You never really grow up, you just learn how to cope.

I dished out $14.00 last night and bought Lesley Arfin's book Dear Diary. I went entirely on the fact that it was written by a female Vice writer and figured it couldn't be that bad. Also didn't hurt that it's backed by Chloë Sevigny, with a written introduction.



I knew it was just a matter of time before one of them turned to the emperor and said, "Dude, you have no clothes on," and then everyone stared at my bush and I would be all, "Yeah. I know. Sorry you guys." If i had a time machine I would go back and inject myself with GET OVER IT JUICE.

I started reading around noon-ish when I got sent home from work because despite the fact that I woke up feeling fine, by 9a.m I was feeling less fine and more along the lines of ssssspew-lendorous! I somehow convinced my best friend (isn't it great having your best friend work with you,) to come into work on her day off,so I could leave early and throw up in the comforts of my own home, as opposed to a dog grooming shop where at some point I had vomit and dog hair stuck to my cheek.

Anyway, I finally made it home curled up in bed (my moms bed actually because it's lower to the ground making it easier for the dogs to jump up and lay with me, also she had the big screen tv,) with my crackers N'ginger ale, and started reading Dear Diary. After reading the first page I knew this novel was about to get demolished in record reading time. I'm already on page 149 and insisted on updating about this book via ~my blog~ simply because well, I'm sick. But now I'm at that stage where you feel like you're finally recovering, but you're also fucking bored with the whole laying in bed sippin'ale, yet still too sick to do something productive.

I don't want to write a review because A. I'm not even done reading this book and B. I don't want to give anything away. So I'll just say this : recommended read if you're an angsty-curse like a sailor teenager, or a 20something still angsty-curse like a sailor adult who grew up in the mid-to-late 90's you'll probably love this book. A raw honesty that's a little bittersweet but kept upbeat by Arfin's sense of humor, also there is mention of her befriending a girl who at 15 has candle wax burn markings from being a dominatrix.

Arfin writes about all the things teenage girls go through growing up. She writes about losing one of her best friends to "puffing and thugging," which is reminiscent of my very own thugged out bffl who I will call "Messica Romers," to protect her anonymity.

At age 13 we hung out at the movies 24'7 during the summer wearing our tight white t shirts, MUDD jeans and big sterling silver hoops. I had black Nike hi-tops (duh with the strap out,) and I wore my long curly hair gelled and in a side pony. I was especially puerto rican looking that summer with very thin eyebrows. If you were to ask my mom about this brief phase that I refer to as "yo-girl teen years," my mom would probably deny that I was ever that knee-deep in the game. My mother would claim that I only listened to rap because of my big brother and would recall the fact that I still went over to my Nanas to help her sew quilts. Clearly I was leading a double life. I wanted to hold onto my old good girl self, but also wanted to be ~bad2thebone~ which for the record, I failed at miserably.

In retrospect Messica was a horrible influence on me. She had deaf parents that she took advantage of completely and would sneak a different dude through her bedroom window every night. She had a pregnancy scare like, every other weekend. At this point in time a boy had never so much as coughed in my direction let alone kissed me. Messica reminded me of this ON THE DAILY and flaunted her thin curve-less body nude around her house, please lets keep in the mind that her parents were DEAF NOT BLIND I remember distinctly telling her to "put some clothes on," in which case she called me "a jealous virgin."

Nobody really knows why when you're younger you keep people who suck, around as your friends. In my head Messica represented a "bad girl," who hung out with the "hot" "thugged out older guys," you know, the wonderful gentlemen of society that I desperately wanted to date me. She also was spoiled AS FUCK by her deaf parents who felt sorry for her, because they were deaf? So she got whatever she wanted, they always had the bomb snacks at her house. Also note she had diet coke which was a no no in my family at that time, my mother was convinced diet coke gave you brain tumors and none of us kids were even allowed to drink soda until we were 16-17 years old.

Messica's grandmother also helped raise her and brought the "Romers," family dinner over to their house every.single.night in a cardboard box, kept warm with a towel covering the top. It felt good to hang out at a nice happy family's house that was away from my mom and my two brothers. It was always really clean and she didn't have three dogs and 7 cats like me, nor did she live on a farm. Nobody bothered us, her parents paid zero attention to the fact that we were smoking cigarettes and having older guys pick us up to go cruising in their cars.

She had a finished basement with exercise equipment in it and boys that called her every single night. To me Messica was as rich and "cool," as they come. Hell, she even had her very own bathroom! Not fair! I on the other hand lived in a farm house with one bathroom that my entire family shared. I had a real dad that I'd never met up until that point and a step dad who referred to me as "retarded." I was sad and misguided and wanted to belong desperately.

And let us not forget that I had never been kissed! Or had my period! I was 14 now and clearly had the worst underdeveloped life EVER!!!!!

I don't really know what lead to the breakup of me and Messica, I think eventually she got TOO BIG FOR THE WORLD and was hoe'in outta control, she didn't really have time for a tag-along like me. Also the fact that my mother hated her and found out about her parents buying us cigarettes and forbid me to hang out with her. I fought that rule for about a week then gave up. I also remember Messica and I getting into some heated fight about something, but that was six years ago so the details are a little sketch.

I went back to my old crew and started getting into punk rock and blah blah the usual story. I wrote Alkaline Trio lyrics on my Jansport bookbag, I traded in my Nike's for Vans. I kept a greatestjournal and liked boys with glasses. My neighbor and friend (still to this day,) gave me my first TBS shirt for my 15th birthday. I hung out with older guys still, but the ones that didn't smoke blunts or speak with bad accents.

It's funny if you think about the entire evolution of yourself from the ages 13-20. I could easily breakdown each age with something very important that shaped who I am today.

Without a doubt reading this book has seriously mindfucked me into oblivion and I'm wondering W.I.T.W.I.M.R (where.in.the.world.is.messica.romers.) The last time I saw her was three years ago when I was still a cashier at Walgreens and she came into my store to buy a pregnancy test and informed me that she was now "living in Townsend with her boyfriend in a tailor."

Clearly she will always beat me in the game of life.

Back to be being sick, this nostalgia has got me exhausted.


xx Erica

And patiently, I exist.

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Jessica Louise Photographs, she has the most beautiful contrast. Check out her flickr here.

Writing music is therapeutic. Recording music is really rewarding. I never realized how much effort and care goes into just one single verse of a song. I have an entirely new appreciation for music, and listening to my voice over and over again isn't as weird as I initially thought. I showed my mom the first track we have so far, she smiled and said "I always knew you would be good at this."

i'm gonna give my love to you on a day you gotta bring it back.

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Finally checked out the new Jenny Lewis Album "Acid Tongue" and was pleasantly surprise. The new sound is milky smooth, catchy and upbeat featuring backup vocals from my girl Zooey D. Favorite song so far is "The Next Messiah" which is 8 minutes and 45 seconds long, so technically it's two songs in one. Think of this album as a sweet surprise, a double layered box of chocolates (musically,) that is.

The Next Messiah - Jenny Lewis


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Happy Valentines day blogger-world.
And yes, I do believe in soul mates.

you can not never move away

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When I was little my only aspirations in life were the following : to be a mermaid and to be as pretty as my mom. The first day of kindergarten I boldly informed my classmates that "Hi my names Erica Moreno but I'm not an American I was born in Germany," in a very adorable southern bell accent. Factually I got the G- in Germany and the G- as in Georgia confused, but in my defense I had actually lived in both.

I had a baby gap between my two front teeth that a boy noticed in the 5th grade and would tease me everyday in Agricultural Science class. During a movie showcasing the process of Emu farming he whispered "Fall into the GAP, fall into the GAP" the theme song from the 90s GAP Commercials. "How clever," I secretly wished my gap would disappear and oddly enough 4 years later over a diner discussion about teeth everyone around the table pointed out "your teeth are perfect you don't have a gap!"

I hated being 5'8 in high school. I always felt uneven in my walk and I distinctly remember the summer my hips started protruding from my body, two bones sticking out that I'd stare at and wonder "well what are these things for?"

10:34 PM I have it all figured out, no gaps no G's and a familiarization with what hips are for. Growing up isn't so bad, but I'm still wishing I was a mermaid.

she's a femme fatale

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Red lips are so sexy but they totally freak me out. The pics are from Battery Park which is this cozy little nook that hugs the Delaware river. It's a historical place rich in brick sidewalks and colonial style houses. Unfortunately a gun washed up on the beach that day, so clearly the novelty value is going down the tubes.

C'mon and just subscribe

to my blog if you're into lurkin'

I took my insomnia medicine tonight for the first time in months and I'm watching Paranormal State half hallucinating.

it's 2:59 AM

Bought an our lady of guadalupe candle from the mexican farmers market today. My friend is convinced her car is demonically possessed, SO she bought a rosary that resembles mardi gras beads for $2. The party rosary is currently hanging on her rear view mirror, glistening godliness.

Addicted

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1. L'oreal (new) true match super-blendable compact makeup in "N2 Classic Ivory"
2. L'oreal true match super-blendable concealer in "Warm"
3. Maybelline Shadow Stylist in "Super Black"
4. Red sunglasses from Family Thrift in Stanton
5. MAC Penultimate Eye Liner (felt tip, the very best.)
6. Dove "Original Clean" invisible solid anti0perspirant deodorant
7. Wet N Wild Lip Stick in "Hot Red"
8. I.D Mineral Veil
9. I.D bare escentuals travel buffer brush

Big ups to Happy Harrys/ "Walgreens" for having their L'oreal True Match buy one get on free sale. The most expensive item listed above was my Mac Penultimate Eye Liner ($16.50 no tax,) but definitely worth the extra bucks I promise. This eyeliner is a felt tip so it's dummy proof (even for an eyeliner reject like myself,) also the color lasts all day and easily washes off with your everyday facial cleanser. Everything else was under $12. The Wet N Wild lipstick was $.99 and inspired by Kat Dennings (from Nick&Norah's Infinite Play list,)

makeup on a budget ~*~*don't mind if I do~*~*~!

I keep my secrets to myself

"We're getting married!" My mother tells me this while we're eating dinner. I looked down at her left hand, yup right there, ring finger. Fuck. Fuck Fuck. I had a hard time keeping my shrimp-scampi settled. There's a garlic taste in my mouth for years whenever "the marriage" is brought up. For my palates sake we only speak of "the marriage" on days when my mother is out shopping, or cutting her toenails in the bathroom over the tub.


pour être sexy
pour être sexy
pour être sexy
pour être sexy
pour être sexy



I can hear the hiss of her opening a warm beer, one of the six she keeps hidden under her bathroom sink. She doesn't mind drinking warm beer, she's used to hiding it. A bumpy rash develops on my wrist whenever I speak to my therapist about my mother's drinking. "It's all subconscious Evelyn," he tells me. He also says my love of ginger ale and beef jerky is not becoming. "Who is going to marry you?" he asked me one session. I fidgeted with my hands absentmindedly, a nervous habit I could never quit. "A man with expensive taste?" I scrounged out a little laugh. My therapist sighed, stone faced as usual, his name is Lynn Toler. I asked him why he has a woman's name but he reassured me that many men are named Lynn. "The definition of manhood has shifted, Evie (he sometimes refers to me by my nickname, he speaks in a purr,) many men have names that are slightly feminine. It makes me more secure in my sexuality." He purrs.

My bottom warms at the mention of "sex-" and I pretend that there was not a "-uality" added at the end. Instead, I pretend Lynn is finally asking me to have sex on his couch and break the psychological doctor patient sexual boundaries. I theorize that every therapist probably has sex with one of his or her patients in their lifetime. I theorize that Lynn (who is 20 years my senior,) has been waiting for me. I imagine him laying at home in bed with his wife, who has a wrinkly bum and wears smelly creams on her face. I imagine Lynn fantasizing about me, Evelyn "Evie" a vulnerable 20 year old with an almost perfect body, long blazing hair and a grubby interior.

I had been with a few men before, they all told me I was nice. My body was warm up against their bodies. I told Lynn about these experiences. "Did you like it?" He asked, I could swear he was salivating. I wanted badly to reach across and wipe his spit away with my ring finger. "It was nice," I blinked and could have sworn he was watching me readjust my bra strap. "Did they treat you nice?" "One man asked if he could choke me and I told him that he could not. I told him that we should probably stop." Lynn looked alarmed and was now writing a significant amount of material down in his notebook. That fucking notebook, I wish he'd let me creep inside, maybe once we were done making love and he was washing up in the sink I would sneak a peek.

"So you were raped!" Lynn shoots the accusation out of his blubbery lips like a spitball. It smacks me right dab between the eyes. "No.. what? What are you talking about?" Suddenly Lynn to me looks like an old fuddy duddy. A description my mother taught me. She too liked older men but would sigh and reassure me that "They're all old fuddy duddy's, baby don't bother." He asks me if "I liked being choked?" and I respond with a lackluster "I don't know. He was my age, kids my age they do strange things, I didn't let him! I told you that already! He was weird he had his nipples pierced," I cringe at the visual. Lynn lets out a little "Mmm, Hmmph. I see," I fantasize about reaching over to pat his lap. But the session ends abruptly and I can see the change glazing over Lynn's eyes, he looks at me with a hunger I have recognized before.

I leave the brownstone building and steal a magazine on my way out. My walk is uneven and my mind feels heavy, my eyes are tired. I find myself sitting at the train station rubbing almond lotion into elbows stuck in a daze, wondering what I had done. I fell asleep on the train and woke up to find Lynn's notebook had been tucked neatly inside my bag. Pins and needles crept throughout my body. I could feel my interior organs melting. There was a post-it note on the front page that read: "I would never do that to you." I cringe.

Crème de la Crème

Archer Farms® Blueberry Granola with Flax Cereal from Target $4


Nivea Body Smooth Sensation Body Oil from Target $6


Clinique Superbalm Moisturizing Gloss in "Raspberry" $13.50


NEW! Side bow cheekies from VS 3/$30


Carmen Marc Valvo Retro one-piece bathing suit from VS in "Pink Coral" $70


CLEAN Shampoo Fresh Hair Fragrance $39 from ULTA


CLEAN Eau de Parfum $76 from ULTA


bareMinerals Mineral Veil $19 from ULTA

Fuck a recession! I work entirely too hard not to treat myself once in awhile.

Also thinking of buying myself this for Valentine's day :

Forget Me Knot Ring in sterling silver size 6 $198

In the winter she said, "I'll be your present, you can unwrap me."
I picked up my moleskin journal and my headaches have finally subsided. I'm scared to tell you that I want to switch my major to journalism. I can't help it, I'm always changing my mind. Growing up is hard, sort of.