Secret Admirer

I have a secret admirer. Well, it's not a secret that I have and admirer, duh. It's just his identity that's a secret, you silly people!

How do I know this, you ask? He left an anonymous note under the left windshield wiper of my car. How do you remember that it is the left, you ask? I don't know, I just do. I have a wonderful mind for mundane details. It's a gift.

It's always lovely to be admired. What good taste my secret admirer has! But how, exactly, does he know exactly what car I drive and where I park it? That's the alarming part, now isn't it.

"Okay, okay chill out, oh paranoid one," you might say. "Remember that there is an alarmingly colorful Sponge Bob Square Pants sheet covering your entire back seat. And remember that your car is held together mostly with tape and paint? That isn't really the way to car anonymity, now is it?"

Yes, yes, I'll grant you this. All true, all true. But how does he know this? Especially as I often park two blocks away from the alleged place we supposedly once met. But, of course, I often snag the spot right outside the damn front door as well. Hmmmmm.

Stalker or admirer. Who can tell.

If you do hear that I have been chopped into pieces and found wrapped up all snug and dead please send them after my admirer.

Oh wait. You can't really, can you? His identity is a secret. Shhhhhh...

Grammar

Dear readers,

It has come to my attention that my grammar sucks. For this I apologize. I blame it on everything but myself. But primarily, I blame it on the automatic spelling error correction feature on my word processing program and my lack of patience to police it. Damn you, computer! For your enjoyment have included a portion of the email my mother recently sent to me to bring this to my attention. She is, of course, the goddess of proper English. And this is yet another reason I love her. She is a god. And she's damn smart! Enjoy.

e

Notes from Mom:

Dear E:

"Okay. I really enjoy your blog. I just read it. I understand about dorky men. HOWEVER, I feel compelled to point out some persistent grammar/spelling issues that are becoming reoccurring.

site/sight - place/vision

there/they're/their - place/contraction/possession

to/too - location/also

I do REALLY enjoy your blog. I am just a mother/frustrated proofreader/literary admirer.

If this writing style is indicative of your new, relaxed syntax, please disregard the above editing as the ravings of a syncophant (sic?) with no sense of humor. If, however, your literary muscles are weakening for lack of guidance, please, considered yourself newly guided."

lubya,
mom

Dorky Men

What is it about dorky men? I just want to hug them. It's this unreasonable urge that I am always having to hold myself back from. Most men, I find perfectly resistible. Pretty men, yeah, there nice and all. But what girl wants a boy to be prettier than they are? Not me, I'm way to vain for that. And I know that there are lots of girls out there that love the big, hulking, I can lift you over my head without even breathing hard kind of men, but they're not for me either. I want my man obsessed with my boobs, not his own!


Those who know me well, they know that I'm not particularly cuddly. So this hugging thing is a little, no a lot, out of character for me. It may sound innocuous, maybe harmless to you, but don't be fooled. This one time, I was staying at a hotel that was hosting a Dungeons and Dragons convention. Dork City. The oft denied urge to hug almost sent me into fits. Not a pretty site!

Self Denial really sucks!

My Mommy!

My mommy is so smart. My mommy is so pretty. Your mommy ain't got nothing on mine!

Happy Mothers Day, mommy!

In honor of my mom, I would like to present to you, dear readers, some sage little gems of experience, love, and wisdom that my mom has given me, over the years.

Mommy gem number one:

And I quote: “If it's a gift, gift wrap it!” As stated via post-it stuck to the dining room table to my 22 year old brother on her way out of town. She had no illusions of keeping the girlfriend out. At 15, I had no idea what the hell she was talking about. I remember the exact moment, about two years later, that it finally made sense. The advice, though not directly meant for me at the time has served me well. So thank you mom!

Mommy Gem number two:

Again, I quote: “ Don't get married. Live in Sin.” Yes, you read that correctly. My catholic born and bred Puerto Rican mommy has told all of us girls and boy this repeatedly and frequently throughout our entire adolescence and adulthood. Now, now, calm your outrage! There is a back story.

My mom grew up poor. My mom grew up poor and Puerto Rican in Brooklyn, NY. Marriages were made young. Babies, too, were made young. Too young. My mom wanted more than that for us. She put herself through school with two young children in her early twenties as a single mom. She remembers what it is to be skinny not because you work at it but because you don't have enough to eat. She never wanted us to know that.

Now, of course, at 27 and having lived in sin with the venerable Ross for nearly eight years, I am sure she is ready to sing a different tune, but that's a story for a different day, isn't it?

Mommy Gem number three:

“Always go pee after sex. It cleans the toxins out of your bladder. Boys are naturally dirty, it's not there fault. Trust me, your bladder will thank you.” This she said to my 21 year old self and my college roommate Keri over drinks at a hotel bar in Albany, NY. Both Keri and I thank her for this.

Mommy Gem number four:

“EPIDURAL”. Not that I have yet had an opportunity to demand one. But I have every intention of utilizing it when the time is right. Natural childbirth is for the birds!

Mommy Gem number five:

“Love doesn't just come to you. It isn't magic. You have to reach out and grab it and fight for it. Never let it go. Work for it. Earn it.”

Mommy never said this, exactly, but she lives it. And I understand this and I try to live it, too. With the exception of her love. Amazingly enough, I get that for free! Even when I don't deserve it. For that, mom, I thank you. I love you, mom!

Happy Mothers Day

e

The Moon

The world just looks different by moonlight. I sit high up in a tower, okay, it's really just an upper floor of a nondescript foreign hotel, but where's the romance in that? Just out of my window looms a gorgeous white mosque. It almost appears to glow. And maybe it was built for just this, to be seen by moonlight by a foreign girl staring dreamily out from her tower alternately swaying gently and rubbing her tired calves after a days work. And Bill Evans and Miles Davis are playing Blue and Green but it feels as if it's a private concert and not just the tinny sound coming out of her crappy speakers. And did I mention the moon is full? And that the music is making her feel all melty and boneless. Sometimes the moon will trick you into seeing what isn't really there. Or, maybe more truthfully, it'll allow you to see more than really exists. The moon can do that, you know. Bill Evans and the light of a full moon on foreign soil, it can definitely do that to a girl.

Things I've learned recently through trial and error

Things I've learned recently through trial and error

School is cool and all that shit, blah, blah, blah. We all sing its praises and secretly look down our noses at those who drop out, never to finish. But really, kids, what have you learned recently in school that you find so very useful in your every day tormented existence?

Me, I think that student enrollment in the the school of hard knocks: Trial and Error is about to have a renaissance. And I nominate me for it's latest band leader. In hopes of garnering all of your lovely votes, my friends, I leave you with a list of things I have learned recently through a fair amount of Trial and a huge amount of error.

Let's start with the trial portion. Everyone loves a good trial right?

I like onions. Okay, I LOVE onions. Ross says that I put them in nearly everything. He is afraid that I will one day find the perfect onion dessert. When that day arrives he has informed me that we will have to break up. And that it will be solely my fault. Onion dessert is just a line that he can not cross over and return from. I get this. Everyone has there limit, right? There proverbial line in the sand, if you will.

Okay, back to onions. I bet you thought I forgot! Yeah, I know I do that sometimes.

As much as I love to eat them, who likes cutting them? NOT ME! I cry like a Baptist church lady at a summer tent revival. You know, “Jesus, he loves you! He even forgives your shitty fashion sense!,” says the minister. “Blather, sob, sniffle, cry!, “ says the baptist church lady all the while sweating profusely through her taupe colored pantyhose and flowered tea length church dress. I call this waterfall of gastronomic onion tears “Church Lady Syndrome.” You get the idea.

As I have never been much a fan of the church lady wardrobe, I see it as a huge priority to end the suffering of Church Lady Syndrome Sufferers everywhere. So through much trial, I have learned two, yes count them, two entirely different yet equally brilliant ways of ending CLS for good. Okay, this is probably bizarre to picture but run with me on this one.

Technique 1

Ski Goggles! No, I am not joking. Yes, I know, it looks ridiculous. But when I take them off my mascara stills look fabulous! (Not like yours which is probably smeared all the way to your knees, you doubty poseurs!)

Technique 2

Candles! Lite a candle right next to the onion that you are cutting and cut away. I don't know why this works, but I assume that it's because the fire burns off the oniony tear making shit.

Why, you might ask, would anybody opt for the ski goggle technique that requires you to wander about your kitchen looking stupid when you can just light a pretty scented candle and save your dignity all at the same time? Well, for one, do you enjoy your kitchen reeking of the combined scents of French vanilla mixed with onion? Me, personally, I kind of like it (back to the oniony dessert idea, I guess), but those who know me know that I'm a little off. Most people find it kind of gross. Back to the ski goggles!

Moving on to Error

There are many many reasons why you should love jalapeño peppers. But, not so strangely, there are even more reason why you should not rub it into your eyes. Or your nose! Definitely not your nose!

Just this very week I have learned why people wear gloves when cutting jalapeños. When I saw them on TV programs I just thought that they were sissies. Now I know the truth: that they are immeasurably wise, and more than likely students of Trial and Error!

La, la, la. I'm singing in the kitchen on the top of my lungs. “It's De Lovely!!!!” Everyone loves Cole Porter, right? And I'm making veggie chili. Both are pretty normal occurrences in my kitchen. I sing I cook. It drives Ross nuts! So, I have these fancy jalapeños in the fridge and they are just screaming”Put me in your chili, oh fabulous, singing chef! Use me!” And I, being the beneficently, beautiful, bodacious, babe, ahem...I mean chef, but who can resist an adventurous alliteration...that I am, I grab those suckers out of the pit that is my ancient fridge and chop em up all nice and pretty and throw them in. The chili is cooking away steeping itself all up into its chili goodness and I'm reading a book trying to take my mind off of my growly belly. And do you know what happens? My eye begins to itch. And nobody like an itchy eye! So, of course I reach up to rub the itchies away.

Oh the sting! The horrible, horribly horrible sting! At present, there exist no words to acceptably even begin to convey the horror of this EYE STING!

So, the shock eventually wears off and look at that, .just in time to eat some of that yummy chili. I mean, really, is it the chilis fault that the jalapeño made such and eye sting? Why punish the chili, right? So I, being the rational entirely reasonable girl that you know me to be do what any other rational, reasonable and very hungry girl would do. I WASH MY HANDS THOUROUGHLEY! And I eat my chili. And all is right with the world. NOT!

About and hour passes. The chili is on its way to chili heaven, or if you're not overly religious like me, to wherever atheist chili eaters send there chili. And what happens? My NOSE itches! And, like itchy eyes, NOBODY likes an itchy nose! So, I think nothing of itching away the nose itchies.

URGH!!!! Nose Fire! I think that my nose is actually on fire! Burning!!!! Didn't I wash my hands and hour ago? Why is this happening! Does God HATE ME? Is this his way of telling me that he hates me?

You get the picture.

I hope you can learn from my trials and errors. Why make your own when you can live vicariously through mine, right?

You know, I originally wrote this as a allegorical cautionary tale for you, my favorite readers. But I have only now begun to realize that I, too, have learned ever so more than I thought possible. For instance, I have realized that I have an obsession with Church Ladies. This just can't be normal, or health. And also, my fridge has way, way, too many zucchinis in it. Just because they are on sale does not mean that you should buy all of them in the state!

I have lovely toes! They are perfect and painted pink. Not a barbie pink, nor are they a ballerina pink. They are, in fact, the perfect shade of Starburst Fruit Chew strawberry candy pink! Perfect, I tell you.

I have searched the world long and hard to find the perfect shade of Starburst Fruit Chew strawberry candy pink. In fact, I think that the quest might have played a much larger role than I earlier acknowledged in my becoming a flight attendant. Yes, it is true. Sir Lancelot has his Holy Grail, and I, erika m, have my perfect toes. Life is rather random that way, isn't it?

But somehow, I feel a little empty now. I am in Fort Lauderdale, FL alone with my perfect toes. By all rights I should be over the moon, ecstatic. Yet all is not well. You see, on those long lonely nights that lie ahead, I have nothing to strive for. Success comes to me so easily it's almost not worth trying. When the perfect shade of Starburst Fruit Chew strawberry candy pink nail polish that you have traveled to all ends of the earth suddenly finds you in a strip mall nail salon in an atlanta suburb, it just doesn't feel like true success.

You see, that same perfect shade of Starburst Fruit Chew strawberry candy pink nail polish eluded me in the Grand Bazzare in Istanbul, and it swam just out of reach on the shores of Guam. It Hula'd twisitily out of my grasp in Hawaii and sang me a polka safely tucked out of reach on a the balcony of a beer garden in Leipzig. Always I have searched valiantly! Allways I have failed dramatically.

Did it have to be a strip mall? I kind of feel cheated, you know?

e

FADD: Flight Attendants Against Drunk Dating

FADD

Flight Attendants Against Drunk Dating

Because beer goggles are not a fashion accessory!

How many times have you been out and about and seen a silly gaggle of pretty girls talking animatedly with the local scumbag. And, if you were a guy, you thought, “Dude, what is wrong with the world. I am way cooler than that donkey testes! How can those fine young things not see it?”

Well I will tell you how. It's an insidious, evil, state of being that is often mis-credited as only a simple temporarily bad fashion disaster. But, you and I know better. It is so much more than that!! It is BEER GOGGLES!

Yes, ladies and gents, it is okay to shudder in shame. So many have fallen prey. SO many good men and women have a lovely night on the town only to wake the next morning and turn over to find CHEWBACA next to them! Oh the horror. The shame.

This is why I started FADD. Not for me. For all of us. So no one will ever have to wake up next to Chewbaca again. Unless of course that's what they're into.

(In which case, it must be said that Chewbaca need a little loving too. So get you're freak on, wild child! )

We all owe it to ourselves to join this organization.

We, together with the flight attendants of the world, can stop this horrible morning after tragedy. We can DO THIS!!

Together

Things I have Learned, recently

Things I have learned, recently.

See ross? See Snarf on top of Ross's mama made, chocolate, 31st birthday cake? That is love. The best sort. Love comes in many forms. For Ross, the best forms sometimes include Snarf. That's why he is my favorite wierdest person on the entire face of the earth.

Buildings should have walls. SOme in New Orleans still don't.

If you throw a bunch of crap in the street the street gets really really gross and dirty. (Early Mardi Gras season, New Orleans)

Shannon has no boyfriend. She doesn't mind this in the least. But I must say, Shannon and Bat Man. It just works. Really.

Under no circumstances should you allow this to be done to you! Ever. Learn from this poor girls mistake. This is never good.

Mother Cluckers in New Orleans, LA. Only there.

This has to be the most confusing walk/do not walk sign I have ever seen. I nearly had an anxiety attack trying to decide whether to cross or not cross the street. Once again, only in New Orleans.

Desert Island, Maine

I Love Desert Island, Maine! Go there!

Desert Island, Maine
Roadtripping around The Quiet Side

Desert Island, Maine
Shipwreck Trail

Views from the Shipwreck Trail

Things I have Learned This Week

Things I have Learned This Week

It is often said that life is all about learning and that the world is just a enormous classroom full of dunces, or some crap like that. I don't know if I believe that, as I try very hard not to believe in anything much. But if I did suddenly wake up with a sunny new perspective on all things “faith related” and suddenly developed a propensity to believe all sorts of stupid shit, I would be obligated to share with you what I had learned this week, right? I digress:

Things I have Learned This Week

Thing 1: When visiting a thrift store at a monastery that is staffed mostly by drug addicts (yes it's a treatment center) located next to a nun cemetery you probably shouldn't discuss where you live in detail. Of course, this came to me hours after said discussions.

Thing 2: When enjoying a coffee in said drug addict staffed, monastery thrift store and said drug addict calls You crazy, you probably are crazy. They would know, wouldn't they.

(What do you call a rock guitarist out side of rehab? HOMELESS!)

And yes, a drug addict guitarist told me that little gem of a joke! Who new drug addicts had such lovely senses of humor?

Thing 3: When said drug addict guitarist tells you that you are addicted to books and really need to interact with humans more often, he is probably right. He would know, wouldn't he?

Thing 4: Do not watch CSI Miami and try to eat, in the dark. Yuck! Yuck! Yuck! If ever there was a better diet aid, I don't know of it!

Thing 5: If you are a shitty singer on American Idol and you really don't want to get eliminated despite the fact that you suck, take slutty pictures of yourself and make sure that someone ex boyfriend leaks them to the internet!

(For that last one, I can't take the credit. For that little bit of wisdom we must thank Antonella Barba, the evil, talentless, satan spawn that has made me lose faith in the modern singer. And yes, I am a bit jealous.

Although I truly doubt it, (I am a disbelieving hater, after all) some small part of me hopes that I have enriched your lives, at least a little bit. Okay, okay, who am I kidding?

In any event,

e

Syracuse Barbies

For those of you who don't know, I am originally from Syracuse NY. It doesn't matter that I haven't actually lived there for nearly ten years, Syracuse, NY is just one of those places that you never really get out of your system. Kind of like a virus.

Lately I seem to be inundated with email from my favorite Syracuseans about Syracuse. This particular little gem is so funny I just feel compelled to share it with you. Aren't you lucky!

This is for all the Syracuse girls and boys out there that read my blog on those rare occasions that I get around to updating it. And for those of you non Syracuse kids, consider this a valuable travel guide in case you one day choose to visit. It's alarmingly accurate.From the lips of Barbie herself:

Mattel recently announced the release of the improved limited-edition Barbie Dolls for the Greater Syracuse market:

Manlius Barbie: This princess Barbie is sold only at Fayetteville Towne Center. She comes with an assortment of Kate Spade Handbags, a Lexus SUV, a long-haired foreign dog named Honey and a cookie-cutter house. Available with or without tummy tuck and face lift. Workaholic Ken sold only in conjunction with the augmented version. Manlius Barbie is easily exchanged, and occasionally mistaken for Skaneateles Barbie.

Baldwinsville Barbie: The modern day homemaker Barbie is available with Ford Wind star Minivan and matching gym outfit. She gets lost easily and has no full-time occupation. Traffic jamming cell phone sold separately.

Northside Barbie: This recently paroled Barbie comes with a 9mm handgun, a Ray Lewis knife,a Chevy with dark tinted windows, and a Meth Lab Kit. This model is only available after dark and must be paid for in cash (preferably small, untraceable bills) ..unless you are a cop, then we don't know what you are talking about.

Skaneateles Barbie: This yuppie Barbie comes with your choice of BMW convertible or Hummer H2. Included are her own Starbucks cup, credit card and country club membership. Also available for this set are Shallow Ken and Private School Skipper. You won't be able to afford any of them.

Oswego Barbie: This pale model comes dressed in her own Wrangler jeans two sizes too small, a NASCAR t-shirt and tweety bird tattoo on her shoulder. She has a six-pack of Bud light and a Hank Williams Jr. CD set. She can spit over 5 feet and kick mullet-haired Ken's butt when she is drunk. Purchase her pickup truck separately and get a confederate flag bumper sticker absolutely free.

Fulton Barbie: This tobacco-chewing, brassy-haired Barbie has a pair of her own high-heeled sandals with one broken heel from the time she chased beer-gutted Ken out of Oswego Barbie's house. Her ensemble includes low-rise acid-washed jeans, fake fingernails, and a see-through halter-top. Also available with a mobile home.

Westcott Street Barbie: This doll is made of actual tofu. She has long straight brown hair, arch-less feet, hairy armpits, no makeup and Birkenstocks , or combat boots with white socks. She prefers that you call her Willow. She does not want or need a Ken doll, but if you purchase two Northside Barbies and the optional Subaru wagon, you get a rainbow flag bumper sticker for free.

South Side Barbie: This Barbie now comes with a stroller and infant doll. Optional accessories include a GED and bus pass. Gangsta Ken and his 1979 Caddy were available, but are now very difficult to find since the addition of the infant.

Salina Street Barbie/Ken: This versatile doll can be easily converted from Barbie to Ken by simply adding or subtracting the multiple snap-on parts.

Vocabulary Lessons

Vocabulary lessons
Courtesy of Assasination Press

Dendrophilia: sexual attraction to trees.

Agalmatophilia: an attraction to statues or mannequins.

Oculolintus: the act of licking a partner's eyeball.

Visit Assasination Press for more lovely vocab lessons

It's Your Fault! You just had to wash them and make them all clean!

Things overheard at my house today:

Ross, where have you been keeping my purse empire? It smells funny and I don't like it!
-erika


You have a purse empire?
-Ross

It's not my fault that you just had to wash them and make them all clean!
-Ross (referring to the single pair of jeans that he would even consider wearing. At the time he was hopping about in his underpants looking late and annoyed.)

Yes! I found my ''Jesus 2000" hat!
-Ross


It's like a cape for your boobs!
-Ross

Destiny, you shouldn't date boys at all. Only date girl's. At least till you graduate college!
-Ross and Erika on learning that my niece Destiny (15 and a freshman) has a boyfriend who is a SENIOR!


You only love me cause I pick up the(dog) poop!
-Ross

Woof!
-Princess and Fluffy

American Idol Release Form

American Idol has been way on my mind lately. I really hate it for this. I just creeps in every year at the same time and leaves a lingering crusty smell in my mind until spring. And this year it is particularly bad. Some jack ass has pointed out to me that next season (season 7) will be my final chance to audition. I will be 28. And some braniac over at FOX has decided that 28 is obviously the very limit of youthful glow. It makes a girl feel damn old.

Okay, so those of you that know me know how strongly I feel about American Idol. I generally refer o it with the same caustic fear and distrust that I have only reserved for karaoke in the past. MUSICAL PROSTITUTION, I tell you! So I have copied, for you enjoyment and horror, my favorite bits of the release form. This is the form that you are required to sign merely to audition for the damn show. Enjoy!

I understand that I may reveal, and other parties may reveal, information about me that is of a personal, private, embarrassing or unfavorable nature, which information may be factual and/or fictional. I further understand that my appearance, depiction and/or portrayal in the Program may be disparaging, defamatory, embarrassing or of an otherwise unfavorable nature which may expose me to public ridicule, humiliation or condemnation. I acknowledge and agree that Producer shall have the right to (a) include any or all such information and appearances, depictions or portrayals in the Program as edited by Producer in its sole discretion, and (b) to broadcast and otherwise exploit the Program containing any or all such information and appearances, depictions or portrayals in any manner whatsoever in any and all media now known or hereafter devised, or for any other purpose, throughout the universe in perpetuity.

Geesh! Bring on the public ridicule, humiliation and condemnation! BRING IT ON!

Here's to you AMerican Idol! Here's to you!