I Iz On Missbehave.com!

OMG I'm on Ask Missbehave! I'm awesome! Pretty much everyone is telling me that I should get out of my current relationship before I a) kill my boo and catch a crazy Fed case, or b) fall in super love and find it impossible to get out (oh no!). I'm still caught in a confused state of crazy pants-ness. You should see me on there. Well, not me, porque my pic's not above the email but they got this cool drag-alicious queen bitch (no threat to you Miss Wintour), and it's for totally awesome.


more cat pictures

I iz the bomb. Whoa. Too much Lolcats for myz own good.

Your electric bird,
Erika

I Missed The Boat

Ugh, you and I both, Modest Mouse. You and I both. So if you're reading this and find yourself in need of a little backstory, I can help you out.

Missbehave Magazine, the holy grail/sacrilegious shrine of women's mags and badassery is holding this contest-y thing. I read a post about it awhile back but was all like, "Pssshhh. Okay." And I said it (mentally) in this really douchebag-gy mocking voice. I'm not proud of it, okay? But then I read some way later posts (in lieu of studying for my European History exam) and suddenly I felt like the douchebag from Split Ends.

Turns out MissBH (my new abbrev for the fabulousness) needed some more contributors and they were looking for rad chicks to come guest blog some shit! Just the kind of thing I would j'adore seeing as I read MissBH religiously and completely know how to speak and write awesomely. (And sometimes I can do both, but I have to have a clear head for that, which doesn't happen a lot.) The point is, instead of sitting here wasting my education and eating all my Bazooka bubblegum (shit...all gone, nevermind) I could be chitchatting with the best and brightest bitches on the coast. But when opportunity knocked, what did I do? Toss it like a salad. And now I'll have to sit in sad regret/tragic rue-ance while some American Apparel chick with lens-less glasses, suspenders, and a pair of Toms gets to half-assedly write about some less-than-sweet shit just 'cos she beat me to the jump.

Life is unfair. I'm gonna go paint or something. Hey, maybe I can get all angsty like that Juno girl and people might suddenly find my sarcasm endearing. Okay, maybe not. Shit.

By the way, if you need to fully understand the merits of lensless glasses, um, Dominic Andrews can help you out. Actually, he can also tell you other meaningless shit on his little Stickam thingy. Sometimes the internet is scary.



Your electric bird,
Erika

There Is An Iguana In My Shoes

I hope you know that those palefaced, malnourished little sickly kids Francois and Johan from that show The Real Housewives of New York City (which incidentally wrapped up with a less than AWEsome finale yesterday) can say the title sentence in like five languages. Proving that even babies can be better than adults, with enough money.

Anyhoo, hey! Look over to the right! Your right! What do you see??? The correct answer is mp3s, good boys and girls! I have a lot of them and I figured that now is as good as anytime to share the fabulosity. Pass the pleasure around, I always say, which is why I'm a firm believer in sloppy seconds...and thirds...fourths...whichever. But I decided I have soooo many of those little two letter-one number music bytes that I'm gonna break bread with my bros and hoes every week! Awww yeah, soak up the rays of sunshine like an overaged beach bunny suburban mom in Los Alaminos with a lifetime membership to Sunset Tan, 'cause there're gonna be new songs in the sidebar on the first of every week! (And yeah, the rent'll still be there on the fifteenth of every month...)

Makes you just wanna say YEAHHH BOIII!!

And speaking of Flavor Flav, homeboy is in a new show on TV One (ummm...if that doesn't ring a bell, it's the only television station that still shows reruns of Good Times, K?) and I predict nothng but nonsense to ensue. I'm guestimating some cameos from the more famous Flav girls, a lot of that cackling he does, and some shit ass acting. I'm excited, aren't you? Could just shit ma pants right nizzow!

In other equally grand, and yet not as important news, the bomb chicas of Missbehave hooked all us ladies up with a look deep, deep, deep inside the echoing, dank, drippy cavern of a man's mind with a little column called "Dealbreakers," penned by Captain and Shark (no, not their God-given nomenclatures). It's a fabbity fab fab list of things some chicks do that make guys, and their little guys, wanna run for the border faster than an illegal alien in an INS search. One that I really like:

"Girls who call each other 'bitch' or 'slut':
'What's up bitch?' 'Not much, slut! You know, just slutting around.' Great. We can't have sex with either of you."

Tee hee.

Read more after the jump in the No.7 issue of Missbehave Magazine, k? Thanks!

So heed the warnings, keep it funky fresh, and land yourself a midnight cuddle buddy in no time. 'Cos you know that Carebear you sleep with can't touch you in that place without leaving a carpet trail.

Your electric bird,
Erika

A Not So Anonymous Letter To Missbehave

When I was born, I did not know what magazines were. Actually, I didn't know what anything was. Birth is pretty disorienting. Anyway, seventeen years later, I still did not have any idea what a real mag was. That was, until I found your magazine stuffed halfheartedly between Nylon and Bust. Ha, Bust. Who reads that? (The same people who like Bitch, I guess.)

But I digress. After I leafed languidly through your high gloss goodness, I saw the sign, and it opened up my eyes. Yeah, I saw the sign. My life was changed. Past your uniquely thin cover lies a veritable bevvy of useful information, mind (and genre) bending photos, and colors so bright, Lisa Frank would think she was tripping on acid.

I read Issue No.3, with the bomb Bijou gracing the cover in Bambi-like feigned innocence, so many times I started memorizing the articles, predicting the ads before I even turned the page, and generally becoming pyschotically obsessed with the gloss boss that your magazine entails.

Every few months, I stalk Barnes and Noble just praying I'll turn around and see a shiny badass cover smiling up at me, and when I do, it's like rain hit the Mojave. In fact, your MIA issue gave me the greatest happiness: when she came into town for a show at Centre Stage, I actually stood in front of Criminal Records for two and a half hours (secondhand smoking and actually making people believe I was in my 20's) until she showed up at Aurora and got her to autograph the cover. I told her, "You can sign anywhere. I've already read it."

And boy did I read it.

In other words, what I am trying to impart on you in as many bogged down words and a slightly quagmired style is that I love you, and everything you provide to those of us in the universe that don't believe in red, white, and Aeropostale. That must cringe when they walk past Delia's, and will for sure get it poppin' just to get that vintage plaid dress on the $1 rack. Thank you, Missbehave...thank you.

Your electric bird,
Erika
Issue No.5...I recommend reading the bit about Eurotripping...it's informative and amusing...something Europe is not so much of.