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

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

My Name's Paul, and This Is Between Ya'll

Back when I was still in high school and dreaming of going to LA, my mom told me I had to have a thick skin, because not everyone was nice, or accommodating, or considerate. She told me some personal stories and I realized I would have to get a lot tougher and a lot stronger if I wanted to last out there. See, people are very nice in Atlanta. If you were carrying groceries home and like, an orange fell out of the bag but you didn't notice and kept on walking, someone would pick it up and run up to you saying breathlessly, "Here's. Your. Orange." And then you all would smile and life would continue. I certainly was not prepared.

But you know what? The last place I thought would give me any grief was the internet. Maybe I didn't know what I was getting into. Maybe the greats really didn't have it easy. Life on top is rough...the air is thin and you have to follow the special baking directions on the Betty Crocker boxes to account, but I love it up here and I'm not coming down.

Which means all you anonymous commenters and people who generally just have something mean to say can pretty much do so. I won't trip for even a second. Someone telling me I'm "obsessed" with Sarah Morrison doesn't make me upset. Espesh because it's not true. Or if someone says I'm trying to hard to be funny. Bitch please, I know I'm funny. I don't need validation for that shit. Or anyone else telling me any other shit that's just plain nasty. It doesn't make me cry, or sad, or hurt, or anything. It makes me laugh that someone would take this much time out of their meaningless life to say something rude to a complete stranger. So go ahead! This blog is an open forum, and although that meant it was for ideas and thoughts to be exchanged respectively from person to person, you random ass people can turn it into a place for mudslinging. This blog isn't my entire life so it's pretty sad if it's yours.

Now if you'll excuse I'm going to continue knocking bitches out the box.

Deuces,
Erika

Oh, and in case no one got it, the title of this post is a line from Pulp Fiction, which I watched last weekend because I don't have cable.

Where Do You Work? Oh, That's Right...You Don't...

So if you guys have been reading my Tumblr (or even if you haven't really), then you're semi to fully aware of my roommate situation. Silly me for thinking it would be a good idea to stay with three other girls in a two bedroom apartment. Luckily though, two of my roommates are usually gone for the day or gone for the night. Unluckily enough, my bitfchface roommate is the one who is here the most. Like, more than me. Yeah, I know. That is literally all the goddamn time. She's so seriously the roomie from Hell. She's noisy, obnoxious, inconsiderate, snores like a motherfucker, loud.as.fuck., and she has no idea what personal boundaries are. First she sat in the bedroom all day and watched my television (no, go ahead, we don't all have to pay for the electricity at the end of the month or anything) and then, ladies and gents, she fucking used my brush. Not my toothbrush, my fucking hairbrush. There it was when I came home, sitting on MY desk next to MY shit full of HER hair. How do I know? Because she has these ridiculous gold highlights and I just got my hair re-dyed black about two months ago. And she's completely obliv to the fact that we hate her and sometimes want to sleep.

Soooo...I'm currently in the market to move on up! In other words, get out of this hellhole and into a studio apt of my own. A personal, peaceful living space where my boyfriend can stay when he visits and my friends can stay when we party hardy too late. Where I can buy groceries and not have to share a fridge shelf or put my dishes in the sink and have someone else use them. Where no one else will watch my TV dammit! I'm entitled to these things, right?

And thus we reach the crux of my inconveniencing situation. I don't have a job right now. No job, no place for myself. Currently, my mom is helping me out since I thought it was a good idea to come to LA with just 600.00 to my name.

I don't even know why I'm writing this. I was going somewhere with it, but I'm lost. Wah, I need a job. Wah, I need money. Wah, I need help. Wah, I'm going to need someone to post bail because I'm going to kill this bitch I live with. Wah.

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

The Drop

MTV...we've spoken before. But oddly enough, you guys are not my problem. It's MTV2 I'm taking up beef with.

Usually, I don't mind MTV2. When it first came out, it filled the space MTV had left by playing music videos..alot. There were a lot of special shows that focused on certain types of music, and...oh then, Subterranean was still a living, breathing, thriving musical forum on talent, artists, and videos. Jim Shearer...where for art thou?

Anyway, fast forward 20 hundred years and you guys are nothing more than a born-again MTV for the alternative set. Granted, you don't force me to sit through marathons of Next, Room Raiders, and Real World at 2 am, but I do have to watch a hell of a lot more Wildin' Out and Rob and Big...for some reas0n. Whatev. Your scheduling conflicts are not my interest.

My beef is with this recent institution of yours: The Drop. You claim to be "dropping" new artists and then you torture music lovers by giving them only small snippets of the album during commercial breaks.

But you know what? I personally wouldn't mind The Drop so much if you didn't claim to be breaking new music when you're really just rehashing old school albums and artists for a new wave of "oh, that's indie" kids.

Take, for instance, when you guys featured Kooks. I'm pretty sure "She Moves In Her Own Way" is not on their new album Konk. It's on Inside In/Inside Out. I know this because I got that album almost TWO years ago. And now you guys are playing MGMT. Yeah, that's recent. Oracular Spectacular came out last year, sucked the music world's teet dry, and then retired to a comfy life of occasionally being brought up in the mouths of Brooklynites and neo-psychadelia enthusiasts.

So, uh, thanks MTV2 for beating us indie lovers over the head with music we were listening to back when you guys were still showing your Crank Yankers and Wildboyz lineup at 3:30 am.

Deuces,
Erika

Why I Hate Rock Band

Everyone I know is aware that I hate Rock Band. I do. I kind of really mind Guitar Hero too, but that's more like karoake and Pump to me, so it doesn't really get under my skin. But for some reason, Rock Band really gets me going. First off, I hate those commercials. They try to be funny and sarcastic and clever and all that, but they're lost on me. I know what they're about, but they're stupid.

But I won't continue to talk about adverts forever.

My boyfriend thinks my hate of RB is elitist. Fuck that. You know what, I probably am. When I was in 10th grade, all I wanted was a drum kit. I'd played the flute in MS band for three years (but never got any better) and then took piano lessons under this strict and stringent teacher who never let me paint or grow out my nails. It was boring, but I am an ace pianist.

Anyway, I bought my first drums from Goodwill. It was $25 for four drums that were missing a lot of parts and were pretty crappy, but I sat on my floor and learned them. I bought a ten dollar TEACH YOURSELF DRUMS book. My first pair of sticks were the shittiest ones ever and only cost about three bucks. But day in and day out, I sat in front of those drums and practiced.

Cut to about six months later. My friends and I think it would be cool to start an all girl band. We have two garage sales and raise around $120. With the money we buy an amp, a guitar, and a mic. Then we try to build me a complete drum kit. It's hella expensive. I plead to my mother and she finally buys me a kit about two months later. It becomes my pride and joy. Continuous trips to Guitar Center ensue. I feel empowered when I buy my sticks. I ogle hot boy drummers.

A year and two defunct riot grrrl bands later, I still practice the drums everyday. I am sad to put them in storage when I go to LA. The most wonderful thing that has happened in my drumming career is when I saw this man drumming on an upside down bucket on the street in Atlanta. He was amazing.

I approached him and asked him how long he was playing. He said, "For a really long time." I said, "I've been playing for about a year and I feel like I'm not getting any better."

He said to me, "Keep going. I'm sure you'll get really good."

You don't get that kind of organic, interesting, awesome story from asking your mom to go to Target and buy you Rock Band. You don't get this feeling of accomplishment of learning an instrument from square one and then getting really good at it. You feel like you can conquer the fucking world with that feeling. I don't dismiss the fact that Rock Band gives a lot of people the chance to come out of their shells. I just wonder why people can't just buy a real instrument and do that.

I guess the world likes the instant gratification. Bleh, that's why I hate Rock Band.

Deuces,
Erika

Nope. Not Okay. Not Even A Little. Yep. Nope.

I do not like Pete Wentz. Those who come in close contact with me on a mildly daily basis know this. Last Halloween I got into a discush with two chicks I happened to meet while waiting for MIA to show up for an in-store signing at Criminal and I told them I thought Pete Wentz was "a dick with a body." That shit is verbatim, son. And I stand by it.

Needless to say, I also hate MTV. If it wasn't for America's Best Dance Crew and Next (guilty pleasure, mos def), I wouldn't give that channel the time of day. But I do occasionally watch it, but not for the music, of which there is now none.

It's been like twenty years since there's been music on MTV. I have accepted it. It's okay, okay? Listening, MTV? We're on civil terms as long as the balance you've struck is carefully maintained. Your attempts at music have been few and far between and that's okay. MTV2 is alright with me. I don't know why, but something about it feels slightly alternative. Look, it's cool and that's how we'll leave it.

But why, oh why, MTV would you combine the two most unnecessary things about you (Wentz and music) in hour long block form? What the hell is this? FNMTV? I get it, it's cute. Ahahahaha. I'm laughing. You hear it?

This FNMTV thing, a study in stupidity, is hosted by Wentz, featured the new Vampire Weekend vid, and had commentary by Katy Perry and some passively pretentious music journalist. The show even lets you (sad fatty on couch wannabe music journ), review what you see. Like this girl. She knows things. Music is the new Bono. Lil Wayne ain't.



This is a problem. This is just not going to work out. I don't want to see new cutting-edge vids on MTV. There are other places I can go for that, like the Internet.

In the meantime, MTV, stick to what you're good at: being a vehicle for reality telewhores and geeky highschoolers that want to become hip hop rappers.

Kthxbai.

Deuces,
Erika

The Happening Is NOT Happening

I repeat: The Happening is NOT happening. I made the mistake of going tonight, opening night, to see this movie. I saw the 10:30 showing because the earlier show sold the fuck out before we could even get to the theatre.

Anyway, after standing in the ticket line forever and getting "Umbrella" sung to me by some random dude peddling party fliers and calling me Rihanna (grrrrr), we finally got our tickets for a show that wouldn't start for half an hour so we meandered over to CPK to get some food. While waiting for our takeout, we saw this girl, or maybe woman, anyhow, this chick just sitting all alone at her table. All fucking alone. In a busy, bustling restaurant filled with hearty, friendly banter and waiters laughing with each other and managers flitting around happily. This girl was all alone. Eating her bowl of pasta and trying to distract from the fact that she was by herself by intermittently looking around and checking her cell. My boyfriend and I kept hoping someone would come to her table, whoever she was waiting for, or a friend or her man, but no one came. She had two bowls of pasta and then paid her check and left. It was one of the saddest things I've seen, but I've certainly fucking been there before.

So back to The Happening. OK. Terrible. No, HORRENDOUS. Firstly, it's not scary. Secondly, it's hella gory. And people are dying all over the place. I couldn't handle all the violent innuendo. I was totally doing the peeking through two fingers thing. And the movie goes nowhere. To be fair though, it didn't really start anywhere. I don't want to give away the ending, but this whole thing centers around evil plants, kay? That's why dude threw himself under a lawnmower. 'Cause of a plant. Look, just don't waste your money on this movie.

You'll only be paying for M. Night Shyamalan's summer home in the Poconos.

Deuces,
Erika

PS: Zooey Deschanel, while a gorgeous indie music darling, cannot act for shit. Kthxbai.

Rihanna x Isotoner

They call her Jay-Z's "Little Miss Sunshine." Back in the day, she stole my haircut and everyone told me I looked like her. Appreciate it? No! But then she makes a song called "Umbrella" and everyone thinks, "hey, maybe she should make some..."

And with that anecdote-ish, I present to you Isotoner by Rihanna:



For that $25, you could head down to the Paul Frank flagship store in San Fran and get a way cuter umbrella.

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

I Hate Your Venti Stupid Shake!

btw, this guy's name is matt. so y'know.

Today I went to the doctor. (Collective gasp...) I am fine. Thanks for caring. Afterwards, I went with my mom to Starbucks, which is my mortal enemy, because not only is it a cult-ish establishment, but the people who go and work there are addicts. If Dr. Drew does not get to them soon, well, I fear it will be too late.

So anyway, my mom is badass. We pulled up to the drive-thru window, which is for Fatty Magoo Starbucks drinkers, and the lanky little nerd shilling out the coffee tried to sell my mom a tray of four cookies.

You obvi needed some Wellies to get through the shit he was spreading. She kept saying no, and he kept persisting. She said no, and he said they would cure cancer and help you live a long life.

Finally my mother said, "I want to die." The barista (statistically as perky as a Disney character) frowned and said, "You wanna die? We need to talk." My mom countered with, "I don't even need a receipt, I'm just gonna die."

The barista told us to have a good day. I almost felt bad. Not quite.

(PS: the title of this post was shouted by me at my mother when she insisted on turning the air on high since coffee makes her really warm. i turned the air down. she asked me what was wrong with me. i told her i hated her venti stupid shake, which was all i could come up with.)

Deuces,
Erika