An open letter to a new employee:
Dear Mr. Shirt tucked in and pleated slacks wearing headphones I wore in 3rd grade,
Congratulations on your new role here within this company. But a few questions:
Why are you wearing an office outfit from the mid 90’s? Who is allowing you to wear an office outfit from the mid 90’s? Have you met ear buds?
While your clothes are a pressing matter, the intensity in your eyes disturbs me in an “American Psycho” context- and the sheer fact you dress as a character from the book gives weight to my imagination.
I’m not sure if this is all a part of your master plan to fit into the norm by appearing as if you don’t. “Nobody will suspect the man in mid 90’s office apparel, he’s just listening to Third Eye Blind on his cushioned mid 90’s headphones.”
Well played my friend. But I know you know I’ve caught on.
I found you creeping around a corner the other day and I blatantly commanded that you, “stop being creepy”. I believe I’ve been added to your list but I accept that. I’m exposing you now on this blog and it won’t be hard for people in this office to find you….you’re wearing pleated slacks. And you tuck your shirts in too far, so it’s not cool, it’s slightly creepy.
I have a good view of you from my desk and I’ll do what I can to keep this office safe from whatever tricks you have up your pleats. I’ll see if you hide a chainsaw in your desk. And maybe you’re not a serial killer, maybe I’m weirder for staring at you from across the office because you creep me out. But whatever. I’m a martyr. I’ll fall on my weirdo sword to keep others safe.
Perhaps your schtick is working. Perhaps you’re not a serial killer but someone from the past that has come to the future to set something right. Perhaps you’re confused by iPhones and straighter/tighter office pants even though you somehow engineered a time machine. I don’t know.
But I’m equally intrigued/terrified. And I’m equally invested in my desire for you to wear your shirt not as tucked in.
Sincerely the girl who told you stop being creepy,
*runs around in a circle*
Ok. So obviously I’ll be penning my I Can Has Style tomorrow for the big event, but tonight I thought I’d do my speculatin’ on winners. Here’s my plan- Who I think will win and who I want to win.
Let’s get it on.
Best Actress: Cate Blanchett
Best Actor: Matthew McConaughey
Best Supporting Actress: Lupita Nyong’o
Best Supporting Actor: Jared Leto
Best Director: Gravity
Best Picture: 12 Years A Slave
Best Actress: Amy Adams
Best Actor: This is tough because after seeing both films I can’t effing decide: Matthew McConaughey or Chiwetel Ejiofor
Best Supporting Actress: Same damn issue but if I’m being fair and not girl crushing on my J Law: Lupita Nyong’o
Best Supporting Actor: Jared Leto
Best Director: I really want to say American Hustle but he pulled from so many people. 12 Years A Slave def deserves it.
Best Picture: 12 Years A Slave HANDS DOWN
It’s unfortunate because Leo definitely deserves an Oscar- but I’m not quite sure Wolf of Wall Street is the film he deserves it from. 12 Years A Slave was the only film I felt held all the golden nuggets: screenplay, ensemble cast, directing. I’d love American Hustle to take it home, the ensemble acting and screenplay were to die for but again, directing was not original to Russel.
This is the first year I’ve seen almost every picture up for nomination and I’m damn excited to partake in the fun.
Let me get back to my red carpet cooking and red carpet watching.
Tune in for I Can Has Style tomorrow!!!!
I had a nice list of blog topics for the next few entries but chucked them aside while watching Wendy Williams this morning. And by watching Wendy Williams…I mean…I wasn’t watching it….cough.
Let me start by saying: You do you.
Let me now say: I’m sincerely disappointed in our society shaming women who breastfeed in public.
Let me also say: I do not breastfeed in public. I took Summer PE in school so I wouldn’t have to change my clothes in front of people I went to school with, so whipping my boobies out in public is low on my list. I AM breastfeeding though. And I think Frankie and the long list of people who saw my jugs from the day Cori was born to now can say, that when used as their purpose right now for the nourishment of my child, they are not sexual objects.
So as I watch a debate about this woman on a Delta flight who was told to cover herself or stop feeding her child, and 3/4 people at the table (3 of which were women and mothers) had the consensus that “boobs are sexual objects in this country so you should cover up, I don’t want to see your boobs on a plane” i was shocked.
And here’s why:
These are images of breasts we see on a daily basis- and nobody says a damn thing. Why? Because they’re being used as sexual objects. So how is it the complaint for breastfeeding in public is that they’re sexual objects? Are you telling Salma Hayek to cover up if you so happen to sit near her in public? Are you really uncomfortable that breasts are sexual objects or are you uncomfortable because it’s the one time we’re not using them as sexual objects therefore you have no idea how to compute the act?
Again, this is not me on my high horse because I don’t breastfeed my kid in public. This is my normal issue and purpose of the blog- calling out pure ignorance in today’s society. When a woman walks on your flight with tits hanging out, do they tell her to cover them up? What about her ass cheeks in those short shorts I see on almost every flight to Texas in the summer?
Out of the pics before and these- whose boobs are showing more?
This issue is really fucking dumb. There’s no gray here. It’s apparent that as long as boobs are being used as sexual things- peeps be cool with it. But WHOOOOA- she’s feeding her child??? No, cover ‘em up. That’s effing gross. How dare you use boobs as non sexual things in my presence *turns page of Cosmo magazine*. How dare you totes make me rethink how breasts are seen in public, my mind like simply can’t open up to see boobs as like two separate purposes! *coos over Victoria’s Secret new push up bra*
I know a lot of people who read this will not agree with me. For some reason, no matter how you rationalize this, people will still think it’s wrong. I’m not here to change your mind because if you’re one of the MANY described above you are not a mind to be changed (and for that I’m sincerely sorry).
I just had to express how disappointed I am in the strange way society is blind to common sense and the issues of “sexual” things as opposed to “nourishing your child”.
This is an open space, we’re honest here- right? Right.
Well, today is Valentine’s Day and I’m the most unsexy Erika I’ve ever been. Sure, I’ve got myself a Valentine, I guess. But in a 700 square foot maternity cage where his Biology books share equal space with burp cloths and used diapers- I think it goes without saying the romantic/sexy aspect of today and the luck of having someone to share it with goes a little fuzzy.
But Erika, you just had a baby. You’re the most woman you’ll ever be and that is sexy.
I’m squishy. I’m marked. My V is out of action for V Day. I missed 3 spots shaving in the short time I had while my infant was passed out (and the need to shave was embarrassingly drastic so my legs look like a 14 year old with those weird tufts of hair on his face because he can’t grow a real beard). And for the last four weeks i’ve been so busy looking down at latching, poop, pretty sleeping infant, pumps and whatever outside communication I can get from my friends in a land far away on Facebook- I can’t remember the last time I actually kissed today’s valentine.
BUT…I’m gonna do whatever I can to spruce myself up and make the most of Commercial Love Day.
Swipe some mascara, brush some blush on those cheeks that finally came back from the depths of water retention, and do something with your hair. I even painted my nails Prostitute Red. Most of this step is for me, it’ll be nice to pass a mirror and recognize myself. But maybe he’ll notice, too.
Wrap that Moby around your waist, slip the bundled baby in and get hopping on his gift. It won’t be much but it’ll be something. Enough to say “thank you for supporting me while I grew your child, holding my leg while I pushed and not staring at me like a crazy person when I broke down and sobbed a few weeks ago”.
You’re not going out. Date night won’t happen for awhile and New York inflates dinner prices to an embarrassing level on V Day anyways- so while you’re out for his gift, grab some dinner ingredients and try to whip up a special plate of love for the both of you. And make it easy enough to eat with a kid attached to your boob because she’ll more than likely pick the exact time dinner is ready to need her dinner as well. While you’re at it, have long pretty hair that blows in a perfectly placed fan wind with a sexy nursing bra unclipped so the mood isn’t ruined with suckling and milk soaking your top.
Remember that he probably still finds you somewhat attractive or, at least, remembers that you’ll get back to the good you at some point. Don’t put yourself down today and buck up for whatever love and romance you can muck up.
And she’s worth the unsexy. I mean, clearly.
Whilst I sit here actively growing a human, I can’t help but think about how weird I can one day make her. I’m terrified that she’ll become some shallow, materialistic thingy that knows how to apply makeup by 6 and ask to “totes talk to friends” by age 4.
In my quest for understanding the balance of making her weird but not…like…weird…I searched out the weirdest beginnings for tiny humans.
And boy does it get fucking weird.
Finland thinks outside the box….or sleeps in the box?
Apparently in Finland it’s cool to shove your infant in a cardboard box to sleep. But where do you get such a lovely sleeping box? From Buy Buy Baby? Nope! Just use the normal ‘ol cardboard square your gifts come in! HOW CONVENIENT!
Think about it, that baby isn’t going anywhere. And if you need to ship him or her off to the grandparents for a weekend visit, it’s like the baby packed itself!
You Drool? I Spit.
Bulgaria is a place that has the baby’s best interest at heart. They figured out a way to protect you from the devil himself. I mean, that’s pretty effing considerate.
When the baby is born it will obviously be fawned over. Told it’s a miracle and precious and such a cutie pie. And that right there is the best way to make the devil soooo jealous. He’s normally pretty chill, right? But those babies, getting all that attention, he can’t stand it. So parents think quick and spit in that babies face! Spit right in it! As if to say, see Devil? This baby is poop! Plain poop! Absolutely nothing to be jealous of.
And it works.
Let Them Eat Cake! Or Wear It!
In Ireland, I would eat babies.
Wait…let me start that again.
In Ireland, I would eat babies! …..Okay, so it doesn’t get better. But hear me out.
The luck of the Irish save their top tier wedding cake for as long as it takes to bake a human. Then, at the christening, they sprinkle cake over the baby’s head. Holy water be damned, cake is where it’s at. And if I attended that christening while on this low carb boring no cake diet, I would freaking eat that baby….or at least lick the cake from its baby fresh head. Cake and new baby smell? I mean…if that flavor doesn’t exist then the Irish should hop on it.
So yeah….shit gets weird. I didn’t even mention China’s potty training methods from two months in, seawood soup diet for the Koreans or Bali’s “Don’t You Dare Touch The Ground” traditions. But you should def check them out.
And i’ll keep you up to date with my methods of weirdness training once I birth this wonderous fetus.