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