Archive | May, 2012

Prom, Shoes, and Cat Oatmeal

25 May

I’ve been trying out Atlanta’s spread of restaurants lately with my parents (clearly, they were paying). There have been some pretty terrible restaurants and some pretty awesome ones, but, no matter the restaurant, there are always girls in prom dresses.

Sure, it’s spring in Atlanta, and we’re still on the cusp of prom season, so this should be expected. When I look at them, though, I can’t help but think of my senior prom… it was such a strange experience.

For us ladies, prom begins with a dress. In this particular case, my friend picked the dress out—without me even there. She was at JC Pennys or Macys or… one of those crazy prom dress stores, and calls me:

Her: Hey Erica! I’ve been shopping for prom dresses, and I found this one dress that would look fantastic on you!

What-I-Said: Right. Okay. Cool!

This was a mistake.

I tried it on when she gave it to me, but I reckon that having a tank-top on while trying it on was enough to distort the shape.

Come prom day, I slip the dress on, and realize that this dress was meant for… women who were “more endowed” than I am.

That made sense, right?

“Better endowed”; “has more assests”; well, “large breasted” would be the most direct way of putting it… (awkward phrasing is awkward). Regardless, I had to bobby-pin the straps up to make it fit. Then I spent the entire night looking down—to make the bobby pins were doing their job. Yeah.

(Side note: They actually worked very well. Bobby Pins are like the duct tape of clothing.)

The seven of us—two couples, me, and two other singles girls—left for prom late in the day. It was in a beautiful venue, a very swanky, high end hotel in Atlanta. The dancing had already started when we get there, so we chose a table, set our shoes beneath it, and went off for the dancing.

The couples ditched us immediately and were nowhere to be seen until the end of the dance.

This left me and my two single friends. For the sake of the story, we’ll call them Can-Dance and Thinks-She-Can-Dance.

Both of them, by the way, can dance better than me. My dancing ability is somewhere between Babe Pig in the City and a sleeping bear.

Here’s a highly scientific chart of dancing ability:

Personally, I thought Carlton was a quite good dancer. It takes talent to do what he did. That’s why I placed him above Babe the Pig.

Well, I started perfecting my side sway to the beat of whatever song turns up, and I think, “Yeah, I’m pretty good at this blending in thing.”

Then I see Can-Dance and Thinks-She-Can-Dance lock eyes… not in a romantic way, but in a scheming, conniving, shenanigans type of way. All of the sudden, they come at me, force me between them, and start dancing with me in the middle.

“Come on, Erica, dance!”

They say it over and over and over, and they will not stop until I submit to their demands.

It still sends chills down my spine.

I mean– think about it. It was like playing monkey in the middle… but there was nothing to catch AND tackling one of them would be totally inappropriate.

PLUS, they were in my bubble—too close, man. Too. Close.

Well, now that I think about it maybe I should have tackled one of them. They were so close I probably could have tackled both of them in one fell swoop—two birds with one stone, you know.

Eventually, I cracked.

I needed my bubble back… I needed to know that there was some peace to be found in this cruel, cruel world.

I did one of the two dances I knew how to do:

The Macarena.

(At no point in this song do the Teletubies actually do the Macarena. In fact, I’m pretty sure they’re doing the Electric Slide. Either way, this is probably the best version of the Macarena on YouTube)

It’s a dance that really only requires the use of your hands, and I liked it for its simplicity. But this did not satiate them. They were like puppies. They needed to be both fed and watered– and would not leave me alone until they got it…

… so I did “the sprinkler”.

Not one of my better moments.

(Between this and the Teletubbies, I probably won’t be able to sleep for the next week…)

It worked,  sort of. They stopped asking me to dance for a while. Then, when they came within a five-foot radius of me, all I need to do was “the sprinkler”, and they would giggle and leave.

I like to think that if I were a sprinkler that I’d be one of those fancy, motion-activated ones… I don’t know if I’m even being metaphorical here. Probably not.

After all, if you’re going to be any sprinkler, why not be a classy sprinkler?

So, I spent four hours with my sway, my sprinkler, the refreshments, and random groups of people, until midnight came.

The adults begin ushering everyone out, so I go to collect my stuff. My group meets by the table to gather shoes–

And my shoes weren’t there.

I searched up and down our table and begin searching other tables. By the time I get three tables out, my group begins to search with me. We search the tables, the dance floor, the refreshments… underneath, on top, and behind everything. My shoes were gone.

Someone took my shoes.

… Thieves…

Stolen: My Shoes
Reward: A Hug…

I was in Atlanta. We were going to have to walk around the block to get to our ride, and, now, I’d have to do it barefoot…it’s a cruel, cruel world, indeed.

Eventually, one of the adults took pity on me and passed me some flip-flops from the “LOST & FOUND” bin, which I wore the rest of the night. Who knows where those flip-flops had been, but it seemed like they were better than the streets of Atlanta after midnight.

The shoes were never found. I can only hope that they’re in a better place now.


So I recently hit 200 subscribers and was nominated for the “Beautiful Blogger Award”—which is awesome, because what better way is there to celebrate than by promoting other people 😀

First: I got the award from Kay Rice at Words from Ashes

Second: I was asked to nominate/pass on this award to seven people. I have no idea if y’all have gotten the award yet, though I tried to make sure you hadn’t.

  1. Shannon at Teens Read Too
  2. Ezra at Ezra Won’t Shut Up
  3. Bridget at Bridget’s Books
  5. Ethel the Dean at Rant and Roll
  6. Ara at The Thing Is, Ara
  7.  All of you lovely people who have felt the pain of a deadline– but choose to procrastinate anyway


If you choose to accept the award, just copy the image over to your blog. List where you got it from and pass it along to seven other people. Have fun!


I just saw a commercial for McDonald’s Oatmeal where the lady is like, “This oatmeal is so awesome I’ll blog about it!” Then, the lady next to her pulls out her iPhone and says, “It’s gone viral!”

It really just begs the question: what the hell was in that cup of oatmeal??

A finger, maybe… or a cat.

Cat’s are always going viral.

Bloggin’ Like A Rebel

16 May

Hey guys, remember that time when I was featured on “Freshly Pressed” and went from less than 10 followers to about 150 followers?

Yeah, that happened. Good times.

Achievement Unlocked: Only MS Paint picture on the page 😀

Basically, I checked my email and noticed that I had 200 or so unread messages… and knew that something was going down. Now there’s like a bajillion more people who are reading my blog, so I figured I’d go ahead and introduce myself:

Yo. I’m Erica. I have a blog on which I post crazy doodles and random posts. I love orange push-up-pops and utilizing gangster colloquialisms, home slice.

Also, I’m a rebel.

You can tell I’m a rebel because I was in a “No Balloon” zone. Fight the power.

Examples of my accomplishments in Rebellion include:

Grand Theft Orange Pops

Who-Doodled-Pictures-Of-Gandalf-All-Over-This-Library-Book Vandalism

And, more recently, Nail-Art Graffiti.

The other day, I was feeling mischievous. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, squirrels were diving out of the trees… Then, I woke up and thought to myself, what mayhem and chaos can I cause today.

So I went about my day, packing and what not, hoping that the opportunity would present itself, eventually.

And it did, while I was shopping.

I was at the grocery store, picking up some cleaning supplies, as ya’ do when you’re packing up. I walked toward the registers, and turned the corner—then I saw my mischief and all its glory.

There stood, in the cosmetics section, a section of nail polish that was as tall as I was.

we wants it… we needs it… must have the preccciiiiooooouuuuusss… tricksie hobbits– oh, wait.

What’s the big deal with nail polish? Why is nail polish mischievous, you might ask?

Colors. All the colors.

When I was in elementary, middle, and high school, my parents had this rule. Well, they had a lot of rules, but one of them was: the only nail polish colors you can wear were whites, pinks, and reds. I’m not quite sure why this rule existed, or when it even started… but it was there. I never much cared either way, because I didn’t care much about my nails.

But when I saw this nail polish shelf, suddenly, I cared.

There were so many colors. Sure, you had your whites, pinks, and reds—but there were also oranges and greens and blues. It was like a rainbow—a double or triple rainbow, really.

Double Rainbow. It’s so intense. What does it mean?!?!?!

AND the brand was called Sinful Colors — the harmonies of sweet rebellion were calling out to me 😀

So I raided the shelf.

I bought about $20 worth of nail polish, and, when I look at them, I know that I am probably the happiest miscreant ever– And I have a nail in every color to show for it.

Hey, but you know what I didn’t buy? Nail polish remover.


I got a Twitter account. If you’re interested in what I’m up to, feel free to check it out.

Narnia, Pizza, and Concentric Circles

14 May

The semester has finally ended! 😀
I can barely remember the last time that I wasn’t stressed out over some assignment… the summer break couldn’t have come sooner.
Along with classes, my semester job ended until next semester too, which is awesome, because my job kinda sucks.
I work at a buffet type of restaurant where people take their job way too seriously. Sure, it’s a business that needs to be well run. I know this. But, when it comes down to it, it shouldn’t be that stressful—but it is.
A few weeks ago I was making pizza… just a regular pepperoni pizza. It was a pretty awesome pizza too—I made the crust swirly. This pizza was legit. In fact, not only did I make this pizza, but I made ten pizzas just like it, and they were ready to go in the freezer.

*This representation cannot/does not represent the actual size or amount of awesome in the real pizza.

[As a side note: I don’t know why we make pizzas that go into the freezer, by the way. We put them in, and I never see them come out. Personally, I think we had some Narnians back there, taking these freezer pizzas– and I can’t really blame them. My pizzas are awesome. Instead of offering Turkish Delight, the White Witch is probably offering my pizzas, you know. Poor Edmund doesn’t stand a chance.]

Navigational chart of the freezer.

While I was making pizza, another girl comes in to help. No big deal. This meant that I had someone to talk to while making pizza. Well, it would have been. But having a conversation requires two people talking. This girl talked so fast I couldn’t respond.
It’s probably really rude to mention her name out on the interwebs… so for the story sake, let’s call her Ginger.
A customer approaches our little area, so I walk away from our pizza making to help him out.

This was a bad idea, apparently.

While I am helping this customer to some of my magically delicious pizzas, she walks over to my ten-freezer-ready-pepperoni-pizzas… and begins her reign of terror and destruction.
One by one, she takes my pizzas off the cart of freezer pizzas, and starts messin with them. She adds cheese, some extra pepperoni. Clearly, she thought my pizza were inadequate. When I turned around, I saw this. I’ve only done this a couple dozen times, and I know she’s been working here a year longer than I have. So, at first, I shrug it off. It was really no big deal…
I wanted to ask her what the hell she was doing. I made my pizzas the way I was taught to make them AND with some extra love in the crust. My pizzas were awesome, as I said before.
Then she looks at me—probably because of my obvious look of confusion—and says the strangest thing I’ve ever hear someone say…
“Were you the one who made all the pepperonis into two concentric circles?”
…Two concentric circles.
Two concentric circles.
Two concentric circles?
I had to pause for a minute just to think back to middle school and remember what “concentric circles” were.

Definition of CONCENTRIC CIRCLES: two or more circles having a common center.

Eventually, I responded,
“Uh, yeah—“
“Because they’re not supposed to be in concentric circles.” I look at her, and Ginger keeps rearranging pepperoni’s into a seemingly random pattern. “They’re supposed to be arranged so that they’re like two concentric circles, but so that they don’t look like it.”

Apparently, “so they don’t look like it” means “not at all like circles”.

“When I started working here, we had to count all the pepperoni’s out loud to make sure that we had the right amount—you don’t have the right amount, by the way—and then we had to get a full time worker to check them before we put them in the oven to make sure they weren’t ugly.”
Oh really? I’m sorry my pizzas don’t live up to the aesthetic quality that’s expected in this fine establishment… Little Ceaser would be so disappointed in me right now.
Ginger went on for half an hour about the random stuff they were required to do with pizza a year ago. Personally, I don’t see the point. It’s easy to make pizza—really, really easy—AND we’re at a buffet. No one is expecting any of the fancy tricks you could get from Dominos or Pizza Hut.
Don’t get me wrong, my pizza taste like little concentrated slices of awesome. The emphasis, though, is on taste… Not pepperoni arrangement.
Eventually, she has to stop to breathe, so I ask her what is wrong with two circles…
“Making them into concentric circles makes it obvious that there’s a pattern in the pizza… And you didn’t add enough cheese. You should add one AND A QUARTER hand fulls next time.”
Well damn.
Eventually, she rearranged each of my freezer-ready pizzas. All of them.
I hope the Narnians enjoy them.

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