WTF? Blog Fighting?

It should be common knowledge to all you sassy Missbehavers out there that Sarah Morrison hates the word blog. Cool. So do I. So do a lot of people. But then I came across something that made me hate blogs themselves.

How did I come across this foolishness you ask? Erm, I was searching for a way to lose five pounds in four days. Shut up! I have to! My birthday is this Friday and I have a pair of high-waisted shorts I wanted to wear to my party. Yes! I had to buy them a size too small; they didn't have my size. It was an impulse buy, but they're very cute shorts...ahem. Anyway...in my quest for quick weight loss, I stumbled across a blog with this comment in the comments section:

I'm sorry but that was the most poorly written blog that I have ever read. Some of the sentences just run on too long. Besides from that, it is complicated and I don't really think that most people will understand. Deny my criticism as you wish, but I can guarantee you this blog needs some editing. P.S-The idea for the blog post is pretty good though.

WTF?! Is there such thing as the blog grammar police and I just don't know about it? I won't put the author of the comment here, but is he a professor of Rhetoric at Harvard or something?

This is what Wikipedia had to say about blogs:
Many blogs provide commentary or news on a particular subject; others function as more personal online diaries.

See that last part about online diaries? That means grammar, sentence structure, spelling - that shit don't count. People write what they want how they want. So evil grammerphiles stop preying on people that may have slept through 9th grade lit. Stop taking shit so seriously. It's not like all these 18-25 year olds are writing life-altering manifestos on the 'net. Chill the fuck out.

Internetz=peace!

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 Fixed My Clock

I don't like transitional periods. They pretty much suck ass. It's like sitting in purgatory. You don't know if the sitch is gonna get better or drastically worse.

A while back, there was a storm and my power went out while I was out with my cousins. My bathroom clock blinked 9:16 for an indescribable amount of time. I was starting to get used to it. I measured time by whatever it read on the clock. I didn't know what time it really was. When I took a shower at 5:29 (real time, perhaps around 10 am), I tried to finish before 5:40. I was comfortable with not actually knowing the real time.

I cleaned my room. No longer am I wading in a sea of dirty clothing, magazines, dishes, and nail polish. My floor is visible, my clothes are hung up, the magazines are back on the shelves. The calendar finally went from May to June. It's uncomfortable.

After that I fixed my clock. It says the correct time now. This morning while I was brushing my teeth I looked at it and was actually expecting it so say something random like 4:26. But it just said 12:30. I felt disappointed.

It's almost like I am more comfortable in chaos and disarray. Because while it's hella messy, at least I know where things are, how they should be, why they're there. When things are how they should be, I almost feel as if my life is too normal. It makes me disoriented.

Right now things are too normal. I feel like I am stuck in purgatory. Something is going to happen. I don't know what, but I can feel it.

At least while my life is this clean.

Deuces,
Erika