I’m starting a new job next week.
I’ve been with the same agency for 6 years and now I’ve decided to move on to a new opportunity.
So exciting, right? YES. Yes. y…….es.
But I’m a Taurus, through and through. Predictability. Routine. Change is terrifying, even when the necessity reaches me to the core… I will hide my pride here and say I. Am. Terrified.
My friends and family are psyched, and I smile as I say this is great but inside it’s pretty much the scariest thing I could do. I birthed a human… I grew her and evicted her from my womb with sheer force and lots of pain…. But this is my soft spot. The new. The unknown.
So… Enough of being a wittle scaredy cat. Let’s suit up in the armor of my better Taurus qualities and find the positive things that’ll help me transition into a new journey.
- I have the backing of some pretty clear signs that this was right. I had other recent interviews and there was one particular “omen” in the form of an old boss who was a literal nightmare. I felt tainted immediately when I saw her randomly after an interview. But this go around? Some of the coolest and most precious signs I could get. I won’t go into detail except for one, my Grandma. She came to me 6 years ago in a dream to tell me I would get a job at the place I had just interviewed. I did. She came to me last week and here I am. I don’t question her role in my life. I might be scared of the new, but she’s letting me know this was a rad move and all is right.
- I will eat my fear in the form of sweet sweet treats. Cupcakes, donuts, whatever… There are a lot of anxieties to eat and who am I to let anxieties fester? I will murder them with icing and glaze. It will be okay.
- The agency alone is fucking neat. The people I spoke with were natural and honest. I trust the person who gave me this opportunity and I’ll lean on that aspect more than cupcakes because I have a waistline to keep in check. AMIRITE.
- Lastly… I was home with Corina when I got the call that they’d love to have me. We were dancing and having a good time when I picked up the phone. I took the news in excited stride and hung up. The song playing at the time was perfect:
This is indeed a new ride. And I will not only fall graciously into the unknown but I will fall with sheer determination. Will I make mistakes? Yes. Will I learn from them? More Yes. Will I grow, laugh, live, try, fail, try harder, look dazed, send gifs randomly in email? Of course.
So, I guess what I mean by all of this is…. Allow me to take the bull by the horns…cough…the Antlers.
A few life friends of mine can vouch for the obsession and constant acting boner I have for Leo DiCaprio.
My mom can vouch for the endless VHS search of his lesser known roles (This Boy’s Life was the hardest to find, followed by Marvin’s Room).
My walls still linger with the ghosts of his Teen Bop posters.
I cried when I didn’t get to do my 6th grade power point presentation on him and I didn’t cry when my boyfriend at the time broke up with me because I loved Leo more (that boyfriend recently robbed a pizza hut with a gas tank or something… So I won.)
I was a girl and loved Leo, he’s adorbs.. I mean seriously. But beyond the teeny bop obsession is the first person who told me I was an actress. And what it meant to balance so many feelings and experiences in one person.
Not to my face, no. But through every role he played.
I was way too young watching Basketball Diaries in my Pine’s Apartment home. I wasn’t supposed to be learning about excessive drug use, prostitutes or skipping class. And for reasons of my own, secrets of my own, that movie helped me understand a part of my journey at a crucial time in my life.
Around that same too young of age, What’s Eating Gilbert Grape fell into my lap and carved its way into my heart. I’ve always been sensitive, I’ve always balanced the deep sadness of witnessing a life that wasn’t given as wholly as mine and the joy you can still give them even if they don’t think or live like you do. And while I related too seriously to Depp’s character (way too young), it was Leo who showed me the power of living someone else’s life. The vulnerability of absorbing yourself around those that aren’t like you and taking their experience and wearing the mask so seamlessly. I can barely write about this movie without crying, the impact it had on me will always shine bright.
Anyone who knows me understands the dynamic I have with my family. And if you’re close, you know what my grandmother meant to me…means to me. Marvin’s Room was a window into that teenage life of battling the emotions that come with growing up. I was given a glimpse into what my mom was possibly thinking and feeling, being a single mom with kids and struggling with who she was as her own person. And it gave me the hardest peek at what it meant to lose someone, to watch them deteriorate. I was given the gift of not watching my own grandma wither away before she left us, but when I think of Marvin in the room…watching those colors on the wall…I think of the love I have for her and the constant, cold ache her absence leaves me with.
And lastly, even though I’ve seen every one of his movies and it kills me to cut this list off here, This Boy’s Life prepared me for a moment I didn’t think I would live… The story centers on a boy and his mom, how she found someone to take care of them, and that man turned out to be an abusive asshole. As I watched someone I admire take on the role of a young kid, a teenager, who is suddenly responsible for getting his mother out of an abusive situation I had no clue it would put a spark in my soul that would lend itself to quick thinking to help someone I loved in the same situation.
Leo doesn’t know me, probably won’t ever know me… But he should know what each of his choice in roles did for my life growing up. I giggled and blushed at his looks…but I grew as a person as he grew in his career and he supplied me with the emotional range I would need to conquer many aspects of my life.
Last night was a long time coming for him. But in my world, he didn’t get an Oscar for The Revenant… he got an Oscar for giving me invaluable strength, not only in my actress soul but in my real life.
On the daily I have battles with different Erika’s in my head. Future Erika, yesterday Erika, hungry Erika, drunk Erika…lots of Erika’s. But this morning I had the fortune of reuniting with 6th grade Erika, and boy, was she fun.
The problem is, while she was fun, nobody knew that’s what was happening and I’ve given at least one poor soul something to ponder on today.
Allow me to set the scene:
I was on the train, I had just sat down after squirming between the shoulders of two men that I am now perched below. They are deep in conversation when I notice that one of them has a very much untied shoe. Maybe it’s the mom in me, maybe I didn’t want to read a Buzzfeed article about a young man who lost a leg on an escalator, but my immediate impulse was to alert him to this tiny issue that could lead to a spectrum of troubles.
So…how could this go so wrong?
Have you thought about telling another adult, “Your shoe is untied” without immediately thinking “Made ya look!”
And thus, a completely unsuspecting girl cracked up laughing on the train. Alone. I couldn’t stop. People noticed. The man still had an untied shoe.
It took a few minutes to really get myself under control but once I did I couldn’t help but think, but his shoe is still untied.
Does an adult tell another adult that their shoe is untied? Does a stranger tell another stranger that their shoe is untied? I DON’T KNOW! I DON’T KNOW PROTOCOL! I ALSO DON’T KNOW THAT I CAN TELL HIM HIS SHOE IS UNTIED WITHOUT SAYING I MADE YOU LOOK. Or worse, not even getting that part out and just laughing wild eyed.
I wish it had been a short shoe lace but the thing literally looked like an ankle noose, just waiting for someone to step on it or a train door to close on it. I had a responsibility here. I had a life in a my hands. If I could just stop giggling.
In the end, I managed to sheepishly say “Excuse me” *far reach to lightly touch his hand because apparently touching his thigh would have been wrong* “Your shoe is untied.”
His shoe is tied.
I’m a hero.
You’re a fucking asshat, Sir.
I knew this article would be vomitous before I took a bite. And just to be clear, the following phrase will not be used in this post, “I’m not even a huge feminist but…” Because not only does it dictate that being a feminist is something to be ashamed of but it comes from the same place of “I don’t mean to be sexist but…”…and in case you’re confused, the place phrases like that come from are stupid and sequitur to saying something normally ill informed therefore creating an asshat out of you.
For reference, this article is about T.I. saying a woman can’t be president…and it’s more likely that a mythical creature would gain entry into the office before a woman would. I literally laughed out loud writing that, it’s fucking hilarious…He’s so shitty.
I know T.I. means nothing to our political coupling coming up next year, and while he’s an ignorant human being, it’s not him I have a problem with. It’s not him that I fear. It’s who he influences. It’s who looks at another man saying these things and decides they agree with him and reiterates and thus causes a chain gang of stupid, stupid, stupid words.
Before we continue, here are his words:
“Just because, every other position that exists, I think a woman could do well. But the president? It’s kinda like, I just know that women make rash decisions emotionally – they make very permanent, cemented decisions – and then later, it’s kind of like it didn’t happen, or they didn’t mean for it to happen. And I sure would hate to just set off a nuke. [Other leaders] will not be able to negotiate the right kinds of foreign policy; the world ain’t ready yet. I think you might be able to the Lochness Monster elected before you could [get a woman].”
Before we continue, here are all the “very permanent, cemented decisions” he’s done as a man…
- Manufacturing and Distributing crack cocaine (irrational, illegal)
- Battery of Law Enforcement Officer (violent, irrational or rash)
- Probation Violation (irrational, ignorant)
- Purchase and Possession of Automatic Firearms (violent)
- Possession of Controlled Substance (irrational, illegal)
And those are just on the record. I don’t know him personally but I’m thinking he’s not the best contender to speak about who should be president and why someone can’t. Especially if that can’t is simply that SHE HAS A VAGINA and that a vagina and the choices it can make are scary to him.
The issue is this:
A man does not get to say a woman is irrational and that her choices as a person can’t be trusted because she has emotions. I have two holes in my apartment walls because of irrational emotions from a man. And that’s a very, very minor example of how men act irrationally (no matter how they justify their actions), based on emotion or the compression of. Women are more apt to express emotion in our daily lives but that does not mean we’re risks for positions of power. Someone please ask Obama the last time he didn’t feel something and base his actions on it during his Presidency. You think he’ll fist bump T.I. and say, “True brah?”. NO. Because T.I., you, you over there, her, and me- we have no fucking clue what it’s like to truly be president and what he bases his reactions on. Not to mention, when a woman is President she’s not entering the rodeo a lone cowgirl ready to pop her period pistol all over the fucking White House, just like our current male President isn’t. There is a cabinet of advisors, you stupid twat.
T.I., you’re just a dumb shart they couldn’t keep your butthole of a mouth closed long enough to think about what you were saying or how to apply your own life to negate your thoughts.
There is no truth to a woman being too emotional to run the Presidential office and if I’m really being real: Loch Ness is considered a girl, you stupid ass. So you pretty much said there’s no chance a woman will be president but a woman mythical creature can be….Further stating how dumb you are.
*Rant Mic Dropped*
Has anyone turned an ear to Hailee Steinfeld’s new song “Love Myself”?
At first listen, I figured it was a sassy song about being an independent woman because girlies love that kind of jam…but…what was that, Hailee? You’re turning the cliche upside down?
Instead of a call out to all the ladies, she’s calling out her own name….in her Skittle Diddle anthem of 2015.
I gotta say. I was surprised. I’m loving these Disney looking chicks sliding in some twisted shit. And Hailee is not letting me down.
For years and years I had a stigma against…Loving myself *winks at Hailee*…thanks to some girls in middle school and my black/white view as to what was wrong/right. But eventually lil Ewika grew up into a grown ass woman who knew better. And Hailee’s song comes upon of wave of accepting myself and loving myself (in every way, innuendo or not).
But let’s backtrack a little because while I’m all for rubbing out some good tunes, a few of her points bring me up short and should be cause for concern:
- She’s going to touch the pain away. This is totes cool if she means her emotionally scared soul courtesy of some douchebag. But Hailee, if you have actual pain down there I’d highly advise a visit to your GYN. Getting your solo on to mask it sounds dangerous.
- She’s screaming her own name. Now, in the most ravenous moments of my pleasure soliloquy I’ve never considered saying my own name. That’s some top notch narcissism right there…but uh…you go girl.
- She’s going to love herself until it hurts. Once again, I’m concerned for her health. Hailee, there’s good and bad pain…blink once if you’re meaning the good kind.
- She’s cool anytime, day or night. Totally. There’s no stipulation or rules on that…but just to clear it up to all the newbies meeting Little Red Riding Hood for the first time, there’s a time/place thing that should be followed so you’re not labeled “uncontrollable” or “too awesome”.
Well….I think we’ve all learned a few things today. And in the age for women uniting, I think a pretty good place to start is everyone nodding slowly when asked “Are you gonna love yourself tonight?”
Wellwellwell….We finally got to the brutal, strange, poetic and sometimes cliche ending to Season 2 of True Detective.
What did you think? *puts finger to your mouth* Sssshhhhh, this is my blog. I’m gonna tell you what YMWIK thinks.
And me think I detect something snarky. I’m not even mad about it.
With the strong dialogue and existential flow of last season people would still try to find something wrong with it. It’s our nature, humans are dicks. But I was surprised to find the biggest problem for other people wasn’t the anticlimactic and rushed ending…it was the lack of a strong woman role.
The story didn’t call for that. And guess what? Not all women in real life are strong women roles. I know plenty of petty beeyotches who wouldn’t know how to represent a real woman if their lives depended on it. So, why are we putting pressure on creatives to jam an ideal woman into every damn story? But alas…the hell fire of woman came raining down on Nic Pizzolatto and I believe he took it to heart.
And then took that heart and twisted the knife so deeply.
Let me front this by saying I’m not sure if I liked the ending last night. I won’t criticize his mind, he wrote what he wrote and if you think you could do better- by all means. But if he wrote his ending as a huge “fuck you” to all the people who complained about his lack of writing good women, then I’ll accept it. Writing is a medium for many things and it’s okay if that thing is to relay a snarky message.
I would like to think Nic started out saying, Oh yeah? You want a strong woman? Here they are, standing tall behind the bodies of men who deserved better than what they ended with. Back shots, desert deaths and “message not sent”. But your message, my friend, was received.
He gave you the women you asked for but the price was the blood of men who protected them.
Or maybe, a happier way to see it is this: maybe he started out feeling snarky but in the end found that a woman’s heart can bring more justice than a broken man’s mind. We are two separate genders who can co-habitat but whose inner gears work on different platforms.
Frank knew how to bring justice to those who worked hand and foot to fuck him over…but he didn’t have the heart to realize a life with Jordan, even if it meant running, would far surpass dying bloodied alone.
Paul had the mind to think he knew what being a good man was, but he didn’t have the heart to live a life he deserved. And in the end, no matter how tactical he was, he was lost in himself and a shot in the back was the only thing that woke him up.
Ray. Oh…Ray. You were the only one who gave the heart a chance but in the end it didn’t matter. He darkened his heart and his life in bringing what he thought was justice to his family. When he had the chance to serve true justice and had the mind to know how, a little red light shone from beneath his car. And the only justice left to serve was making sure Ani didn’t get the same short stick the men in this season had picked.
So we’re left with Ani and Jordan and one lil dude who has his life ahead of him. That little boy, Ray’s spirit resurrected but not his mistakes, is the cherry on top of a vengeful sundae that Ani best serves with a warm heart alongside Jordan. I once said I was sick of women’s strength stemming from the actions of men, but this is the exception. And if you still think Nic can’t write a true woman? You have no idea what a true woman is.
Sidenote: You name a character Felicia and we don’t get one damn “Bye Felicia”….for shame.
I contemplated documenting this through my humor goggles but in the end…I’m a true journalist and I can’t resist the urge to spin a story.
Last night Frankie almost died. I know, it’s hard to swallow but it’s true.
We were sitting there, eating dinner, having a chat when suddenly he made a weird noise. It kind of sounded like a wheeze that got punched in the throat. He then rushed to put his plate down and pointed at his throat.
The following series of thoughts/actions on my part won’t paint me in the best light but in my defense…I totally get the mindset behind people thinking gunshots are fireworks.
Frankie tries to breathe chicken and it doesn’t go well.
Erika (thought): Frankie stop.
Frankie punch wheezes again and frantically points at his throat.
Erika (thought): DID I PUT NUTS IN THE CHICKEN (why the hell would i put nuts in the chicken?)
Frankie stumbles around the living room making horrible sounds.
Erika (thought): Ok this is bad but I think he can handle it.
While I dump responsibility onto him it’s clear he can’t handle it.
Erika (thought): Oh shit this is real. Holy shit i don’t know the Heimlich. EDDIE IZZARD TAUGHT ME NOTHING.
Frankie is now looking terrified that I will just watch him die a slow chicken death.
Erika (words): Uh…Oh my god. Ok. Um. Ok.
Frankie pretty much resigns to the fact that while I’ve practiced in the art of Katniss, Katniss never had to give the Heimlich Maneuver.
Erika dives in and attempts the Heimlich. Erika feels really stupid and it’s not effective.
FRANKIE PROCEEDS TO DIE.
Erika (thoughts): just beat the shit out of him. JUST BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF HIM!
Erika beats the shit out of Frankie’s back and out comes chicken. The splat i’ll hear all of my life.
Erika (thought): Chriiiiiiiiiiiiiist. (and then the worst part) I had to physically cover my mouth so that I would not actually laugh hysterically like my body wanted me to as Frankie is hunched over and backing away from the light.
Erika (actually said out loud): What the hell happened! (wince)
Needless to say the laughing may have been more appropriate than a seemingly angry response.
When all was said and done…. Frankie lived. And we both immediately went on our phones to watch how to correctly Heimlich someone. And I laughed a lot because my body was determined to laugh away the panic.
Side note: Rosie took full advantage of her co-owner almost dying and attempted to consume the rest of Frankie’s chicken on the couch.