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

Oh...Fuck

It is currently 3:13 am. I saw Wolf Parade at the Variety Playhouse earlier tonight. I wish I could have some really clever, really witty, fucking funny shit to talk about. But I don't.

At 8:00 pm my boyfriend and I parked my car on Sinclair Ave. We saw Wolf Parade and had a fucking great time. By the end of the night, the Playhouse crowd was a hot clusterfuck that smelled like weed (no one shared, thx), sweat, and insert your town here's state fair port-a-potty. People were bumping up against me like some kind of perpetual clothes-on orgy. After the show we ran in April, this really cool chick we know, and invited her to launch fireworks with us. Nice.

Around 12:00 am, with my spirits higher than a kite and a huge grin on my face, I walked down Sinclair Ave, talking with my bf. After awhile he stopped me and said, "Wait, did we park this far down the street?"

Soooo like I said, I wish I could have a funny, awesome story to tell you about Wolf Parade but I don't. Well, I do, but I won't.

Because my fucking car got stolen tonight. You girls don't reside in ATL so no one knows about Little Five Points. It's a shopping/residential area smack dab in the middle of East Atlanta. It's a fucking nice area. So it's like having your car stolen from one of the side streets at the Beverly Center.

My Zune is gone. My planner is gone. My notebook is gone. My H&M purse is gone. All my gift and membership cards are gone. My Burberry umbrella is gone. My radio is gone. My favorite CDs are gone. About $8.00 is gone. My fucking car is gone. And I am fucking pissed.

Sigh...Ay Dios Mio. I know this probably won't help things but if anyone sees a 1999 white Jeep Cherokee Sport with black trim, tag number 908 NNY, Gwinnett County, bumper stickers on the trunk, a Hello Kitty antenna topper, and loose front bumper, please report it to the fucking police. I just want my car back.

I really hate life sometimes.

Deuces,
Erika

Bitch I Stole Your Dress

So the word around the proverbial water cooler is that the fancy schmancy Nina Ricci dress that everybody's homegirl SJP was rocking at the Sex and the City: The Movie premiere in Manhattan (which I'm told is somewhere in Brooklyn) was actually a rerun!

Yeah, so apparently the one of a kind dress that SJP was so stoked to wear has been used before, by Lauren Santo Domingo at a Met gala AND LaLohan in Harper's Bazaar.

Le gasp!

SJP went on the record to say this:
(via OMG!)

"My affection for the dress hasn't changed. But what they did was so short-sighted. It's just unethical and disappointing that they would allow the dress to be worn again."

Awwww...SJP....hang in there. She still came out looking better than Kim Cattrall, so, uh, there's still a silver lining.

Deuces,
Erika