Is it just me or is this new year off to a shitty start?

For the moment, I’d like to keep the disaster I call my romantic life under wraps. Needless to say, the drama level in that area is at an all-time high and I sadly can’t claim complete innocence in that matter. Its been all the things heartache and drama bring: heavy drinking, randomly zoning out, increased time sitting on the couch watching American’s Next Top Model cycle 6 marathons, adding an extra Xanax to my daily routine…you get the picture.

So let’s start off the New Year with a funny story, shall we?

My vibrator broke…in mid-action. Ever have this happen to you? I pray you haven’t. It made a horrible grinding noise (which at first was working for me)…then it crapped out. I panicked. Started shaking it. Changed the batteries. Slammed it against the dresser. Nothing. It was dead. So I pulled out the old sex toy box. And, yes, it’s a BOX not a DRAWER. You people who can keep all that shit in a drawer are sad folks. I dig through it and find nothing that will work.

So now its after midnight. I have a broken vibrator pulled apart on my bed. My sex toy box is empty and I have various lubricants, massage oils, cock rings and condoms strewn about my bedroom. Nothing. Now what?

And can I just say – god bless you women who can manage to manually pull off masturbating without the use of toys or another individual. I’m still trying to master the art but, honestly, can’t do it. I’m not one to opt for the natural method of anything. I don’t meditate when I have a headache, I take an asprin. I don’t deal with a bad day by taking a bath, I take a bath along with a jug of Pinot Grigio. I worry that if I ever went to prison, I’d be screwed. I don’t think they let you take toys with you in the cell.

(And, yes, this is the shit I worry about.)

Back to the story. I’m frantically looking everywhere for something. I heard that sitting under running water in the bath tub does the trick. Tried that – doesn’t work...plus temperature control is extremely tricky. I don’t have a removable showerhead, so couldn’t test that theory out. I even considered my electronic toothbrush but couldn't bring myself to that level (plus I could buy 2 new vibrators for the price of one of those toothbrush replacement heads).

So I gave up. I tried the old natural way and nothing. And can I just say that, once you hit that level, there’s no way you can concentrate on anything. You’re angry, frustrated and wide awake. My options were maxed out until I remembered…

The porn shop is open 24 hours!!!

So I did what any red blooded American girl would do (and we all know where all that American blood was at this point): I got dressed and went to Superb Video. I was pleasantly surprised to find the place was packed. I ran in, showed my ID and rushed to the vibrator section.

There it was! My favorite, trusty friend was right there waiting for me in a shiny new box. There was one left in stock. It was meant to be. I was reminded of the scene in A Christmas Story where Ralphy opens up his Red Ryder BB gun. Much like the gun, I needed some “bullets” to load the thing with and picked up some extra batteries. I even treated myself to some new lubricant. I paid for my items, drove home, had the best night of...well, you know...that I’ve had in awhile, and went to sleep.

In the morning I awoke to what looked like a bedroom in an Amsterdam red light district brothel. My mom was coming over after her exercise class with a Panera Bread quiche and coffee so I quickly cleaned up the place so it didn’t look like a crime scene from Law & Order: SVU. I was still basking in my post-orgasmic glow so I turned on the Christmas tree lights, put on a little Michael Buble and lit a Yankee Candle. Mom got there, we cut into the quiche, grabbed our Cappuccinos and sat in my living room. It was the most relaxing and perfect morning until my mom smiled and ask “Why is there a glow in the dark condom under your Christmas tree?”

Those fuckin cats!

I'm Back

Don’t you hate it when you stumble across a blog, get really into it and then the writer stops posting? Yeah – sorry bout that.

So…you stop at a pub after work for beer and a burger. You notice there’s a baseball game on which you start to get into. Good music playing on the jukebox. And then the guy sitting next to you starts making small talk. You stupidly engage in his attempt to start up a conversation (usually because you’re being served your 3rd beer at this time). You start talking about current events, the weather, Dancing with the Stars…and then the guy brings up how his son committed suicide. And what do you say to that? Nothing. You just sit there and listen…for an hour and a half.





I have two cats. I got them when I was living with my old boyfriend (or ex-fiance, whichever you prefer) and, when we broke up, I took them with me because they’re mine. Just because I’m single and live alone with two cats does not – I repeat, does not – make me a “cat lady”. I don’t ever talk about them. I don’t dress them up. I don’t put their pictures on my Christmas cards. I don’t have a “My Maine Coon cat is smarter than your honors student” bumper sticker on my car. What is the big fucking deal? Dogs are way more time consuming and people bring them everywhere. Talk shit on those people.

How come every time I check my hotmail account, the right side of my screen is filled with either: fat stomachs, chicks dancing over interest rates being lowered or pictures of abused animals? Who wants to see this? Anyone else notice this? I’m getting so irritated with the online advertisements.

And lastly, I just realized I forgot to take my birth control pill yesterday. I immediately panic…and then realize that I haven’t had any sort of sexual contact in months. I have been in a dark cloud of depression ever since. Sigh…

Friday Rants

So the weather here is persistently going to stay in the high 50s/low 60s through…frickin Memorial Day weekend! Thank you very much. I love you, Wisconsin.

Because it’s Friday (and the impending bar gathering with my friend Katie tonight is all I can seem to focus on), I have a bunch of random thoughts floating around. This seems to happen quite often on Fridays and I think I’m starting to notice a trend here. (Note - need to come up with clever Friday/complaining catch phrase).

Why are the Black Eyed Peas still making music? Seriously, who’s listening to them? If you enjoy even the most mainstream rap/r&b songs, even the BEP are going to be too vanilla for you. On the flip, if you don’t like that type of music, the Peas certainly don’t have catchy enough lyrics or beats for you to turn. They’re terrible and Fergie looks like a middle-aged man in Madonna drag. Way to go, Josh Duhamel, for deciding to marry that one…

Is it just me, or are gas prices f*cking going up AGAIN?!?

I hate it when people update you on information that you never cared about – and made it very clear that you didn’t care about - to begin with. Example:
Person A: Do you know who’s yellow coat that is sitting on the chair over there?
Person B: Nope.
Person A: Well its right over by your desk…was it here when you got in this morning?
Person B: Dunno. Been busy, um, working.
(45 minutes later)
Person A: Oh, I guess the coat belonged to the woman who Person X is having a meeting with in the library. I kept wondering, “who would leave such a pretty coat just lying…”
Get the idea?

How come I’ve ran THREE half-marathons in the last month and am still not a size 2? And if you say its all the beer I’ve been drinking, I’m going to smash you in the face. I’ve switched to Miller 64 for christ’s sake…what more do you people want from me???

On a lighter note, bars are starting to get the summer ales in stock which is AWESOME. My favs: Honey Moon (Blue Moon summer brew), Sam Adam’s Summer Ale, Sunset Wheat (only on draft – bottles not as good), and Bud Light Lime (shut up – love it).

Cats are like men. When you live with them, they completely destroy your place – leaving messes, taking stinky craps, eating whatever you leave lying around and getting all your furniture dirty. When they finally break one too many candle holders or dump one too many plants on the ground, you’re about ready to throw them out. Then they curl up next to you in bed on a dreary Friday morning and you realize that the whole “I can do whatever I want” attitude is kinda what you like about them to begin with.

I stayed up way too late watching a movie I Netflixed called “Passengers”. Its supposed to be a Twilight zone-type thriller about an airplane crash and I ended up almost crying at the end. Time to put away the Cabernet, dear…

Quote of the day: “Oh Jesus, she’s a lukewarm mess!”

Friends w/no Benefits

Can we discuss the “friends with your ex” issue? Yeah I want to go there. I’m sure there are countless bloggers that have already covered this much better then myself but its finally really hit home with me.

So let’s break it down shall we?

Being friends with someone you’ve dated is a bad idea.

Actually, let’s clarify.

Being friends with someone you’ve slept with is a bad idea.

Let’s look at this from different points of view because I think it’s safe to say everyone has dealt with this on many different levels.

I know guys that I’ve been involved with and would love to have them as friends. You know why…because I don’t want to sleep with them anymore. Not even a little. Not even drunk. Not. At. All. You know why it doesn’t work?...because they’d still want to sleep with me. Just a little. Even drunk. All. The. Time.

On the flip side, there are exes I have that would still want to be with. You know why we’re not friends? Because either:
They don’t want to be with me
They’re in a relationship
If we got together, we’d be together (and still not just friends)

Now let’s turn the tables. Ever dated someone who’s still friends with their ex? Yeah – it sucks. You put on the “no, its cool…I trust you” face but it’s a lie. Maybe you do trust YOUR significant other but you know one of the aforementioned scenarios is occurring. Someone still wants someone and no matter who’s playing what role, you’re not happy about it.

Ever been told by someone that you can still be friends after a breakup? I don’t mean when someone says it just to lighten the situation or ease the pain…I mean when they actually mean it? Like they actually think that’s a probable option. Sure, let’s email once in awhile, meet up for drinks and maybe hit up a baseball game now and again.

Are you fucking serious? Yeah that sounds like a great idea. Umm, actually I’d rather just stay home and continuously stab myself in skull if you don’t mind.

After much consideration, I realized there are a few situations where this really is acceptable and might actually work:

• If you dated the person but had no sexual relationship. This usually would occur with a boyfriend/girlfriend you had when young or a relationship that lasted only a few dates
• If your ex is now gay.
• Let’s be honest – if one of the people involved is really hideously ugly now. That’s such a horrible thing to say, but true…
• If one of the people involved lives very, very far away. This one still isn’t necessarily a good thing, but the chances of actual physical contact are incredibly limited. Plus how much time are you going to spend emailing and texting a person you’ve already dated and broken up with?
• If they’re in prison. Assuming the sentence is at least a few years, what’s the harm? Although constantly being reminded that you were continuously intimate with someone who’s now behind bars might not do much for your self-esteem.
• If they’ve since had a sex-change operation or begun the process of having a sex-change operation…unless you’re bi. In that case, this one is null and void.

Insane Clown Posse (a.k.a. Let's Share Some Embarrasing Shit)

I was recently reuinited with an old high school friend online. We chatted about the obvious - where you work, married/dating, kids, etc. Then we began exchanging old stories.

She asked me if I've been to anymore Insane Clown Posse concerts.

Now, if you don't know who the Insane Clown Posse are, consider yourself extremely lucky. They're this underground rap duo - two midle aged white guys with lyrics about…I don't even know, its just awful.

So, the story behind this…

I used to work at a grocery store in the bakery department when I was in high school. There was a guy who worked in frozen food (I know, romantic, huh?) and I was completely in love with him. He was quiet and laid back yet really sarcastic and witty once you got to know him (well, I hadn't gotten to know him, but heard him talking to other people).

Because he was so withdrawn, I wanted to think of a clever way to get him to talk more. The usual smiling and making small talk with him wasn't doing the trick. We arrived at work the same day and I noticed he had a sticker/decal on the back of his car. It said "Insane Clown Posse - ICP". So I pull in next to him and, as I get out of the car, say "You like ICP too?". He looked at me, smiled and said "Yeah, YOU know who they are?". I said "What? I have all their cds". (I was praying that they had, in fact, released more than 1 cd).


So we chatted on the way into work. I avoided saying much by continuously asking him questions (a method I still use to this day). He ended the conversation by telling me he'd burn me a copy of some live album they released and bring it to work tomorrow.

I was ecstatic.

The next day I looked extra cute. As promised, he walks over with the cd and tells me that they're going to be playing a concert in Milwaukee in a few weeks…AND WOULD I WANT TO GO. I didn't miss a beat and said "I was already planning on going but my friend Sarah backed out at the last minute". (I do have a friend Sarah so not a total lie).

He smiled, asked for my number and said HE'D DRIVE ME UP THERE.

Great story, huh. Yeah it was until I got in my car and put the cd in. I figured I'd have to learn their songs before the concert and could start with the disc he gave me.

Track 1 starts and its HORRIBLE. I mean, they're trying to be really offensive and derogatory but it just comes off as really sad and funny. Think Eminem but old and fat without Dre and decent beats. I thought it was a joke and that maybe they were some sort of a comedy act (you know, they have the word clown in their name).

Yeah - not supposed to be funny. I panic and head to the nearest Best Buy. They have like 80 cds they've put out - each one shittier than the first. I listen to one at the store (remember when you could listen to the discs at the store??) and its just as bad. I freak out and think "there's no way I'm ever gonna pull this off".

Long story short, I went to the concert. It was a bunch of young white kids (aged 14-22) dressed in black, looking angry. They paint they're faces like "crazy clowns" - I'll give you a minute to finish laughing or vomitting or whatever you're doing. I refused to "dress the part" and opted for a black tank top and jean skirt - that's as "goth" as I got back then. In the fans' defense, they were all very polite and nice once I got there. And, because I was the only girl that was dressed like a girl, I got free beer (underage, at that).

But our "date" was a flop. He went crazy at the concert and thought it was "awesome" that I hooked up free beer. But his shy personality took over again when he dropped me off and I didn't even get a kiss on the cheek.

I know - I go to an ICP concert with you and you won't even put out. That's what I was thinking.

Moral of the story: I went to an Insane Clown Posse concert when I was in high school. When admitting that to people (usually drunk), I always gave the excuse that it was because the guy I liked listened to them so, like any normal teenager, I pretended to like them as well. It wasn't until I got a little older that I realized going to the concert wasn't as embarrassing as actual liking a guy who listened to that awful shit.

Its so funny how you look at things differently when you're an adult...

Beer, Cheese...and No Spring

So I wake up and am greeted by the most wonderful thing...a breeze from the window I had open all night. Yes...my 1st night sleeping in this apartment with the bedroom window open. I love the smell of morning air as I lay lounging in bed on a weekend.

That was only a few hours ago. Now...rain. Cold. More rain.

Just checked the weather on MSN.com and rain for the next 3 days. Oh and temperature highs of only 55 for the next 10 days.



Get me out of this fucking state.

You Don't Know Everything, Robert Frost

It officially feels like spring today. Here in the Midwest the temperature hit a high of 79 degrees. Lovely.

The weather hasn't been this warm in over half a year and, as luck would have it, I have a hair appointment this afternoon. I'd consider rescheduling but its been months - yes, MONTHS - and I'm sick of being reminded what my natural hair color is.

And although the weather is warm and the sun is shining, a certain problem is still on my mind. I don't feel like getting into the specifics (not because its too personal to blog about but because I really just don’t feel like typing that much).

Don't you ever wish you could live two lives? I don't mean have one of "you" go to work and the other sit at home all day (although that would be an advantage). I mean have one of "you" that would sacrifice and change lifestyles to be with a certain someone? The other "you" could maintain your independence, live alone and do as you please.

Its like that Robert Frost poem "The Road Not Taken". What if the path that's "less traveled by" doesn't end all that well for you? What if the road that everyone else took is better? It'd be nice if you could see where both took you. One Erica goes down the well-trodden road…the other Erica takes the less popular one. They could keep in touch through texts and weekly phone calls. Maybe agree to meet for drinks every once in awhile?

So I'm standing here with my two roads in front of me and you know what I want to do? Pitch a tent and hang out at the crossroads for awhile. Maybe open a bar right at this spot so fellow travelers can have a place to forget all the decisions ahead of them.

But Frost is onto something here and eventually you have to pick.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth.

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same.

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.