Saturday, May 20
 I...I'm so sorry...my blog is out of control today...and my hair is scaring small children and dogs are humping my leg because they think I'm their long lost sheep dog girlfriend from seventh grade. And..and...I'm really sorry because I made myself a vanilla shake and didn't ask my room mates if they wanted any. Wait. I'm not sorry. They ordered pizza and didn't ask *me* if I wanted any. So nyah.
11:31 PM | 
I'm pretty much done with the new graphics...I like them A LOT better than the old ones. There was something missing...no flow or theme at all...just random stuff thrown up everywhere. I am hearting it a lot more now.Jem is truely outrageous... No really...she is. If anyone's feeling generous...I really really want the Strawberry Shortcake Live! album so I can sing along with the Strawberry Rap.
10:57 PM |
Hey man it's all good. It just seems that everyone always gives Michigan a bad rap. Nothing personal; just built up angst.Have fun at your PJ party. And don't forget the Pine Sol. And a spoon. And your slippers. And JuJuBees.
10:00 PM |
I'm doing some redesigning...so if my site looks like poop I'm sorry!
9:38 PM |
I have a headache. A really bad headache. The kind of headache that makes you just want to sleep but you can't sleep because your head is pounding so badly. My eyes are tired. My brain is tired. I am bored. I'm talking to someone on AIM that I really wish I wasn't talking to...this guy from my job that annoys me. Besides, he just told me that the boy I am perpetually crushing on is moving in about three months. I'm sad, but happy in a way too. Maybe if he moves I won't think about him so much and have little dizzy spells each time I realize what he's really about.
8:22 PM |
I've been reading my favorite blogs today and there are quite a few that are expressing quite a distaste for the whole blogging thing. I guess I can relate. What I don't understand is this: if you don't like it...why do you feel the need to be a part of it? Why do you let yourself get to the point that you feel such a strong negative attraction to blogging and the so-called "blogging community"? I know I'm still pretty new to this, but that seems awful silly to me.I will be the first to admit that I've blogged waaaaaaaaaaaaay too much this past week. It's still new and fresh and fun and interesting. If it ever gets to the point that it's not all of those things any more, I'll quit. Simple as that. There are plenty of other things to do in this world to waste getting upset and melodramatic about why you hate the blogging community so much. If you hate it, quit. Don't worry about what the people that frequent your site will say. They'll stop coming if you stop writing. Self-inflicted discomfort is never necessary. I know it's hard and it sucks. I experienced the longing for "what it used to be". I was in denial. But I did it. I left something that was very important to me for a very long time in my life. It stopped being important to me and started being a habit of perpetual negativity. I found very little to no joy in the atmosphere any more. I kept going back because I felt like I had to. Found out awful quick that I didn't *have* to...I was allowing myself to hit refresh 20 times a day and I was allowing myself to get upset over something that, when put into perspective, didn't mean that much after all. This sounds so preachy. I hate sounding like I'm the all knowing all feeling all experienced One. Feh. Buddha has mumbled.
5:59 PM |
Katy posted something about a device that helps women pee standing up. Well we don't even really need a device!
3:48 PM |
How strange is it that I haven't slept past ten in literally MONTHS and MONTHS...and then the minute I say to dozens of people that it bothers me, I do it? I woke up at exactly 12:34pm eastern time. I also woke up with a strange yet intense craving for a Pop Tart. I haven't had one of those iced psudo-pastries in years either...but damn it I want one right now. Since I don't normally shop for blasted Pop Tarts, I don't have any so I've settled for a Quaker Chewy Granola bar. And a Fudgecicle. But don't tell my mom I had that for breakfast.My eyes are all puffed out too. Man, I must look like I'm stoned...eyes all puffy eating a god damn Fudgecicle for breakfast. I am, however, resisting the urge to have a Pepsi right now. That stuff is worse than crack cause it's legal and much more available. I had the strangest dream just before I woke. Actually, I think it's what made me wake up. See, I have nightmares a lot. I have had them since I was a kid. I'm not just talking normal nightmares, either. I'm talking about hardcore blood and guts and guns and family members and familiar places...things that could happen. I wish I had nightmares or dreams that had me flying through the air or swimming in the ocean with the mermaids or winning my second grade spelling bee. I don't though and I suppose I've just gotten used to my messed up dreams. Last night, I started out in my Grandma's huge yard, on her farm. My entire family (when I say entire family, keep in mind that means literally over a hundred people) was there, celebrating something. I can't remember what, but it sure did seem important. The next thing I know we're at a little league field and one of the kids is missing. Of course, since I've always wanted to be a Charlie's Angel, I volunteer to go searching. I come across the dastardly neighbor and he shows me the child's baseball hat and flies away in his boat. I tell three other people...two more women and one man that are in my family in my dream but whom I don't recognize...and we take off to the neighbor's mansion. We have to travel through a forest. He has set many traps for us. We manage to get through. We make it to the mansion where he's set even more traps, and deadlier ones. One of the women and the man get hurt...pretty badly...but we all still manage to go on. We finally make it through the mansion and into the den, where Mr. Crazy Neighbor is holding the child with a crooked elbow around his little neck. We all slowly inch our way towards the neighbor and he then pulls out a gun and shoots the man in the leg. He informs us that if he wanted to kill the man, he'd be dead. Mr. Crazy Neighbor is a good shot. I sneak around through the other door where I end up closer to Mr. Psycho and the kid. The uninjured woman leaps forward and tries to grab the kid but he points the gun at her stomach and I say, "No! Don't shoot the baby!" (apparently she's pregnant) so he turns and shoots me. In the head. He also gives me an injection of pain killers in my thigh. I fall into a chair. I feel the blood dripping down my forehead. My family members rush to me, while Mr. Psycho Killer realizes what he did and shoots himself in his own head. I feel fuzzy. I realize I'm about to die, but at least I saved the unborn baby. I'm not afraid. Than I wake up. I think I need to go back to therapy.
1:07 PM |
Friday, May 19
I've already blogged way too fucking much today but I can't let this moment in my life pass without capturing it somehow.My housemates' little girl (age "7 and a half...almost EIGHT") went away today to Brownie camp with all her little seven and a half year old friends. She's gone tonight, Friday, and will be back on Sunday. She left me these on my couch without my knowing:
 
Such a simple, honest, loving thing for her innocent brain to think to do for me. I am, currently, sobbing in marvel of the act of simplistic love. It's really made me remember...that is how we are supposed to live our lives. Fresh. Simple. New. Loving. We make things so god damn complex and they needn't be. Life isn't about feeling old or young. It's all about hearts made out of leftover vinyl from Brownie projects that convey pure, raw, untarnished feelings and the joy they give someone. I was told by a psychic that I'm supposed to be there for that child throughout her life, guiding her as a sort of spiritual teacher. I think maybe the psychic had it backwards.
11:38 PM |
I think I'm getting old. I know that twenty-four isn't OLD...in the grand scheme of things...but I can't help but notice my own age these days. My tolerance for people has pretty much gone out the window along with my ability to sleep in past ten. I used to be a champion sleeper-in-er. I could sleep until three in the afternoon without...ahem...a blink of an eye. Now it seems that if I sleep past Saturday morning cartoons I'm wasting my day away. My mom used to say that..."Erica you're just wasting your whole day away"...like I had anything better to do. All I had to do was make sure I arrived at my part-time job somewhat on time, make sure that my homework was somewhat done, and keep my bedroom somewhat clean. Oh how I long for such little responsibility.This is not to say, however, that I have uber amounts of the world's weight on my shoulders, respectively. I'd say I have a pretty low amount of stress compared to some. I don't have any kids (knock on any piece of wood I can find) or a house payment or a serious disease. I still have my siblings and my parents in the world to enjoy and love. There are thousands of things I should be thankful for and thousands of things I should be thankful that I don't have to deal with...and in my head I know this. Why is it, then, that I can't seem to accept it? I can't seem to embrace that I'm getting older and I enjoy things like gardening and knitting. I can't get past the fact that I wake up early and drink hot tea while reading the news sites...cause now I actually care about what's going on in the world...sort of. I suppose it's all relative. What makes me feel stress might be nothing for someone else, and vice versa. I know that in my head but I can't seem to live it. I can't seem to get past the fact that I'm no longer a child without any cares in the world and nothing better to do on a Saturday than sleep. My weekends now consist of running errands and cleaning and doing laundry and visiting. No more parties. No more frivilous shoppig sprees at Target. No more weekend camping trips whenever the hell I want to just pick up and go. Sure, there is a certain amount of freedom that I enjoy...but it seems that with one ounce of freedom I also take on five more ounces of shite. I take responsibility for the fact that I've aged a lot in the past few years. I'm actually quite proud of it for the most part. I'm a lot more respectful. I'm a lot smarter. I've just lost the sense of Erica that I used to have...I've lost the vigor and the push and the fire. I've traded them in for lavender plants, Earl Grey tea, and knitting needles. But I know how to make my own vanilla extract and I make a mean mushroom lasagna.
10:13 PM |
I've found ONE sort-of-a-waitress-type pinup. I'm not going to link to her cause I'm pretty sure I'm going to end up using her somehow on Zuba's site. It's going to be called (tentively) WalkingBitch's WhiteTrash Diner. teehee. I love it.
9:16 PM |
I can't seem to find any waitress pinup girls. I've found everything from a girl shooting a shotgun to a girl laying on the moon. Help!
8:15 PM |
Why does Michigan always get a bad rap?Cause we're wacky, I guess. ()@#(*#$)!(@#*$_!)@(*#!@)!@(*$*&%#$%!_@#!)@(#$*@)# Hey, man, we're not all bad.
5:55 PM |
Apparently everyone is confused about what I'm holding up in that there picture along the right-hand side of this page. Ya know, the one that I'm holding something up close to the camera. How about this...besides the people I've already told...*coughzubacoughdianecough*...Can *you* guess what it is? I'll bet you can.
5:10 PM |
Want to learn how to knit?Knitting is more popular than ever before, especially with young hipsters apparently. Guess that means I'm hip since I taught myself how to knit.
4:35 PM |
Shel Silverstein's works for...*ahem*...adults. I surely didn't know he wrote A Boy Named Sue.
3:30 PM |
Does this make me weird?
12:50 PM |
Diane! This one is for you, babe. ;)
11:56 AM |
Melissa, the best place to find computer parts is at pricewatch.com.
11:47 AM |
I hate waking up late. I hate the initial panic feeling of, "Ohmygod that clock can't be right cause if it is I'm supposed to be at work in...uhm...one minute." I always fly out of bed and stumble around trying to find clothes that are clean, match, and aren't wrinkled. Then I have to try and find socks that aren't too much of an offensive color next to the outfit I've just found. Believe me when I tell you that is a real task; I have mostly crazy pattern socks rather than plain colored ones. For example, today I am sporting white socks that have a silver Buddha on them and Chinese writing all around (I'm so paranoid about that...what if my socks say, "I'm a big ol' dork and I smell funny, too," in Chinese? I'd never know, that's for sure) the rest of the sock. Ya can't exactly wear those with anything in your work wardrobe but today is super casual [in english: jeans and tennis shoes] day at work so I'm safe. Whew.And of course I didn't have the time or the head-out-of-your-ass feeling enough to find something in my fridge to bring for lunch, so now I have to buy lunch AGAIN. I'm poor, dude. I can't afford to be actin' all high fah-loot-in and goin out to lunch two whole days a week. Next thing ya know the IRS will be a' knockin on my door askin me where I'm gettin this extra stash of cash. heh. That rhymed. I'm so easily amused when I'm tired. Last thing...Delia fargin' rocks. I had to call her and tel her Zuba's kd lang story. I was going to call her and tell the story and then go to bed. *BUZZ* Thank you for playing...try again. I ended up yapping at her until 2:30 in the AM. Not a good thing when you have to wake up at seven. But hell, I woke up at nine...what am I complaining about? Besides, I couldn't just hang up. We were having a supa deep conversation, doood. Fer real fer sure. Like, WOW.
10:37 AM |
I can't believe this. This is simply the best story I've heard in YEARS...quite possibly ever.My beloved friend Zuba and her Manly Man, Eddie, went to the Entertainment Weekly 10th Anniversary party. They had to sort of sneak in because they were using Zuba's sister's friend's tickets. Whatever, they were there. Free food via buffett tables. Free drinkies via bartenders. Life's good, no? They knew that kd lang was going to play since she was on the very first cover of EW. Zoob isn't exactly what you'd call a big fan, but whatever...it was free. The two of them are up near the front of the stage, about a foot or two away from the edge. kd comes out on stage, looks at Zuba, and kind of smiles. Zuba brushes it off as kd checking out the crowd. kd sings a few songs from her new album. she then comes over to zuba, grabs for her hand, and sticks the mic in her face and says, "I'm going to sing my one hit for you now. Why do you think I've only had one hit?" Zuba retorts, "Cause they don't know what they're missin, hon." ON THE MIC. In front of hundreds of people. Zuba continues, "Ya know, you have a really nice smile...it lights up your face," and kd blushes, giggles, and hides her face. People were going up to Zuba for the whole night making comments about how lucky she was that kd was hitting on her.
Someone took her picture. Who else would this happen to?! Only Zuba. Only only only Zuba...the girl that got her crotch bitten at the bar. Only Zuba...cause that girl *radiates*. ;)
12:07 AM |
Thursday, May 18
I really don't feel like cooking. I cooked last night, damn it. Maybe I'll just eat olives and that wonderful creation...Whole Fruit Sorbet instead. And Pepsi, of course.Misty wrote me back. I don't feel like such a dumbass any more. I mean, I knew her when she and I both posted on the BUST boards, so I guess it's not like I'm a total stranger...even if we never really did agree on much. I still highly respect her opinions. My lovely mother just called to tell me that she accidently opened a piece of my mail that got sent there. I believe her. My mom isn't viscious or mean or sneaky enough to open someone's mail on purpose to tick them off or to just be nosey. She read me the letter. It basically said, "Pay us that money you owe us from student loans or you're in big trouble, missy." Ahem. I've never claimed to be good with money. In fact, I'll be the first to admit I'm a rather horrible financial planner. I get by, however, and I'm learning. I honestly think it's part of growing up and coming of age and all that bullcrap that old people tell you is the best part of your life (I happen to think telling us that is a big ol' mass joke passed on from generation to generation...sort of like a hazing ritual the old folks like to put us whippersnappers through purely for their own amusement and because their elders did it to THEM.). But it just seems that no matter hard I try or how much I scrape I can't seem to get an inch ahead. On the up side, my mom is the absolute best. She offered to write me a check for whatever amount will get me up to speed with the Evil Student Loan Bureau (ESLB). In my heart I know that's prolly what's best for me in the long run...to get that bit of help over the bumps...but in my head I am very very against taking any sort of help from her, no matter if the ESLB wants my first born child or not and will tarnish my credit report forever more regardless. I mean, my moms has helped out my sister enough...she doesn't need another child to send her cash-ola to. I'm just stuck, I guess. I know that I'll make the right decision for me...no matter what it might be. My friend Delia sent me the coolest email today. She always sends me cool emails, but I got a particularly good one today...and very poignant...rang very true. She talked about the idea that when the student is ready, the teacher will appear. I mean, think about it...if I'm a 'student' of the universe...searching out a teacher...then I'm obviously not ready to be taught...I'm too busy looking. If I'm ready to be taught, I won't be looking. Perty deep for a Thursday afternoon. She also mentioned about my friends and how I miss them and how I feel so alone here anymore. It really got me to thinking...I met her and Zuba only months before The Friends started to hardcore ditch me. I think it's the universe's way of hinting to me that it's time to move on to other things and people. I learned what I needed to learn, so I think it's just time. That really put me at ease. Bunches. Huge bunches. That Delia's good shit, she is.
7:36 PM |
"a nice place to rant, rave, piss, moan, jerk off, and shoot my load over whatever i goddamn well please, and not have to worry about repercussions, being taken off gift lists, and jailtime." I heart dolemite.
4:02 PM |
I guess Matt is right...TWAIN isn't an acronym.
3:33 PM |
Hey Meg that woman scares me too. Eeeeeeps.
2:47 PM |
I just tried to view this here page in Netscape but got an error and the page wouldn't load! Maybe it's just me and this outdated version of Netscape.Are you using Netscrape to view this? If so, let me know.
2:36 PM |
I love this blog.I'm addicted to blogs. Reading them, making them (soon I will start Zuba's blog), and posting in mine. It's so voyeuristic but I don't care. I can't believe all of the brewhaha surrounding the Feminist Media Watch. *snottiest valley girl voice* ALL the blogs are talking about it. I won't bore anyone with my spewage surrounding the whole feminism issue, but I will say this: feminism is about making your own choices. It doesn't matter what *I* think about *your* choices...because your choices are yours. Feminism is about being proud of being a woman, no matter if you're a cube-dweller, a stay at home mom, an executive, an entrepreneur, or a whore. Be proud of your choices and your freedom to make those choices. And for the record, I don't find the graphics on Ouch to be offensive...quite the opposite. They're empowering. By taking back what once was deemed dirty or bad, we empower ourselves as women. Just like the word cunt.
1:43 PM |
Looks like they work! wahoo! I am an HTML Goddess...watch me code.Thanks again to Melissa for helping me out. It also appears that there are actual people coming here and reading this thing...wacky man...just plain ol' wacky. So be sure to come back often cause I update a lot cause I have a really realy boring job and a lot to say.
12:29 PM |
Psst...I'm trying to get those pesky perma links to work...not that they'll be used...but just so I look like I know what I'm doing...so bear with me while I try and fix it.
11:44 AM |
This 9-6 shift is really cramping my style. I was drop-dead tired last night at 11:30. Normally, I don't go to bed until about two or three and then wake up at nine or 9:30 to get to work by 11. That's pretty much been my schedule for the past year; I've always been a night owl. I detest mornings in any way, shape, or form. If I had my way I would sleep until about ten every day, have about two or three hours to wake up, and *then* work from home in my pajamas. I would stay up as late as I wanted without consequence. I'd be the dark dweller that I really am meant to be. Of course it doesn't work that way. I am forced to have a job if I want any sort of income [read: money to support myself]. Said job has shifts from 8a-8p. During the winter months, I always volunteered for the 11a-8p shift because I could stay up late. I missed traffic. I could sleep in a little bit. During the summer months, I volunteer to work the 9-6 shift because that way I can get out earlier in the day, making it easier for me to go up north or on a weekend camping trip or at the very least enjoy a few hours of sunlight after work. This summer, however, isn't working out that way. The only trips I'll be going on are to other states to visit friends. I won't be camping much, if at all. The people that I normally camp with have pretty much abandoned me...both sets of people. So I'm here in this hellhole alone. Without camping buddies. Without anyone to hang out with on Friday night. Without anyone to drag shopping with me. Without anyone to meet at 2am for a cup of coffee and a chat. I'm here without friends. True, I have my house mates...whom I love and appreciate very much...but it just bothers me that my "group" of friends (the ones that are my age...the ones that used to be my friends till the end) have pretty much left me high and dry...alone. I'm not bitter any more. I'm not mad. I was...for a long time...upset and angry and just plain ol' pissed off. Now it's more than that, though...now I'm hurt. I feel alone and isolated because they choose *every day* not to call me or send me a quick "how ya doin?" email. I'm DONE trying to be the bigger person and take the first step. I've done it too many times. Now I just feel dumb...like a child...grasping at invisible straws of what used to be and what I still wish existed, even though they don't exist any longer. It's sad, really, that every time I do see/talk to K she says she misses me and that she wants to hang out. She says she wants to exchange energy and talk. Has she called *once*? Not a chance. Ugh. Enough of my tale of woe. And just think...I still have a whole day ahead of me. In other news, HolyMoses signed my guestbook...meeeeeeow! He's one helluva hottie, that boy. And think...he's just in Ohio...so close, yet so far. AND...he has a cool first name. ;) I'm starting to feel lame as fuck for emailing Misty and asking for her help. Feh. I got to talk to Zuba last night...uhm...a few times. We laughed at South Park. We made her Manly Man pout. A good time was had by all. AND she wants me to set up a Blog for her. I got my first hit from the Blogger site last night. Woohoo. Willow cried all night. I had to lock him in the laundry room so he wouldn't keep Amy awake. I feel so guilty for doing that. He's just sad, damn it. What if someone locked me in a little room all night long when I got sad? Damn, I'd be locked in a little room all night long for 90% of my life.
9:45 AM |
Wednesday, May 17
Why won't my hair fucking look right?! I get it cut every six weeks by a curly hair specialist. I buy the expensive shampoos. I use only "salon" products. I am very careful and deliberate about my hair. I love my hair. I treasure it. (I know that sounds horrible, but I'm being honest.) WHY oh WHY won't it look like it does when my stylist does it?! I use the same techniques as she does...hell, I even bought the same gel she uses. When she blowdries it, I leave the salon looking like a modern Shirley Temple with cute ass ringlets. When I do it, I end up looking like a frizz head. Damn the hair gods! 
11:28 PM |
I made cabbage and noodles for dinner. Yee gods I love that shit. Mmm mmm good. See, that's what this blog was originally going to be themed around...my life as a fat girl in this image-driven society. I suppose it *is* about that...since it is what I call a life. Besides, I discovered that Krista already has a 'full figured' blog/journal type thingee. So I guess what I'm trying to say is...you're stuck with what ya got.My cat (Willow) is such the attention whore lately. He's been meowing and crying and scratching at doors and looking out windows. This is not like him. I'm rather concerned. The way I figure it he could be acting this way for one of two reasons: a) it's spring and he wants to get him some or b) he misses the baby kitties that are all gone from the house now. We got rid...well, *placed* the last one last weekend. I was actually glad to see them all go simply because if they hadn't...I would have surely killed them all by now. See, they were making habit of pissing in and eating my plants. They were shitting under my bed. Yes, that's right. I woke up on more than one occasion to smell that my bed had been shat under. Oh, and they decided that pissing on my white blouse would be fun too. But now Willow is acting all weird and lonely. If he doesn't get better soon I'm going to call the animal communicator. I know, I know. It sounds fruitballish...animal communicator. But C & D love her...and she really resolved some problems with the cats in their house. Even if she can't really hear what the animals are thinking, she sure has a calming effect on them and can read their body language or something. I guess I just believe in that stuff. That's something, too, that I want to portray and talk about in this little webpage o' mine...how isolated I feel here. My 3D life is just so...unfulfilling and sad, even to me. That in and of itself is pretty sad. I just feel like no one here understands or appreciates me in all my eccentric glory. I live in a suburb, first of all, and we all know that environment isn't exactly condusive to oddness. Second, I live outside of Detroit. Detroit. Motor City. Home of cars and pavement and lots of air pollution. Home of electronic music. Steel. Moving parts. Lots of pickup trucks. Too many donut shops. Not enough independant anything. Everyone here has some sort of connection to the auto industry. Lots of K-Marts and not enough head shops. I could move. I know that. But I recently came to the realization that I don't think I could be away from my family for any sort of long term situation. I got really sick when they were all on vacation and I...well, basically I flipped the fuck out. I felt so alone. Isolated is one thing, but alone is something completely different. Isolated means no one understands you. Alone means having no one to turn to, even when you don't really want to be forced to turn to anyone.
9:08 PM |
Zuba sent this to me last week but I can't stop going there. It's morbidly intriguing.I never said I wasn't a sick puppy. So I think I'm finally happy with the layout/design...at least for now. What do you think? I emailed Precocious and asked for her opinion, but she hasn't emailed me back yet. I'm not trying to stalk you Misty! I just want your honest opinion. I like your design style. I respect you. I ain't no stalker. Or heroine. I'm still not used to my new glasses. I have tired eyes 100% of the time. But I look cool. I think. My mom emailed me and told me she came here today. That made me sort of nervous sort of happy. At least we're friends now and I feel comfortable sharing my life with her. Still hate my job. Madison in 8 days.
3:47 PM |
I just got back from lunch. I had something really really bad for me that I shouldn't have eaten but I'm poor and I woke up late so I had no real choice other than starve and I'm fat so that's obviously not an option for me...uhm...EVER. Pulling out of the parking lot, I tried to switch from CD 2 of Tori's Venus set to CD 1...I put #1 into my CD player...and it started skipping. I went to track two...still skipping...three...same thing. So I take it out of the player and flip it over, intending to brush the hair or dirt off. LO AND BEHOLD my CD is fuckin cracked. Not just a scratch...I'm talking HARDCORE CRACK...like someone stepped on it and smooshed it. I AM SO UPSET.Feel free to email me and ask for my address so you can send me a new copy...even just a burned copy of disc 1. *sniff*
1:58 PM |
BAM!
12:17 PM |
I'm sorry, but Betty Bowers cracks my shit up.And so does this: Kid Rock Starves
I can't help it. I just hate Kid Rock. He's such a poser and he makes Detroit look bad. Just so everyone knows...the town he grew up in is a little FARMING community...ghetto? HARDLY. Feh.
Thanks to Diane for the link!
11:54 AM |
Man I'm tired. That's what I get for having webpage tunnel vision. =P~I miss The BUST Lounge. A lot. I miss the people. I miss the feeling of belonging. I miss feeling like I have hundreds of girlfriends all over the world. It just got to the point, though, that I dreaded going there...and that's just not right. I feel bad for what happened with Pickle. I really do. I considered her a friend and now she and I and WalkingBitch are gone from the boards over one comment. ONE COMMENT! It's enough to make a person go nutty. At least I got to talk to Delia last night. That girl rocks hardcore...as does her Corey. They helped me with the design of this site. They rule the school. They're the bees knees. I can't wait. I only have eight days until I get to see them. YAY! *does the 'I'm goin to Madison' dance. I don't suppose anyone's reading this except maybe Melissa. YOU GO NOW. YOU BEEN HERE FOR AWA.
teehee
9:45 AM |
How much does Melissa rule?! Oh so much. She added a link to me on her site! :) My first link to my blog. I guess the BUST Lounge still does have some good people in it. *wink wink*
12:23 AM |
Tuesday, May 16
I just want to give a shout out to my girl geeKsuperstar (Melissa) for helping me get this blogger thing working. MMMWAH! and I love your new hair cut. :)And making this post I just had my first real freak out...good thing safe mode was there...
2:53 PM |
I really hate my job. I mean...really...a lot...hate it. I am sick of being called a moron. I am sick of getting yelled at. I hate hate hate this place.
See, I am a customer service rep. No matter what else I tell people or what my job code is...it all boils down to this...I answer the phone for an 800 number.
Erica's Job
I've been here two years.
I tell people what to order and how they can order it through their company.
My cube mate has an over-sensitive nose so I can't wear patchouli to work.
I accidently put that powder creamer shit in my tea this morning.
I have a can of blue Play-Doh on my desk.
I am surrounded by corporate propaganda.
That's my job, in short. But...as I've said many times before...at least I have Internet access. I swear it saves my sanity most days.
12:27 PM |
Okay so obviously I'm new to this whole blogger thing...but I can tell you this...I'm addicted already. I love the feeling that I can get anything and everything off of my chest and there's a possibility that someone will read it. I can imagine that there are people all over reading my thoughts and sympathizing with me and understanding...even if my counter hasn't moved.
11:19 AM |
I hate driving. I really really hate driving. I never used to hate it. In fact, I used to love it...the freedom...the grown-up feeling...the responsibility. But now...frankly...I'm scared. I'm scared of someone crashing into my new truck. I get visions of smashed up blue Smurfette at least five times a trip. My own driving does not scare me...I am scared of other drivers.
Driving phobias:
~when someone merges onto the highway and I am in their blind spot. I get paranoid they're going to hit me.
~just *being* in someone's blind spot bothers me.
~driving directly next to someone.
~traffic on the freeway...not because it makes me late, but because I'm afraid that the person coming up behind me isn't going to realize everyone's stopping and plow right into me.
~turning left when the light is yellow.
~pretty much turning left at all.
Man oh man...writing that just now made me realize just how insanely lame they all sound. Jeez.
9:23 AM |
Monday, May 15
Alright. This is my first official Blogger post. YAY! The site doesn't look as cool as I'd hoped...but I can always work on it...and since I have such a boring job I have plenty of time to do so. sigh
I honestly don't know what else to put in here right now...simply because I am super duper tired. I have a webcam so I hope to be adding some pictures every few days at least...no matter how yucky I look.
My expectations for this site? Well, I'd be lying if I said that I didn't care if anyone ever read it. Anyone that says that is a liar, quite frankly. Why else would they put all the time and effort into a web journal/log if they didn't want people to read it? Hmm...
I really don't want to do the dishes when I get home...that much I can tell you. They're piled up from the entire weekend...and I did A LOT of cooking. YUCK.
That is all for now.
5:28 PM |
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