out this elusive compilation of gloss and glitz. But the Caroline St. Barnes and Noble just NOW got it in.

So I made a beeline for it, bought it, and walked back to my car, which was parked at Criminal Records so I would have to actually walk places and be mobile appendage-wise instead of the WAY more comfy motor-wise.

While I was punishing my loins for being fat harvesters, I started to read my copy of Missbehave. Granted, it took me about ten minutes to read the Editor's Letter because walking/reading/not tripping over the many cracks in the sidewalk was a bit tricky, but I did read to page 17 before concentrating on the street ahead of me. So, yeah. Woo.

And might I just add that reading/walking with your head down definitely makes it easy to breeze past dudes that wanna holla at you. This one guy was trying to (and failing to) spit game at me from the PASSENGER'S SIDE of a car ("No Scrubs" anyone??) but I was pretty much giving him the Frigidaire so I guess he got frustrated and finally shouted:

"You got on ugly ass shoes though!"

I laughed all the way to my car. I was wearing my pink sneakers from Urban Outfitters. They are relatively clean, for the things I get into on a daily basis, and the laces are tied. I couldn't see what ish this guy had with my shoes. If I were any other girl with lower self esteem, I might be upset or sad. But I don't sit in a passenger's seat, so we'll see who wins out in the end, bitch.

I guess there was/is some crazy biker fun time thing going down over near the Vortex 'cos the back entrance to the parking lot behind the Tower Spirits was closed and I had to walk the long way, which meant I had to walk by the creepy/ill biker men and got hit on once again, by dudes that could have totally been my illegit dad in a heartbeat. Ugh. Bleh.

Finally, I got to my car and then tried to read my Missbehave a lil more, but it was a failed attempt because it was way too hot outside to just sit in an idling car with the windows down. That whole thing is ineffective when there is no breeze. So I drove off and almost hit a too-cool-for-school hipster couple. Atlanta is chock full of those.

So I went home and then FINALLY got to sit down and read my Missbehave. It was great. As always. It was a long, laborious process, but at least I didn't have to pretend to be happy and excited. It was like genuine sex.

No faking involved.

Deuces,
Erika

I Wanna Go Back To LA Now!!!

Enough trying to be brave and dour...I wanna go back to Los Angeles!! I am now okay with whining like a little baby to anyone and everyone near me about how much I want to be in California again. Who cares if they want to listen? They have to!!! Ughhhh, I hate summers in Atlanta!!! They're so unpredictable!!

It wasn't even remotely warm here until the end of May and as soon as June hit, the temperature went haywire. It's been 93-95 everyday since like, June 3rd or something! Wahhhh, I'm hot!! I don't mind heat, but it feels like the sun is trying to have a piggyback ride on my back. I'm afraid to wear pants because I will spontaneously combust, but I can't afford new clothes and I don't have any good shorts, except for a high waisted pair I bought from F21 eons ago when I'd planned to lose weight.

But this heat is so dry and brutal! It was supposed to be mid 80s today because it's gonna rain, but it's 93 right now! If I cry, will my tears turn to dust?

In LA, it is not going to get higher than 81 this week. Friday, June 20 in LA looks like 75. In ATL, it looks like 86. Someone kill me, and bury my corpse near an ice floe.

Deuces,
Erika

Retail In Review: H & M at Northpoint Mall

Does anyone who reads this blog even live in Atlanta? I know like 89.36372946293022% of Missbehave readers live in New Yawk, and 7.28193907282% of them rep Baltimore. That last 3.92018786273028483% live, um, in New Mexico, I guess.

Anyway, here in GA, we never had an H & M. We finally got one, in Northpoint Mall, in Alpharetta. I arrived very optimistic, and excited, thinking, "oh finally!"

OK. Offish, this H & M sucks ass. The aisles are super tiny, and clogged up with less hipsters, more mall skanks and preppy college kids. I couldn't even move. And then I waited in line for 15 minutes for a fucking changing room because there were only five of them. FIVE. CINCO. CINQ. (5). Everyone was in everyone's way, the selection was terrible, and the jewelry section practically didn't exist.

You know what I think? Nothing compares to the H & M at the Beverly Center. Man, I used to hit that place up and ALWAYS find something hot. I rarely waited for a dressing room and the people there were 72939362930 times cooler. I loved it.

Sigh...maybe the flagship store in Atlanta will redeem their steez. Le sigh.

Deuces,
Erika

Plz Don't Get Silly

This is stupid. And silly. And completely, unabashedly ridic. I hate it. I want to dance to it. I am mildly conflicted, and agitated that Soulja Boy is gaining enough clout in the industry to help other people make dumb ass songs and videos. It's unsettling. Collipark you are (a little) better than this. You had Ying Yang Twins and Young Jeezy for a minute, so you can (kind of) do it right...You can judge it for yourself. It's worse than Tyga.

Actually, it makes Tyga look like T.I. Scary! I saw this on...where? Sucker Free Countdown. Why? Look for the Flavor Flav remix.



It hurts. Viscerally. I promise ATL has better hip hop than this. Really! I'm gonna go sulk at Club Crunk.

Deuces,
Erika