above these words is the trailer for irene in time, the movie i ACCIDENTALLY INADVERTENTLY saw today as a result of me walking into the wrong theatre at the movies. it was the worst thing i've ever accidentally done on a tuesday ever, in my whole life. except for the accident i almost got into about 45 min prior. FORGET THE MINOR DETAILS. LET'S MAKE A CASE!
okay so basically this movie is about irene who's sad because her dad got in a boat and sailed away to boat heaven (OR SO THEY HAVE US THINK!!!) when she was little and now she can't date because she's trying to find a man like her dad. okay god/world. i didn't have a dad growing up. is this cosmic synergy trying to tell me something? fine. i'm in the theatre and i'm stuck because my desired feature started twenty minutes ago. I'M LISTENING. TELL ME YOUR STORY.
so irene thinks she has to follow dating rules and whatnot to get a guy. she has tons of books. she reads them in the pool. they don't seem to work for her. CUT TO scene of her with "current" boyfriend. they're in her room and she's eating food off his plate and chewing loudly and is generally annoying. he leaves. SURPRISE! but it's not because she eats like a cow chewing gum and is loud, it's because HE'S not right for her. the rules, you guys! the rules ain't working! oh noeeessss!
also she's a singer. she sings these awful songs that were originally written by the lady who did the soundtrack. they sound like the end result of setting a jukebox from 1983 on super easy listening. one song is about finding love in starbucks. can't have that kind of crosspromotion, irene! i see all too easily what you did there! (sidenote: there's also a scene where she's sitting next to a table with a pink can of Tab on it. nostaligic crosspromotion! for the record i no longer drink Tab. i have graduated to just getting wasted every night. i am an adult and these are my words!)
so where were we? ahhh yes. so she meets this guy. well, "meets" is a loose term because he is her producer. he is also 'roided out of his mind and sorta looks like he could benchpress me or whatever. he scares me. and i want him to cut his hair and stop looking at everyone like they're his next meal. but irene likes him and that's what's important. i'm here for her. all the best. RIGHT. she doesn't know she lurves him yet though, so she keeps dating.
she meets a guy who's nice but weird and says stupid one-liner type things like, "we will all laugh at gilded butterflies." not really. he is not that smart. not really either. she hates him and dumps him and then it's back to the bathrobe and the wine and the solitaire. THE SINGLE GIRL'S LIFE FORREAL Y'ALL.
this just in! her old ex is back in LA and wants to go to dinner with her. COOL! but he wants to double date. oh boy, what'll she do now? easy. get her lesbian friend to do her a solid! because that's what lesbians are here for! to go on dates with your ex's friends.
so on that date she and her ex go to the bar and talk, leaving the lesbian and dude sitting there. the dude decides she is who he was waiting for (of course!) and asks her out. this is maybe 20 minutes deep into the "date." she says, "you know i am into women. sorry." he kisses her and then she says, "no sir. i will not take your offer for which i would glady date a woman tomorrow." something like that. back to irene. her ex, who hasn't seen her for seis years wants to marry her. MOVIE OVER! not. because irene's a traditionalist and they haven't even seen each other for twenty minutes yet for god's sake! so she says no. sad panda.
CUT TO the roundtable of women in their over-thirties hanging around talking about their daddies. "my daddy was DA BEST. FOR SERIOUS. HE COULD HAVE BEAT YOUR DAD HARD IN A CORPORATE SOFTBALL GAME"..."my daddy was never around. i hate him"..."my dad was so aloof! ALOOOOOOOOOF! 'tis a word i learned today on the internet. it describes my dad perfectly!" it's so sad! it's like drivin' and cryin' but they're sitting in plastic white lawn chairs wearing bathrobes! it's so weird and uncomfy but i can't look away because a part of me wants to walk out of the theatre!
i almost did. but damnit, i paid my six dollars and bought a fucking drink! so i stayed.
so then they're all eating lunchdinner outside. everyone's there. all friends, all family. irene talks to her mom about her dad and her mom's like, "men suck. do it for yourself." irene is sadfaced. CUT TO the lesbian and her mom. she's finally coming out. her mom is shockedface. she's like, "how long have you known?" (because when the stork makes you gay he mails you a confirmation letter and then you KNOW you're gay) and the daughter's all like, "well i used to have crushes on girls but i dated guys and then you and dad made me all angsty and i dated girls." because lesbianism and homosexuality is a form of teenage rebellion! you guys, this is it! we've cracked the code. let's infiltrate the high schools already.
CUT TO one scene where irene and lesbian friend are hanging out with straight and lesbian friends. lesbian #1 is like, "irene kiss her!" lesbian #2 is all smiles. they kiss. because homosexuality is fun! it can be a big fun experiment! get more wine! let's try again! they keep going with other people. it's like girl's night out but no one's standing on the bar and they are in the living room. sadface.
also creepy producer guy is 'bout it, 'bout it with irene. they hang out and kiss and things are greeeat. so she's found a guy. mazeltov! she doesn't need those books anymore. so they have a book burning party because irene is secretly a communist. and she needs to make sure no one else gets those books ever. NO ONE. no one except the fire god, because she must appease him so that he doesn't rip her eyes out while she sleeps. so she sets those pages aflame! a part of me dies inside when this happens. it is still dead.
NOW they're going to move out of their huge villa (villa coola). irene lives in the guesthouse. she is like thirtybillion and living in the guesthouse. she's like will smith and carlton but not as cool because jazzy jeff never comes over. lord knows how many times she invites him. he, too, is ALOOOOOOF! anyway, moving party. enter irene's BRITISH MOTHER WEARING A PINK CHENILLE THROW! because she is old and british. and irene is american! hmmmmm....
in her bedroom, irene is just farting around and finds this hidden secret hatbox that she's somehow missed seeing for fifteen some-odd years. in it are all these pictures. and a leather jacket, so she can look badass. oh, it isn't so she can look badass? pointless, then! the pictures are of this woman who is oldish and brunette and thin looking. irene must find her.
and find her she does. at the catalina jazz club, where all your dreams come true. she introduces herself and blahblahblah it turns out her father knew that lady. she gives her a russian doll set. irene's like, "cool, but what is this?" she's like, "for srs dood? you don't know what this is?" she's like, "okay byeeeee." END SCENE.
then we dig rull rull deep and it turns out the singer lady is irene's real mom. this still doesn't explain why irene is a REDHEAD. i don't believe she's related to anyone. nope. so everyone's sadfaced but then irene's like, "it's whatever i don't care who my mom is. i gotta be finding my papa!" so she opens the russian dolls. the last two are taped. say what (karoake)? it's because there's a message in them. the msg says, go to the sea or whatever! so she does!
and she begins to walk into the ocean and then all of a sudden i'm like, "is she gonna go straight into the ocean? is she gonna die?" i was on the fucking edge of my seat with excitement you people. but she did not die. she found her father who had just been sailin' around for like twenty years. ain't no thang.
OH ALSO the producer guy is married and with child. he left irene and broke the news to her at the airport. because he is an asshole and he's got to get home to benchpress his wife and child.
i hated that movie.
E
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
i've made a grave mistake
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Everything's Better With Porno!
Soooo...as sadcute as it is to admit, I didn't have anything better to do tonight than go see a movie by myself. It was either that or sit home eating those fancypants Stouffer's TV dinners that I bought on sale from Ralph's 10 for 10.00, but those were just glorified Kid Cuisines (remember those? My epic domestic fail mawm basically fed those to me at least three times a week during mid to late childhood), so I chose the former option.
I went to the theatre and after a brief scuffle with a man with a super intense stutter and overflowing amounts of pedo-creepiness (for surrious sir, I don't want a boyfriend on the side and even if I'm lying by saying I'm still in high school, you shouldn't be hitting on me) I sat down to watch this lovely piece of cinema entitled Serbis with the other eight people in the theatre.
I'm not gonna sit here and be like, "Ooooh, it made you think and it was soooo arthouse and good and even though you're not gonna get it, you, like, get it, man. You just get it." Because you won't and it isn't and I didn't and two hours later, I still don't know what I saw. Plus it had subtitles. And the sneak-uppy kind that don't hit you until three scenes into the movie when everyone stops speaking English and starts speaking this English/Spanish/Filipino hybrid and the subtitles kick in.
Um, basically it's about this family that lives in this huge theatre where they also, oh, you know, just happen to show pornos. Pretty run of the mill. All the gays come to the theatre and then sell their bodies (totally just thought of that to the tune of Mariah's "Touch My Body") and so while the movie's running, everyone's pretty much sucking dick for dollars or pesos or chocolate coins or whatever the currency in the movie is (I'm not really sure) and then a goat turns up and then a girl gets pregnant (this is not a spoiler) and trannies give "strutting" lessons. The house is pretty cool though, really big and ornate with a fuckload of stairs. I mean seriously, by now I would think someone might have looked into putting in an elevator or an escalator, but, you know.
Oh and people are naked a lot and there's a non-porno sex scene which is hot in a strange way (kind of like how really fucked up porn still turns you on even though you tilt your head and squint to look at it) and I guess this movie is fantastic if you really feel like bumming around in a theatre for an hour and forty-five minutes and have a friend to talk through throughout the whole thing, because really, you could tune in at any given time and have the same amount of back-knowledge.
If all else fails and my deeply introspective and incredibly riveting review of this feature didn't satiate your needs, here's the trailer. And if that doesn't help, then get the fuck outta my face, because you're probably hopeless and have no business watching movies or reading about them.
E
Monday, January 5, 2009
Happy Women's Self-Empowerment Week!
Apparently, in between socially oppressing us, limiting our choices when it comes to things that should completely be in our control (y'know, like our bodies and our hormones), telling us what we should look like, and then feeding us one contradiction after another, they gave us a Self-Empowerment Week.
Awww thanks guys. We'll totally sleep with you now that you're really starting to warm up to the struggle. Thanks for seeing our side. And oops, there went my panties!
Personally, I'd like to think I empower myself, regardless of whether society or men or other women (for that matter) are aiding in it or not. I mean, not to say I'm a fucking one woman army or anything, but I do what I want and I'm not so easily going to let someone stand in my way of it. I'm also pretty sure that despite the damsel-in-distress image society constantly pushes on us, we can handle ourselves and be independent. Then again, I forgot that "empowered" means not crying when you break a nail.
Which is stupid, because that shit hurts reeeallly bad! Just thinking about it makes me cringe.
But since the rest of the world decided to acknowledge us poor women we might as well put down the sewing needle and let the cookies burn in the oven right? I think I'm going to take this week to do whatever the fuck I want. And that includes fucking. I'm gonna have a motherfucking ovary party! Hey BOY, get the fuck out of my way! It's my week! Go shave or something. Or maybe make me a martini!
The girls at Jezebel, of course, being twenty million times more witty and smart than I, have way better ideas for how their spending this ONE WEEK.
In addition to bossing around the boy parts in my life, I think I'll also just fuck tampons and pads and bleed my woman juices all over the place! Deal with it!
Omigod just kidding. I'm not a savage. Although it does seem like a funny thing to do when you hate your roommate.
What about you bitches?
E
Friday, December 19, 2008
Yo Dawg I Herd You Liked Memes So I Put A Meme In Your Meme So U Can Blog While U Blog
I have finally discovered the Xzibit meme. If you are not big on Tumblr, chances are you will have never seen this, but I happened to stumble on this glory awhile back, and decided to look into it. From that point on, I found nothing but treasure. No one is really sure who exactly started it, but people have been DIY-ing this shit ever since the first one popped up. This is the best meme in history.
The Xzibit meme wins 2008!
Head over to my Tumblr for the other awesomeness you probably missed.
2009 memes have big internet shoes to fill!
Oh god, I sound like Hipster Runoff.
E
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
I...Don't Even Have Words
What the fuck is this? I was Googling something completely un-Elmo related when I stumbled onto this picture. All I know is this would have scared me shitless when I was like 5 or 6. I can't even bear to look at it for an extended period of time. *shudders*
E
Small Town Girls With Small Town Realities
So it's nothing new that I left Atlanta to come to La La Land for school and life. Blah blah blah. But I was on Myspace - the dreaded enabler of cyber-bullies, child predators, shitty bands, and self indulgent emo kids - recently and I saw something that messed with my head a little. So anyone who's still using Myspace nowadays has noticed how it suddenly has this shitty Facebook-esque feature called People You May Know in which they display the profiles of people in your area/who listed the same school as you/whatever.
The scariest thing is the fact that I recognize half these "people I may know" because they went to my high school. Ugh. I hated HS because the people there were narrowminded, judgmental, cliche, and boring. No one got me. No one tried to. I was that one alt fish in a sea of mainstreamers. Anyways, the fucked up thing isn't the fact that those stupid kids are suddenly popping up again, the crazy thing is the fact that they haven't left their homes.
I went to HS in a retarded backwards area called Duluth, in North Atlanta. It shares its name with Duluth, Minnesota because the rail line runs through both of them. Ugh. It was a stupid place. It was suburban hell. Basically I spent any and all my time downtown or in the East, where people didn't judge and everyone was cool.
When I was a senior and I told people I was moving to CA, they would always get wide-eyed and say, "That's so far!" In a ridic semi-Southern accent, natch. But basically everyone funneled into three schools: Univ of GA, GA Tech, or GA State. Anything besides that was unheard of, and actually moving downtown to attend said schools was equally rare.
So what I am trying to say, in what seems as drawn out and muddled a way possible, is that leaving behind that security was the best thing for me. What if I had stayed there? I could still be living with my mom in the suburban pit o' doom. Take my old HS friend for instance. Homegirl is 19 and she lives with her mom and takes the train downtown because she's too afraid to drive on the highway.
Chances are, I wouldn't have ended up like that because I am so independent and urban. But it's scary to think that if I had stayed there, I might have.
E
Monday, December 15, 2008
"Boooyahh! The Baby Is Black!"
So I got my cable transferred from my old apt to my new fab apt and because of that, the cable dudes gave me free Showtime for a year. I was not about to argue with something that awesome. Sooo...with my newfound Showtime-iness, I decided to pretend I was like 3728973281 thousand other Americans and tuned in for the Californication season finale.
Now, I've never seen a single episode, so all I knew was there was a goth girl and the big Duchov was a sex addict in the real world. These things became irrelevant, however, because the recap took care of everything I did not know beforehand.
So the show. It made no sense to me. I don't understand how people tuned in for a season of this. I was pleasantly suprised when the preggers chick had a black baby and then Duchov started dancing around.
And someone please explain to me if Hank has a wife? I can't tell, because he is getting frisky with girls all over the place. I am sort of confused. And whose child is the goth girl? And why is he writing a book on a typewriter? And why is he writing a book? And how were people fucking with their clothes on? And...? And...?!
Thus I deem Californication the most confusing and Los Angelian show on Showtime.
WTF to infinity.
E
Saturday, December 13, 2008
"The Only Time People In LA Are Nice To Me Is When They're On Drugs!" And What Else Happened at Bright Lights
If anyone remembers, or chooses to, or doesn't give a shit (I still love you), V and I went to the Bright Lights Fashion Show at the Regent/Safari Sam's downtown last Wednesday. Holy complicated run-on sentence Batman.
Due to some personal confusion (on my personal part), we got there two hours before it actually started. Because of this, I suggested we make a Hipster Bingo card. It was sweet. And we got to see Mossy Stone play. They were really good. I liked them a lot and the guy we deemed the Alt/Xavier hipster played in it. We found that to be pretty alt of him.
Then there was this girl, who was not only totally Missbehave, but a model and from afar, V thought she looked like Sarah Morrison. We then assessed that that was because she was hanging around the DJ booth. But she was badass. On the runway, homegirl started break dancing!
I forgot to mention, the DJ was kinda not good. Like sort of too into his music to think about what he was playing. V drew a line chart describing this phenomenon. It kinda went like this:
Sorry guy. Better luck next time?
Then Ellei J came by and took our pictures. She asked me if I was going to blog about this. I said, excitedly, "Yes!" I looked like I was on X (-stacy, not -anax):
Here's V. I think I can put her picture up. It might be creepy/illegal since I didn't ask her first. Oh well, I love lawsuits!
And there was actual fashion too! Once the show started, things got better. Kaviar & Cigarettes was my favorite line that night. I mean, how cute are cigarette earrings? We found our favorite Alt Model (we, btw, used the word "alt" about 2438984038 times that night. We described everything with it. By probably misusing the word to an extreme level, we were pretty alt.), then there was this guy (when he came out I screamed, Is that Steve Aoki?!) and then an X-ed up guy gave us a hug on the street corner.
I said, "The only time people in LA are nice to me is when they're on drugs!"
Then the dudes from Saint Motel caught us walking away from the Regent/Safari Sam's/building and talked to us. Um, yeah, I'm not at liberty to disclose anything that followed. Because it was weird and creepy and it's best if only V and I know what happened.
Finally, after trying to find the alt model, and failing, we went to Pinkberry. Not really. I was trying to convince V to hit the strip club, but she said the club was sketchy on a Wednesday night. I countered by saying, "No, that's when they bring out their A game!"
E
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
No Mas Antelones!
I have no idea what the word for ant is in Spanish. I just call them antelones since it rhymes with pantalones and sounds really cute. Plus screaming No Mas Antelones really loud is sorta fun. Anyway, I'm having this mildly serio ant problem here in La Casa Del Diablo aka my apt. Obvi this is because my flighty, inconsiderate roommates like to leave the patio door open without closing the screen door. I've told them time and time again to close it (it's a fucking sliding screen door, why is it so hard to close? you are already up opening the patio door!).
So instead of walking all over the place the ants seemed to have conglomerated next to the couch. Actually next to the right hand side of the couch. Actually just on the right arm of the couch. I don't understand either. They cause me no inconvenience except for the fact that I put my food on the right arm of the couch.
What I am really trying to say through this touching and charming anecdote is that these ants need to vamanos. Really. Does anyone know how to get rid of ants without having to like buy expensive traps and whatnot?
I've just been spraying them with Lysol and swearing at them but it's not getting the point across. Sometimes I don't even think they're listening...
E
Friday, November 21, 2008
Being Poor CAN Be Funny
We were talking about minimum wage and living conditions these days in my English class today. Instead of super analyzing and getting mad intellectual, we just ended up swapping stories from our past min wage jobs.
This one is my favorite. This dude named Juan told it to us and we were all cracked up for a good five minutes straight.
"I had this job once where I had to wear a suit. So I bought one and the motherfucker paid me less than the suit."
This just in: poor, even now, can still be funny.
E
Friday, November 14, 2008
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
Thursday, November 6, 2008
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
Baby Dick...?
This whole thing is disturbing for a couple of reasons. First, Dirt Nasty (Simon Rex) is rapping. Second, this entire song is set to various scenes from Family Guy. Third, the idea of making a song about baby sized dicks is just plain weird.
Deuces,
Erika
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Edible Men Taste Like Dark Chocolate?
I have never understood the allure of Axe Body Spray. Strike that. I was in high school once. I get it. 14 and 15 year old boys think bathing in it will get them well-endowed blond pigtailed European girls that look good in bikinis just like in the commercials. That's cool. They have about two more years to learn that usually the only girls that date dudes that smell like that are of the Jersey Shore, Staten Island variety. Not saying, just saying.
Even still, I have a hard time finding the demographic this commercial would appeal to. Maybe bakers? Guys who work in grocery stores? Maybe they are looking to capitalize on girls' period cravings. Also let me say this is one of the scariest fucking things I've seen in a commercial since Ronald McDonald. Kthx.
Deuces,
Erika
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Notorious Is Super Original
We all remember the ish that went down back in the day when Tupac got assassinated. There wasn't a movie made about it, but they released like 70 albums in his honor. No such musical vigil was crafted upon the death of Biggie. In that absence, a few (or some, or a whole crew of, who knows) people got together, did some research with Big's mom, and then chose a kid who looked like lil Big. And then they held these auditions. And then they made this trailer.
I don't know about you, but I'm "hypnotized."
Deuces,
Erika
Thursday, September 11, 2008
We'll Be Dancing By The Fire, Fire, Fire
Well this morning was the best start for a day I could have asked for. Someone in an apt below me must have said "Hey, let's start a fire." Naturally everyone around him agreed. And by doing said suggestion, they set off all the fire alarms in every apartment and the hallways. Just imagine those fire drills you used to have back in middle and high school, the loud ones with no warning. Okay, now imagine waking up to one at 8:30 am.
Thanks guys!
I thought it was my alarm, so I turned that off, but the noise continued, so I thought "Oshit, let me check the kitchen." Nothing. I was the only one home. So I grabbed my key and walked out into the hallway where the noise was unbearable. Five minutes later, I'm standing outside with the other tenants, no shoes on, wearing just a t-shirt and leggings, hair unbrushed, face unwashed, teeth unbrushed...I had just a little more dignity than when I have to do my walk/drive of shame home.
The fire department arrives, assesses the sitatuation; we watch as the flooded water comes pouring out of the little gutters underneath the apartment. People are moaning because they have to get to work/class/breakfast/something. I'm moaning because I still had two more hours to sleep. So now I'm back, wide awake, forced to actually get ready to go to school.
So, yeah, thanks guys for giving me the best wakeup I've had...ever! I really apreesh it, really I do! I love the feeling of cold morning air when I'm wearing next to nothing. Oh! And I really like it when people try to have extended convos with me when I haven't brushed my teeth! I owe you guys one!
Deuces,
Erika
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Mmmm...Do Not Want
I came home today, sweaty and exhausted from riding my bike from school in 93 degree heat, ready to collapse onto my bed, eat a chocolate pudding cup, and watch Tyra. I opened my front door, staggered into my room, and stopped.
There were two people in my room. And another bed. A made one at that. And did I mention there were assorted boxes and bags littered next to the bed?
Um, I have a new roommate. Who likes to talk on the phone...loudly. And puts a big emphasis on cable television. And likes to be in the house...alot. Ugh. I'll update later as the development...erm, develops. Thank god I place to my complete own is not that far away. I wish I had a way to update everyone minute by minute. Maybe I'll get a Twitter...or Tumblr. Options...
THIS JUST IN:
TYRA WILL BE ROCKING CUBANNIE LINKS ON HER SHOW TOMORROW! OMG! I JUST SAW THE EPISODE PREVIEW! THIS TOTALLY NEEDS ALL CAPS FOR EMPHASIS! WILL REPORT BACK ON THIS!
So where was I? Oh yeah, I'll tell you all about the new roommate situation later. In the meantime, I think I'll get that long awaited pudding cup.
Deuces,
Erika
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
If You're Fatty And You Know It Clap Your Hands
Did you know that Lucy Ball was a size 12? And she was a model, but one of her legs was longer than the other so she had to wear special orthopedic shoes.
Whoa...this post is about to go from shallow to deep so fast I advise you to just put on your floaties now because you won't have time once you get pushed from the kiddie pool into adult swim. Oh yeah and stop me if this gets too "Sarah Morrison" Mr. Anonymous Fucker, but really fuck you and fuck off.
I'm not actually fat. Not by any standards, except maybe for the modeling industry, which, funnily enough, is what I'm choosing to base my body image off. I know, I know, bad Erika. Don't you know those bitches are starving themselves? Of course. Don't you know most of those photos are Photoshopped to oblivion? Hell yeah. Don't you know that's an incredibly unhealthy standard by which you choose to measure yourself? Do you think I'm stupid?
But using that logic, I must be because I still do it. Up until around 8th grade, I was a skinny girl. My metabolism was fucking out of this world. People used to worry about whether or not my mother fed me. You could've probably wrapped your pinky and thumb around my wrist. Then in high school I got lazy. I moved out of my old house (leaving behind my old friends) and into a big new neighborhood full of girls that weren't the outdoorsy type. I got stir crazy because I'd hung out with all guys in my old neighborhood. We rode bikes, played basketball, walked to Blockbuster, went swimming, played tennis, handcuffed each other and did various things (hey we were pretty sex-crazed little kids), but we could never stay indoors. If the temperature was above 20* and below 100* we were outside. But my new friends in my new hood were different. They were the girliest chicks I'd known. The only time we were outside was to walk to the car because we were going to the mall or the movies. When we went to the pool it was to tan. Sometimes we played Frisbee but someone would always get tired and suggest going inside to watch MTV.
So I just ate and ate (no, pot didn't help this) but never exercised. And I got heavier. In my freshman year I told myself by the time I was a senior I would be able to confidently wear a bikini. I tried to work out but I could never get my eating in order so it didn't make a difference. By the time I graduated HS, I certainly wasn't confident enough to put on a fucking bathing suit, let alone a bikini. I began to obsess about the bodies in the magazines and how gorgeous they were. My own body image got so skewed I didn't know what was fat or skinny anymore.
But I know I'm not fat. The last time I was weighed at the doctor, I was 132 pounds. That's not fat, of course it isn't. I'm a healthy size 6/8. Fuck, sometimes I wear a 4. And sometimes I wear a small. And then sometimes I wear a large. It's really whatever. But even at 132, I feel like I have a lot of weight to lose. I can't really tell what is and is not beautiful. Sometimes I can look at a magazine and see a girl with a flat stomach, tiny hips, no breasts, and a flat ass and I say, "Oh she's gorgeous." Then my bf's like, "Ugh, she's awful looking. I want a woman who looks like a woman." Which I suppose accounts for why he's with me. I certainly have a womanly body. The curves, the bosom, the hips, the huge ass. I try to force myself to be comfortable with it, but it's certainly a struggle.
I've starved myself before. I've been on a liquid diet. I've gone to bed hungry...a lot of times. I've denied myself food all day if I knew I would eat dinner with friends. I've measured every inch of my body with a tape measurer. It's extremely depressing. I've eaten out my stresses and worked out till I felt sick. I hate having so many issues with my body. I hate my body. As the legendary Tracie Egan once said (and I'm totally paraphrasing), "Some women look good for men and some women look good for women."
I don't do it for the men. Whatev. I like sex but I also like vibes. I do it for the women. For some reason, I feed off that feeling you get when you look good (and you know you look damn good) and as you walk past, chicks stop conversing just to watch you go by. I hear "There She Goes" by Sixpence None the Richer in my head. I feel unstoppable. I feel thin.
Deuces,
Erika
Friday, August 8, 2008
Boys Who Like Girls Who Like Girls Who Like Boys
Yesterday I was in the car with my boyfriend. He started talking to me hypothetically about what would happen if he moved to San Fran after I moved to LA. I listened. I also interrupted a few times to interject the necessary sarcastic comments.
By the end of his hypothesizing, he asked me, "So if I had a box of stuff from my ex, would you make me throw it out or let me keep it?"
I said, "Whoa! You got that off Missbehave!" I pointed a finger dramatically for effect.
Bashfully he replied, "What? No I didn't. I'm just asking."
I persisted, "Yes you did! I can't believe you read Missbehave!"
Finally he said, "Yeah. I read your comment and wanted to see what you would say."
He's reading my comments? He's just a hop, skip, and a jump away from my blog! Boys are crazy!
I just threatened to kill him and then we called it a day.
Deuces,
Erika
Sunday, August 3, 2008
This Week On The Music Front
Ugh, it's Sunday. Normally this would make me so bored and stir crazy I would want to scoop out my eyeballs and eat them with fava beans, but with all the shit that went down this week, this Sunday was a godsend. Plus I definitely had things to look forward to today.
24 TheDeathSet
