Skylines, Subways and Press Releases

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE:

November 21, 2010

Rooftops, Resurrection and Poorly Budgeted Cable Telenovelas

(New York, NY)—It’s orchestrated harmony the way the city silents itself when it suddenly rains, only to resurrect itself into the disrespecting alarm of noises it’s known for the second the clouds recede.  I’m sitting on a terrace eleven floors above ground watching chaos ensue as trenchcoat-wearing divas feverishly open their umbrellas to save hairstyles and leather Prada bags from being destroyed by the rain. You can always forecast a miserable torrential downpour when you look down from a rooftop and see a consistent string of submarine yellow cabs and people fighting to the death to get inside one.

It’s 60 degrees right now; the semi-piercing chill of the wind is combing through my hair as if it were a teasing comb carved out of ice.  The wind continues to interweave itself throughout the terrace: harvesting smells of jasmine and cigarettes and nestling these aromas right under my nose. I will say though, that the random drops of horizontal rain finding its way into my guacamole is not appreciated.

It has been pouring all day. It’s the perfect day to not submerge myself in water- but instead, my enormous white-goose down comforter. To immerse myself under its oversized fluff and get lost in its dramatic creases. I figure this will be my reward once I finish writing.

As the city continues to get drenched in rain (being cleansed of its sinister amount of dirt and debris), I sit under a white cabana on my terrace surrounded by a multitude of cough syrups, prescribed medication, a couple boxes of Kleenex and a medicinal inhaler. 

It has been a week since I’ve gotten over pneumonia: boiling with a 103.4 fever for a consecutive 12 days, barely breathing with a slightly collapsed right lung and heaving through a damaged left lung enveloped in bacteria had all contributed to me being bed ridden for two-and-half weeks. I started out with bronchitis and symptoms of the flu but it had quickly escalated, within three days, into pneumonia. I usually take pride in my ability to translate my situations and feelings into literary passages but I can honestly say this time that I am at a loss for words- words accurate enough to describe the pain pneumonia can bring.  There are numerous illnesses out there in the world that I am sure are more painful, exhausting and physically demanding; however, for me this sickness was the most excruciating and debilitating thing I had ever been through. The fever had overtaken my body in such a way that I felt as though hell itself was seeping through my veins. My eyes felt as if they were little balls of fire, igniting a flame in my cornea every time I managed to open them. When I would try to get out of bed or move my body, I would quickly be stiffened and disabled by the string of intense heat running down my spine. I endured this for about 5 days thinking it was just a severe case of the flu. I took my prescribed medication but I might as well should have been taking tic-tacs and gummy bears because it didn’t work.

At that point I didn’t have the willpower to speak to anyone; my vocal chords were wearing thin and the ability to breathe and hold a conversation became painful. Getting up to go to the bathroom seemed like an Olympic triathlon that I for sure did not want to be a part of.  I gathered the strength to talk to my mom and with her stellar background in medicine she was utterly convinced that I had pneumonia. She urged me to fly home the next morning, despite my severe physical complications, so that I could admit myself into her hospital and get treated before it gets more critical. That night I didn’t know how I was going to make it to the airport. Whenever I moved my spine would burn, my bones would stiffen and just walking ten feet would exhaust me and leave me breathless. In the morning I walked downstairs to hail a cab; lugging my carry-on bag, tearing up in pain every step of the way.

  I never knew that airport security wouldn’t let someone board a flight if he/she had a fever- until that morning. My dad said that because of the recycled air on planes, passengers are not allowed to fly with a fever, respiratory infections, and more importantly- pneumonia. I went into the airport bathroom and slathered MAC makeup all over my face in an effort to look human and get through security. Despite MAC claiming its makeup is sweat proof, it was rapidly streaming down my face from the gallons of sweat I was perspiring because my fever was so high. I slithered through the metal detector hunching my back in pain looking like the hunchback of Notre Diva. They stopped me at security and asked me to take off my sunglasses once I began to cough demons and gargoyles out of my mouth. I knew if I took a thermometer test that my fever would be at least 103 since it had been that way for 5 days. I was convinced they weren’t going to let me fly so when they asked me if I was sick I made up the most uncomfortable story a male security guard could hear. I pleaded that I was fine and that I was just on my period with a heavy flow…that my ovaries were twisting…that I was getting hot flashes at a young age…Apparently I failed to be convincing and the guard went to get someone to evaluate me. Luckily there was a lady officer checking bags in security and overheard everything that happened. She empathized and said I could pass on through and that she would tell the guards she tested my fever and that I was fine. 

I eventually land back home in Austin, Texas and that’s when everything started. The hospitals, the Xrays, the medicine, the shots, the needles, the ivy bags, the respiratory and vocal therapy was all super dramatic and out of control. I kept thinking…DRAG QUEENS and trannies don’t go through this…everything was not all glitter and gold. I did tell my mom however to put hot pink tape on my ivy strip. Oh, and I also made it mandatory that my loungewear was my pink rhinestone-embellished Victoria’s Secret PJs and that my socks were the rainbow-striped ones I wear to PRIDE Parades (since the national “Don’t Ask Don’t Tell” debate was going on, I figured I would make a political statement as well) . I was very sick, that is true, but I wasn’t about to be a bland, boring diva with plain white long johns and old-lady loafers. UH, NO. I’m not Huckleberry Finn, thank you.  After a sufficient amount of medication and inhalers, for three-and-a-half weeks, I got better. For you to understand the severity of my damaged lungs, the doctors prescribed me Levaquin- the highly concentrated medicine approved by the FDA for patients that have inhaled ANTHRAX. Yes- dead serious. When anthrax was a national sensation doctors gave Levaquin to patients in order to heal damaged lungs from severely debilitating respiratory diseases…like, for example, a creepy little powder named anthrax.

# BREAKING NEWS: Erika Cespedes to star in a cheap telenovela based on her hilarious failures, her desperate search to cure absentmindedness and her awkward inability to speak to straight men.

After fighting pneumonia I felt that I had resurrected. When I flew back to NYC I felt that I had died and bounced back in a trannylicious fur coat and black-sequin cocktail dress. This is what I thought; however, recent experiences have challenged my resiliency yet again. My life has become equivalent to that of a FAIL blog. My life is a cheap soap opera on PBS, or the weird dormant and inactive channels like CH 13, CH 9 and CH 11. The ones you scroll through at 3 A.M. on accident only to be annoyed by an entire program dedicated to sticking the elderly in miniature spaceships called Hoverrounds or by a sweet old lady named Ruth teaching senior citizens how to do rigorous exercises while sitting on a chair. It’s a soap opera where the scrolling credits are in the form of Word graphics and the audio feed doesn’t match up to the action footage. Let me recap, this mess of a soap opera, in numerical form.

1. A week after recovering from pneumonia, my computer slightly touches water that spilled on my table…it completely dies…Apple “Geniuses” tell me its going to be about $800 to fix (on top of the $1300 I must pay off from rebuying it four months before due to it being stolen).
2. On our WAY to the Apple store, my friend and I are walking as I grasp my wallet with my arms (in between my ribcage and my elbow).  I all of a sudden realize my wallet is gone. We didn’t even walk the ENTIRE street. We literally stepped outside our apartment building and walked for four whole minutes before I realized it was gone. Someone had already picked it up and taken it.
3. I cancel all cards: debit card, credit cards and my New York ID. I have to wait one-week-and-a-half before I get a debit card, one week for my credit cards, and almost three-and-half weeks for an ID. Now I have to pay with a check since I don’t have a debit card.
4. BIGGEST FAIL: walking to a deli at 2 AM that same night (to emotionally eat) in the freezing rain with no umbrella, only to pull out my wet checkbook and be told that I can’t pay for a $2.55 Ben & Jerry’s Cherry Garcia pint with a check.  HUMILIATION.

# Onto the Next Episode:

We are all aware of my inability to find a heterosexual male that can handle me, deal with my diva-ness and understand my inappropriate obsession of all things sequin and all things pink. The resplendent outfits I wear, my inability to stop daydreaming about Louboutins and eyelashes, the enthusiastic nature of my teased hair and my wild yet comical nature are a direct result from living under a rainbow for several years. Having a fortress of fierce and fun little gays around me all the time has apparently amplified my innate outrageous nature. With that as a preface, at times, my personality can be deemed as superfluous and too much. Straight guys don’t understand me and I don’t understand them. I am in no way complaining of my lifestyle; I find it to be one of the most blessed, liberating and most hilarious ways to live. When my girlfriends force me to straight bars, I look around and automatically think…WHY ARE YOU WEARING TENNIS SHOES WITH JEANS? Why are your highlights only at the tip and in further discussion-why are they frosted? Why are you a beer-guzzling-20-something-year-old wearing awkwardly fitting jeans with an Abercrombie shirt and a corduroy jacket straight from the TV Land channel?  MOST IMPORTANTLY, why are you NOT freaking out about my hair and makeup or my patent-nude five-inch pumps.

I’ll look around the bar, or “pub” as men tend to call it, to give it a chance, then another road block pops into my mind. WHY ARE THERE POOL TABLES AND WHY IS NO ONE DANCING to GaGa as strobe lights casually grace the walls? All past occurrences and “straight-bar” assumptions were shattered one night when my world flipped upside down. Remember, when I said that my life is a cheap telenovela? Just keep that in mind.

So after my Macbook water damage and before Operation: Lose Wallet, my roommate and I went to a GORGEOUS straight bar named Le Bain at the The Standard Hotel in NYC. I wouldn’t even call it a straight bar because there were a handful of adorable gays and tailored-metrosexual guys.  My roommate and I knew it was a list-only club but we went anyway just for fun, just to see if we could get in. We walk up laughing and I automatically talk to the bouncers and tell them I’m from Texas and that I’m really fun. They smile and laugh and let us in. My roommate constantly gushes about this beautiful latin guy at the club. I, of course, think this man is gay because he is so beautiful, tan, tailored, and very sophisticated-glam. I start talking to the guy trying to get him to talk to my roommate and then I find out HE IS NOT GAY. He’s a 28-year-old Brazilian soccer player and he’s in NYC on business because he consults several businesses on financing and acquisitions. I told him how shocked I was because I had never been asked on a date and that he was one of the few straight guys I had ever talked to longer than 30 minutes and had not been repulsed by.  Then this conversation happened:

Brazilian David Beckham: “I’m not from here and when I travel, go out by myself to see the cities. What clubs or restaurants do you recommend I go to?”

Me: “Ohhh, I don’t know if I’m the right person to ask. My friends are mostly gay so I mostly go to gay bars or clubs. Umm…ahh, I don’t know…sorry! I can ask my girlfriends or something, they go to straight bars.”

Brazilian David Beckham: “Oh okay, well that’s fine. If your friends are gay people and you go to gay places I don’t mind going with you and your friends to gay places in order to be with you.”

Uhhh, a beautifully metro-latin guy straight from the pages of Esquire hanging out with me at a gay club with all my frieeeends?! DONE DONE DONE. Should I wear a veil or no veil at the wedding? So now we’re sitting talking about family and music when I suddenly mentioned how I wanted to go buy another drink. He urged me to go and that I could take his debit card and charge it on his card. I say no that I could pay for my drink on my own but I that I just didn’t want to get up and fight through the clutter of people to get to the bar. He then hails the cocktail waitress on over and buys bottle service. (SEE: Page 826:  New York City Club Bottle Service- One bottle of Grey Goose, One bottle of orange juice, one bottle of cranberry juice, one silver canister of ice with tongs. Amount for one round of NYC bottle service: $500. Not including a $200 tip or the $250 to keep your table. ALSO SEE: “OMG, WTF” on Page 35).  Now remember when I said how my life is such a consistent string of WTF moments? Well, that entire night he gushed about how he wanted to hang out and see each other. Towards the end of the night my roommate and I are having a good time and then after several drinks (and by several I mean a million) we end up going home. Everything happened so fast and we don’t remember much. We end up just going home. I came home and forgot to get his number, to say goodbye, EVERYTHING. So that is how the story ends. Awkward latin girl finally got a break with a beautiful Brazilian and epically bombed. The margin of error here is pretty ridiculous. Thank you Grey Goose and Erika Cespedes’ insanely low tolerance for ruining lives.  Not ok. #divaFAIL #BrazilianAmberALERT

# Scrolling Credits: End of Season 1 Episode 63

The job search is still utterly annoying. With being sick for a month and having no computer for a couple weeks my job search has been nonexistent. Now that I have a working computer again I can begin to knock out some emails and update my resume a million more times. I’m going to break a major rule in writing by breaking the personal wall and stepping out of narration. I wanted to honestly mention to you that a huge reason why I tend to not write frequently is because I feel that I will become monotonous and mundane. I’m always saying the job search is bad and that things are hard. I feel like I am just repeating myself over and over again and letting down the people that read this. The fact of the matter is, it’s actually embarrassing to keep writing about how I still have yet to find a great PR job or journalism job in New York City. I get that it’s NYC. I get that it’s supposed to be brutal and test a person’s limits to the very brink, but I just want a little break that way as a writer I can excite you more. Anyway, it is what it is. I’m being as raw and as veracious as I can possibly be: documenting my failures and hopefully the ecstatic successes that follow.  I figure this year has been like a rainstorm. Some weeks I feel like I’m drowning in an utter downpour of mini-van sized raindrops, other weeks it drizzles, other weeks its cloudy and although the isolated instances of rainbows and sunshine are few and far between in Manhattan- they still sporadically show up to provide inklings of hope.

(PS:PH2H): One of my first entries in this blog was about loving people: being loved too little and loving too much. Upon moving to New York, a couple friendships have disintegrated into a pile of hate and distrust while others seem to have developed and flourished as a direct result of the deteriorated ones. Throughout this blog I mentioned every month the tumultuous nature of one of my close friendships and its rapid, yet abrupt, demise. He is one of a handful of people that I had become dangerously close to. He is the only person in my life that has literally shattered me to the very core. I had supported and loved him to such a degree that it had isolated me from others. The point is, we have all invested in someone to the point where they have more power over our emotions than we have over ourselves. You get to the point of security where you couldn’t imagine knowing anyone else the way you know this person; you can’t transition or move without them being alongside you. It’s scary to think of it that way but it’s true. Whether it is/was your best friend, boyfriend, girlfriend or family member, we have all or will all be subject to this situation. It’s human nature to treasure a connection that we think is intimate and valuable. The trick is to stick to your demands, your ambitions, your character and your value. We get lost in the pace of things thinking we are just helping others and living our lives. One day you stop and notice that certain good-willed decisions become erroneous without you even realizing. I LIVE for helping friends and giving them everything I have if it is mutually deserved. Having gone through certain situations has made me realize that we need to make ourselves imperative and that it’s ok to invest and help others, just don’t enable someone so much that you disable yourself in the process.

Our life is much like survival of the fittest, the remaining friends that are crowded around your deathbed are the ones that have stopped at nothing to help and fight for you every second of everyday. No matter how depressing, acrimonious or bewildering relationships and friendships can get, you realize that the friends left standing will eclipse all the broken friendships you’ve endured along the way. It’s when I think of this, that make the loss of my ex best friend seem obsolete. He had his issues and yes we were inseparable, but he didn’t handle our friendship when things got tough. The friends that still encompass me, have.

Now, whether I sound like a cheap-cable Channel 8 version of Oprah or the much better HDTV Satellite version, I’m just saying that you and I shouldn’t stress over people and their feelings because many times it’s out of our control. Burdening yourself with a miasma of guilt due to someone else’s issues is unnecessary; your positive presence in life is worth more. Don’t let your emotions, fallen friends and failed situations defeat you: rise.

Still Trying to Find HDTV Satellite in NYC,

-erika

<3

listening to: T.Rex- 20^th Century Boy

missing: oreos and chocolate milk

feeling: Is my belly literally hanging over my jeans right now? uhhm. okay?!!?

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE:

August 11, 2010

Robbery, Resilience & Round Two

(New York, NY)— Located 23 floors above ground, I can be found sitting on my rooftop with Sangria, strawberries and an open heart: ready and willing to delve into honest description about what has occurred to me in the past three months. As I lounge on my roof and sip on wine, I notice the assortment of artificial plants and flowers alongside the perimeter of my rooftop: giving a paradoxical meaning to the term “concrete jungle.” Sitting behind the fake Oleanders, are Hermes-bag-holding girls dousing themselves in SPF 2 and emitting smells most reminiscent of tanning beds and sun-absorbing oil. Instead of the pungent smells of burning flesh bothering me, I smiled at the pleasant reminder that Texas tanning is very present among the east coast.  I couldn’t help but reference Henry David Thoreau (a famous literary writer who lived primitively in nature for years) when sitting amongst trees, bushes and flowers- even though they were fake.

Henry David Thoreau, a 19^th century author and philosopher, once wrote about the individual’s need to exert him/herself into the unknown, to abandon oneself from government, normality and structure. Inevitably, the individual will engage in rigorous obstacles in order to uncover the true meaning of the “self.” Although I did a thesis on this in college, little Henry David never bothered to write a disclaimer:

CAUTION- This philosophical assumption should not be tried in New York City unless the individual has a fierce job, guaranteed liquid cash for happy hours in the Lower East Side and an abundance of MAC Cosmetics in case one runs out of MAC Fluidline eyeliner or blush in Primrose. 

I believe I am the modern-day drag queen version of Henry David Thoreau. Thoreau’s abrupt move to a cabin in the middle of the forest to challenge societal norms is analogous to my moving to the concrete jungle, absent from everything and everyone I once knew in Texas. Perhaps his was more for theoretical and literary fulfillment, where as mine is for professional and self-fulfillment. Either way, we have two things that are apparent in both our tales: rigorous obstacles and isolation.

#Back on the 18^th Floor#

Three months ago I had reached a breaking point. It was a culmination of a lot of things: a dispiriting reminder of a bleak job search, dissolving friendships, melancholic holidays, a depleting bank account, my inability to afford a mani/pedi and a robbed apartment all contributed to an emotional beating unlike any other. Not that I own much, since I just have a couch and a bed, but I did own valuable things. My new MacBook Pro, iPod, Credit Cards, Debit Card and the $200 I had for the next two months were stolen. Police reports were written, security tapes were looked at, discussions with landlords were had, but in the end-due to my building not having cameras in the hallways- there was no way to tell who did it and if I would ever get my stuff back. Of course I was livid, I was distraught, I was terrified, I was depressed, I was up to my head in such turmoil that I didn’t know which emotion to take care of first.  Worst of all, I had to go through this on my own. In order to spare my parents any more anguish, I didn’t tell them. They were already worried of me being on my own and the last thing I wanted was for them to be any more afflicted. I didn’t want my parents to feel that they had to pay for any damages or worse: threaten me to come back home. I was confounded and felt uninspired to do anything. I couldn’t search for jobs or email my contacts because I didn’t have a computer. So many friends came to my aid, which I am forever grateful for. A month later after harvesting some money I maxed out a credit card in order to buy my same MacBook Pro. You realize in situations like that, when your ambition and your heart are reduced to nothing, how enlightening hardship is.

##ALL QUIET ON THE EASTERN FRONT##

AQEF( All Quiet on the Eastern Front): is MY cute satirical literary allusion to All Quiet on the Western Front. The novel is written by Erich Remarkque, in which he reflects on the human sacrifice of war and unravels the story behind a group of riled-up soldiers that glorified it. They each wanted to experience a “victory” and marvel in the glories of war, but instead fizzle out one-by-one with each soldier realizing towards the end that his/her life-long aspiration to be praised and victorious-was too much of a difficult challenge to bear.

Friends, with glitzy visions of skylines and NYC affluence, have strutted out of JFK Airport with a helmet of confidence and an armor of ambition only to leave the concrete war zone empty handed and spiritually hurt.  Seeing my best friend abruptly turn against me even when I’ve taken his fall, when I’ve softened the blow, when I’ve covered his back (even when mine was broken) and when I generously gave my ammunition to him despite me not having any left myself- are indicators that when it comes to the war-like attitude of NYC, no one has your heart or interest in mind but yourself. For a long time I was under the impression that my best friend and I were infinite, that we had a connection unlike any other, only to be told from others that it was a lie and I was being invectively discussed all along. I’m not meant to write on this blog to dish out the details of the people involved but I am meant to delve into situations that have affected my spirit in grand ways.

To have this notion- of someone caring for you, of someone confiding in you for a long time only to find out that you were being talked about in callous ways is devastating. I refuse to say anything negative about him because he doesn’t deserve a juvenile internet war despite all of this. I just want him to know that he threw away a solid individual that was there to guide him when he was lost, that was there to answer his 3 a.m. questions about social media and html, that brought him medicine and gave him money when he had none, and that was there for him when he felt nobody understood. I don’t regret helping or being there for him because I wanted to. I did everything I could for him because I felt that he would do the same. I type these words with hesitation on every key because this paragraph is more than me discussing a depressing occurrence, it is a transparent perspective on my emotions and my heart.

The job search is still incredibly challenging.  I’ve sent out copious amounts of emails and resumes only to be stuck in the black hole of HR every single time. I’m willing to say that yes, there have been multiple times where I’ve wanted to give up: to throw in my Ralph Lauren towel, call my parents on my fakeberry and call it a day. Yet, there is still something in me that wants to push even harder. I’ve met a couple friends up here that share my ambition (even though at times my ambition seems obsolete) and despite several instances of despair and devastation I am willing to stay and challenge myself more than ever to make it happen.

I am waiting to hear back from an interview I had with a lady in Human Resources for Madison Square Garden and Fuse. There is an AMAZING Rock’n’Roll opening that I managed to squiggle my big-teased-2 Bumpit-wearing hair into. I applied and am hoping and praying to Lady Gagalupe, RuPaul Royalty and Senator Slash of Guns N Roses that they notice me and want to take me in for the kill.

Even though its been Quiet on the Eastern Front for a while, I am ready to muster out another battle cry (in a high-angelic soprano voice, of course… or a fierce voice like Kelly Clarkson’s). I’m ready to pick up my shattered armor and begin to walk into Round 2. 

(PS:PH2H): My concluding H2H is dedicated to the ones that are afraid of transition, of challenge and of change. I’ll be the first to say that I hate a challenge and I hate change. I don’t like to venture on the restaurant menu or steer away from my classic culinary trifecta: chicken, guacamole and serranos. It’s one thing to nestle in the comfort of Mexican food, but it is quite another to give in to personal and professional stagnancy for fear of transition or failure. Failure is so stupid. Failure is that 6-foot-5 muscley football player, with bulging veins that look like they are ready to give birth to a mutant, intimidating you during football try-outs. When really, he’s just this soft-spoken man that takes ballet classes, watches Oprah when he works out and who probably cried when Tyra freaked out on her talk show and cried about the press calling her chubby. He’s just your personification of intimidation. 

In no way has my life been easy here. In no way has it even been a challenge; a challenge is an isolated obstacle intended to make you feel great about your achievement after you have conquered it for that one time. NYC forces you to carry ON AND ON AND ON after your one victory. Right when you think you’ve found that rare, mysterious and delicious green M&M in your assortment of spherical chocolate- some fat lady with nasty roots and chunky cankles suddenly snags it from you and eats it.

What I’m really trying to say to those who have e-mailed or called me asking for my advice on moving to NYC is to do it. This goes to anyone who wants to make a drastic move. Yes, it’s brutal. No, you will not like the musty smell in the dark trenches of the underground subway system throughout the summer. Yes, it is difficult and depressing, at times, but it’s also an enlightening experience that if you are meant for you will succeed.  No, you will more than likely not find many green M&Ms when you first move here but it’s worth a shot.

It’s more than a one-time challenge; it’s a rigorously straining lifestyle in which you need your entire life support (friends and family) to help drag you through its negative confrontations when you feel you can’t go on.

 It’s easy to immerse yourself in negativity when the positive waves seem to constantly recede. You, and I, just need to remember that this is your shot; this is your one-time discount coupon that you can use to receive a couple pairs of free Louboutins and serve as a guest appearance on RuPaul’s Drag Race.

From me to you: When discouragement threatens you, have enough courage to be resilient. Love, to an intense degree, the people that are still there fighting your war with you even when you are beaten and tired. To conclude, give to others everything you can because at one point you were in need of generosity, or will be.

Still Rummaging Trying to Find a Green M&M in NYC,

-erika

<3

listening to: “September” by Earth, Wind & Fire and my creepy air conditioner making hissing sounds, which creepingly enough is in sync to whenever Earth, Wind and Fire hit the high notes in “September.”

missing: Flaming Hot Cheetos and Klondike bars

feeling: its most definitely bathroom time

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE:

April 27, 2010

“Quirky Writer with a Profound Edge Overdoses on Green Tea, Meets Features Editor of Teen Vogue and Stars in a Movie about Losing Her First Born”

(New York, NY)—The cluttered and rushed atmosphere of the City is back. From winter’s failed fashion contribution of marshmellowy parkas and bulky layers to spring’s flattering transition into frisky skirts, form-fitting V-necks and fedoras. The New Yorkers that once hibernated in their penthouse lofts or small studios have come out from their east coast abode, only to congest -even more- the awkwardly smelling streets of Manhattan. I was in no fascinating location in particular, just a Starbucks on 34^th St that sits next to the Empire State Building, about five stores down from my apartment. I fought my way through the cluster of tourists, all holding an obscene amount of shopping bags, NYC fold-out maps and tour-guide pamphlets.

I went to Starbucks earlier this evening to get rid of my cabin fever and somewhat inspire myself to write. I was there for hours and had managed to surround myself with several cups of empty green teas, numerous wadded up pieces of Orbit gum wrappers and two shredded blueberry muffins that had been savagely picked apart: all a direct result from a frustrated writer held captive in journalism purgatory- Writer’s Blockville. It seemed that no amount of herbal tea, feel-good minty freshness or sugary pastry could cure me of my fatal blogger’s block. After four hours of staring at a blank Word document and an annoyingly repetitive cursor taunting me flash by flash, I knew it was time to close my computer and forget about the blinking nuisance of a stripe that taunts me in Word when I fail to write.

#INSOMNIA (Part 1) Caffeine Can Ruin Your Life:  Fast forward to 4 A.M. and I am sitting in my apartment on my loveseat with multiple tabs open in Mozilla Firefox and involuntarily engaging myself in insomnia. It is safe to say, without reluctance, that downing three medium sized green teas and engorging myself in high-calorie sugary muffins must not have been the most appropriate idea.  However, I have noticed upon moving to NYC that it is a professional staple to meet up with journalists and publicists over coffee or tea. If you don’t informally meet up with them at a coffee shop, they will offer you coffee with milk and a packet of sugar at your formal meeting in their office. Now, due to the obvious fact that I am already freakishly energetic without caffeine, one can only imagine the accelerated actions my body would produce with caffeine: spastic twitching, sporadic outbursts of sprinting as opposed to walking, and the detonation of dull jokes and unknown medical facts that would spew from my mouth at a speed that is scientifically unheard of.  In order to diffuse the possibility of embarrassing myself, I ask for a green tea with no sugar or syrup instead. This alternative allows me to maintain composure and successfully continue to house my unamusing jokes where they belong: in my head. In reference to this blog post, excuse the random run-on sentences and abundant use of adjectives. I blame this outrageous amount of adjectives and adverbs on the overindulgence of green tea and sugar that I devoured earlier this evening.

# Switch Scene to Teen Vogue:  About two weeks ago I met the features editor of Teen Vogue. We were scheduled to meet in her office at the Conde Nast building in Times Square, a building considered to be one of the Meccas of fashion journalism. Dressed in classic NY attire (head-to-toe black), I swiveled in through the revolving doors, fixed my bangs (which had been displaced by the City’s ridiculously strong wind current) and waited for her to walk down to get me past security. While waiting, I daydreamed of graciously strutting down the building’s granite-paved runway, briskly walking through the revolving doors and impressively multitasking with my blackberry glued to my right ear: reminding my assistant to push my 2 o’clock to 3 o’clock, swap the editors meeting with the pitch meeting and to send out the invites for my MTV Awards Press party before the 8 P.M. deadline.

One of Teen Vogue’s features editors finally came down; we introduced ourselves and talked for a little bit. We establish a rapport pretty quickly and she mentions if I want to step away from the office and go grab a coffee. Knowing the success of my Green Tea Game Plan, I oblige. We were only supposed to talk for less than 30 minutes but half-an-hour turned into an hour, then quickly turned into an hour and-a-half. We ended up discussing everything: hometown high schools, Texas, college interview disasters, internships, creepy experiences, SXSW, and the unavailability of chips and queso in NYC. We talked about classic 70s rock’n’roll and depressing music that only seems fitting to play on a gloomy New York rainy day.  At the end of it all, she was honest and said that there were no paid positions available but that if anything comes up I would be one of the first to know.  At this point that’s all I can hope for: that she likes me enough to remember me when something becomes available.  All I can do at this point is plant seeds in PR firms and magazine corporations all around NYC, until a root grabs hold and sprouts into a paid position…or at least an intern position so swanky that I get free shoes, clothes, town cars, free groceries and an unlimited subway metro card- I mean, that’s not impossible to ask for.

# INSOMNIA (Part 2) A Perfect Way to Ruin Your Under Eyes:  It’s 7 A.M. now and I have yet to fall asleep. I have a feeling a serious prohibition of green tea will be in order from now on. I literally can’t sleep and in addition to my body failing to digest an abnormal ingestion of green tea, I have a cluttered movie reel of inconvenient situations and awkward moments replaying in my head from things that have happened to me in the last three-and-a-half weeks since I have posted. I will be the first to elect myself as the main character of my future Broadway show: Erika’s Series of Unfortunate Events and Inconvenient Mishaps.

# Coming Fall of 2010: This recently relocated southern belle:::cut to clips of me getting stuck in revolving doors, dropping my debit card through subway vents, and forcefully sitting next to awfully pungent smelling homeless people on the subway:::Erika Cespedes, a clumsy aspiring journalist/publicist, waltzes around New York City with an open heart and absent mind.

The other week I left my cell phone in a cab. I was texting when I realized we were already at my stop. I set my phone down to get my debit card out. I swiped, got my receipt and stepped out of the cab quickly because another group of people wanted to get in. I opened my purse to stick my debit card in when I realized my phone was in the backseat. At this point, it was too late and the cab had driven off with my SIM card, my event calendar, my text messages and my life. Not to mention the night I lost my phone a guy that wasn’t prone to asshole-meningitis, stupid-syndrome, ugliness or leprosy, had asked for my number and asked me out!  What’s interesting is that despite me chewing on weird mushroom and grilled onion brouchetta and accidentally spilling wine on my jacket at the bar, he was still interested. I had never been asked out on a date before and I’m pretty sure the bar etiquette I was showcasing is an accurate representation as to why not. We had exchanged numbers and his pretty little face insisted we get together soon. Well, leave it to the directors and producers of an inelegant Broadway show called my life to throw me a curve ball and lose my cell phone with his contact information in it. Three days later I had managed to garner enough money to buy a cheap phone. The fundamental lesson in this failed Broadway musical is pretty simple; having an absent mind in NYC will ruin you and I’m pretty sure losing your phone is the equivalent to losing your first-born.

### Behind the Red Velvet Curtain: My life, yet again, has been placed on hold. I’ve sent in my application to several job openings on mediabistro and other journalism sites.  I’ve called numerous PR firms and have sent an even more amount of emails to publicists. Waiting to hear back from several places: Harper’s Bazaar, Details, AOL, Lucky Magazine and Glamour Magazine. I thought things were hard enough but it looks like things are just getting tougher. I for one, am fully aware that having to intern first to land a job in journalism is key, but it’s become difficult to get your foot in that way too. The New York Times had published a scathing, yet informative, piece uncovering the daunting trend of the number of internships succeeding the number of entry-level jobs. Many publications and businesses have restricted their intern search to just college students seeking school credit in order to play it safe and not be held legally liable. Really. REALLY? Umm so how about the New York Times do an article on how Erika Cespedes needs a magazine editorial job or entry-level publicist position? Or how I haven’t been shopping in 5 months and two weeks and have been stripped from my Whole Foods and purified water privileges for 4 months.

I had an interview with Paper Magazine to intern under its editorial, events and PR department…I’m pretty sure it’s in the bag but I also have another internship interview with Interview Magazine next week. I’ve even succumbed to applying for a retail job, just to work there part-time to earn some money and intern somewhere else part-time.

(PS:PH2H): I. AM. EXHAUSTED. The emailing, the cold calling and the incessant act of revamping my resume has become monotonous and cumbersome. At times it seems that all of my efforts dwindle down to just one or two response emails every two to three weeks. Repeatedly being forwarded to Human Resources (the black hole in every company, where resumes and dreams get funneled into and put away for a ridiculous acne-inducing, stress-related ulcer amount of time) becomes a frequent and daunting event incorporated into your everyday life. Sometimes I get incredibly frustrated and want to give up. I know it’s only been four months, but that’s a long time when you’re financially depleted and emotionally exhausted. To be honest, I go through these emotions in scattered instances. I have to remind myself to ignore, repress and “shoo” it away, much like how we knowingly neglect that annoying girl at the bar in the polyester neon mini, white skin-tight leopard spaghetti strap, spilling her dollar-double Everclear and Tonic, blowing her vocal chords out to Katy Perry as she inappropriately interacts with other human beings. I get over it pretty quick, and just remind myself to keep going and not stop until I make something happen. There’s no way I’m NOT getting this City to bow down to me in less than 8 months. It’s screwing up my meticulously planned out time frame and the rapid decay of money available to spend in my bank account is beginning to hinder my desperate need to engage in some Manhattan happy hours. When things start getting in the way of vodka cranberries and my “When Liver Meets Happy Hour” fairy tale that’s when I know its time to accelerate this job search idea, and expedite the process to a pretty inhumane speed.

Switching Her Green Tea to A Vodka Cranberry in NYC,

-erika

listening to: my fridge making Exorcist noises and the sound of me typing

missing: talking to Mama and Poppa Fierce, eating pancakes with blueberries and strawberries and fat-free whipped creme.

<3

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

March 26, 2010

Serenity, Sin and Scenarios of Stupidity Scattered In Between

(NEW YORK, NY)— Sleek black business suits and heels have turned into sweat-perspiring jogging suits and tennis shoes. From Starbucks coffee cups and cell phones to water bottles and iPod headsets. The concrete jungle, famously consisting of a ridiculous abundance of steel skyscrapers, has morphed into a serene landscape of enormous Maple, Elm and Cedar trees. I’m sitting on a beige-stone bridge that peacefully looks over a small pond with emerald green ducks graciously floating on its surface.

Besides analyzing people walking by and annoyingly slapping bugs away from my face, Central Park is one of the most interesting places to experience if you desperately need to abandon yourself from the city. It’s almost like I don’t even live in NYC anymore, it reminds me of Texas: the huge trees and ample amounts of open land. My daydreams of Southern bliss and Texas bluebonnets came to an arrest when I kept finding several hot dog vendors, Starbucks stands, random groups of Russians, Germans and Dominicans waiting in line to buy a chili hot dog and homeless people singing Acapella- for a small monetary reward of course.  I decide to be like the cool foreign kids and order one of my first NYC hot dogs.  After eating it, I realize that I should have adhered to my rules of strict hygienics when purchasing such culinary delicacies. In retrospect, it is never a good idea to purchase processed meat from a smelly Asian man whose grill is located directly underneath two rapidly shedding trees that house squirrels and annoying grey pigeons. I am convinced that I have about 5 hours until my body is 94% contaminated with e.coli and mad cow disease.

As I type out this blog I briefly mentioned sitting on top of a bridge. I can’t help but notice this short, stocky homeless lady wearing a beret sitting next to me. She’s immersed in her boxes, blankets and three suitcases- you know, the cool ones that roll and stuff. As I nonchalantly stare at her (thinking about what she must be like, what her life must have BEEN like) I notice that she is most definitely drinking Starbucks coffee, eating a deliciously large bagel sprinkled with sesame seeds and crème cheese. Not to mention, that peering out through her stacks of blankets is a Louis Vuitton suitcase. I find it somewhat awkward that a homeless lady of low economic stature has better travel accessories and food than me.

The past couple of weeks have been full of serenity and sin. Penny Platinum and Cherry Sourcame up to visit me from Dallas and I am telling you -their reappearance in my life was MUCH needed.  Penny Platinum came up with her mom (Mama Platinum) to spend Spring Break together in NYC while Penny did interviews for some fashion internships. Cherry Sour’s excuse to come up was to wreak havoc, buy ridiculously cute clothes and make a cute little mess in my apartment. We wined, dined and drank unlimited glasses of champagne at restaurants and happy hours across the city. Morals were shattered, hearts were broken, ethical decision making seemed obsolete, and our hair was teased to such an accurate measure- I’m pretty sure we made girls with flat lifeless hair whimper and cry at the very site of our skyrocketing levels of PH balance.

Mama Platinum was a complete doll and reminded me of my mother back in Texas. Penny, Mama P and I ate glamorous dinners everyday-which had been a complete rarity for me considering the dwindling amount of money in my bank account. The most incredible experience was when Mama Platinum decided to pay for Penny and I to go on a boat ride that circled the entire city of Manhattan. Stepping away from the cluster of buildings, the pandemonium of people and the constant blaring alarms of taxis, ambulances, police cars and fire trucks really put everything in perspective. It was an oxymoron of sorts. Here we were on this peaceful boat ride going 5 MPH looking directly at a city whose lifestyle goes at about 95 MPH. In those 3 hours of being on that boat and watching tiny little people and cars from a distance, I constructed a new theory about New York.  No one moves here to suffer through the $1800 a month rent, $2.90 priced apples, and $90 monthly-metro card just to chill. They come to the nucleus of activity, the epicenter of fashion, journalism, broadcast media, PR, music, business and investing in order to get shit done. The hyper-independence mentality finally makes sense: sometimes people are so fixated with their lives because they come from all over the world to pursue ambitions, to reach a certain level of success that is unheard of in any other city, to make something happen and to have that “something,” be huge. Of course my moments of contemplation and philosophical analysis would come to a standstill every time Penny Platinum insisted we have another Budweiser. 3 hours and 6 beers later, Penny and I decided to pay a wonderful homage to Texas and Lady Liberty. Cheers to Texas hair, Texas hearts and cheers to all that is glamorous and kind. Here is to you, Texas.

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v422/ely10016/CheerTexasNYC.jpg?t=1282520274

# Out of The Water and Back On Land:

It’s frustrating that job searching is such a waiting game. I still have a couple leads that could turn into something great I just have to wait for contacts to get back to me. I will say though, I find it very VIP and entertaining that these journalists nonchalantly speak of rescheduling an interview because they have to go to Milan for Fashion Week or because they are interviewing Alicia Keys and Beyonce after their appearance at Madison Square Garden. Ugh, that NEEDS to be me someday. The day will come where I will wake up and have to cancel my appearance on Good Morning America because I am scheduled to have breakfast with Karl Lagerfeld and sip on mimosas at brunch with Slash and RuPaul. RuPaul and I will be laughing as we discuss how brilliantly shiny my Louboutin pumps are and Slash –who will be my rocknroll boyfriend by then- will play Lady Ru and I an acoustic set of “Sweet Child O’ Mine” and “November Rain” on his Gibson Les Paul. When this day comes…you better believe I will blog up a verbal STORM on this Tumblr.

In about a week-and-a-half I am meeting with a writer who used to write for Vogue, GQ and Harper’s Bazaar. She’s one of the few journalists who has gotten back to me and I am so thrilled to actually get to speak with her and seek advice. 

A Couple Random Scenarios of Stupidity:

1.     After hours of craving popcorn I decide to walk to the nearest Duane Rheade (which is the NYC version of CVS) and buy a box of popcorn. As I run back to my building drooling and salivating, I arrive to my apartment only to find out that I don’t even have a microwave. Feel free to defriend me off Facebook at any time

2.    I almost mutilated my hand by washing dishes a couple weeks ago. I was washing a knife and as I rubbed it the knife cut right through the middle of my thumb…and this cut was deep, real deep. I really thought I was going to need stitches. So I’m running down the hall like a drama queen to ask the front desk if they have any band-aids. It took two doormen, two maintenance guys and my landlord to clean my thumb, pour peroxide in it, and bandage me up. You may think I’m inept, BUT through medical knowledge that my mom infused in me when I was young, I knew to apply pressure, keep it elevated and pour lemon directly on top of the wound to constrict the skin and keep the wound from ripping any more than it’s going to. After 40 minutes of freakishly bleeding, I decide to take my nightmare downstairs and let my doormen deal with it.  I am now known as NOT only the “loud girl from Texas,” but as the “ You know…that girl from the 18^th floor with the bleeding thumb.” I tend to spread a positive reputation everywhere I go…

My mom mailed me an envelope full of magazine clippings: pictures of oranges, bananas, apples, spinach and sandwiches. Underneath this mess of an arts and crafts project, there was a note: “Baby, here is your grocery list. I know you like to make things fun so I thought I would make you a grocery list with pictures.”  UMMMMM. I feel like I would go straight to hell if I made any fun of this. Too cute.

I feel that I am quickly acclimating myself to this city, I am finally understanding the subway system but still fail to understand the homeless people that stay there. I am making good friends. Whether it’s Captain Belle and I glamorously experimenting with cheap happy hours and brunch specials across Manhattan, or dining with new friends.

(PS: PH2H): It most definitely is the hardest thing you can do: to leave everything you knew, the comfort of your good friends, your family, your home and abruptly land in a city where no one cares about you unless you force them to. That’s the trick to anything, whether it’s making friends or professionally networking.

Prove that you’re irreplaceable; through action, force people and businesses to deem you as indispensable- because you are. 

Shut your insecurities up. Everyone gets worried and no one wants to fail. Everyone is feeling what you’re feeling or at some point has felt the same insecurities you have. It’s your job (and mine) to own up to what your worth, step outside, don’t stop until you get whats yours and completely kill it in whatever you want to do. Well, don’t stop until you’re pushing 110. Then, I would say to just go to Jamaica and start partying because your time has definitely passed.

Don’t hesitate, don’t be worried, and don’t be upset no matter how much you want to throw your hands up and stop. If ever you find yourself throwing your hands up- make yourself a vodka cranberry, elegantly bring your hands down, get them manicured and start pushing and shoving for your ambitions all over again.

Saving Her Manicure For Another Day in NYC,

-erika

Listening to: “Pressed Against the Sky” by the Toadies

Feeling:  my stomach turning…due to those NASTY tacos I bought for a $2 down the street. Such a dismal and pathetic excuse for Mexican food.

Missing: good friends and their birthdays back in Texas. HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY BAYBEEEZ: the innately adorable, Ms. Beatle Bailey and the forever ridiculous, Mr. Sasha Mess

<3

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE:

March 5, 2010

Construction Hats, Meeting Michael Kors & Optimism

(New York, NY)— I’m sitting on a staircase between two huge concrete pillars in front of a building that can only be described as dramatic and enormous: the New York Public Library. Perhaps the same staircase that Samantha Jones, Carrie Bradshaw, Charlotte and Miranda were strutting their Blahniks and Louboutins on when they filmed the wedding scene in Sex and the City.

After running a few errands, I decided to use the quarters I had left clinking around in my purse to buy a hot chocolate. As I exited the revolving doors of Starbucks I see the NY Library in front of me. I’m not one to value history or a building full of an incalculable amount of literature; I am however, one to value post-gothic architecture and a location scene in Sex and the City.  So I sit on the staircase of the library, along with random couples and groups of foreign friends smiling and taking touristy pictures in front of the building. I plop open my Macbook, and I suddenly feel overwhelmed and encounter a blogger’s block; I don’t even know how to BEGIN writing. A complete torrent of ideas, quotes, situations, events and an utter downpour of emotions that I’ve felt in the past week came flooding back all at once. Needless to say it contributed to my decision of closing my Mac for a moment, drinking my hot chocolate and people watching for a good 30 minutes.  I quickly got inspired of what to write when I felt how uncomfortable sitting on a concrete staircase was and began to desperately want to sit on a couch.

I FINALLY received my IKEA loveseat and dresser! You can’t even begin to understand the elation I was in when I opened my door and heard the most incredible words said by a deliveryman, “Where do you want this?”

I smiled and clapped my hands with joy when I signed the consent form but my smile morphed into a gasp when I saw boxes upon boxes instead of a couch and a black dresser.

ME: “Oh sorry, but I ordered a love seat and a dresser…are these boxes just the drawers and couch pillows or what?”

MAN: “No, you have to put it together. This is the couch and this is the dresser, there are directions inside and if you have any questions or would like an IKEA employee to build it for $200 then you can call IKEA toll free.”

UMMM I DON’T THINK YOU UNDERSTAND. I may sound naïve, and I may sound like a 10-year-old idiot but I was really under the impression that since the IKEA displays were already put together that all I had to do was write down the item number, order it and wait patiently for my cute décor to arrive. I have heard of people having to put together IKEA purchases but I took that as, OHHH you have to put together little things: picture frames, candle holders, little tables and light fixtures-not a couch or building blocks of furniture. After a couple hours of being intimidated and staring at my boxes, I tie up my hair- somewhat debate taking off my makeup for fear of it sweating off but decide not to- and begin to slowly rip open my boxes. You know the way you savagely destroy the wrapping paper of your Christmas/birthday present as you rip it open with exhilaration? Well, my IKEA delivery was definitely not opened up in that way. I would categorize it better under the way you open up your mailed High School report card knowing that you failed a couple classes.

“Anna Wintour tweeted me today and wants you to write features and wants me to edit. I was like.. ummmm … Erika is kinda busy right now… you might have to wait until she takes off her construction hat and finishes assembling her IKEA furniture.”

—Sinatra SKYY feeling the need to be comical on my Facebook wall at the expense of my pain:

 

The instructions and ridiculous graphics of an oddly drawn cartoon man holding a hammer were confusing and frustrating. After a couple hours of piecing together a loveseat I found out that I put it together backwards. I may be Hispanic but I don’t really excel in construction.  In honor of décor, I rearrange my ponytail and pin back all of the loose strands of hair that were smothered all over my face: sticking to my melted eyeliner and sweat. I was grossed out and tired yet determined to at least get the couch done. When I ordered from IKEA I wasn’t aware that having an underground Chinese sweatshop in your apartment was a prerequisite. FINAL PRODUCT: http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v422/ely10016/Photoon2010-02-28at2216.jpg?t=1267845479

#BREAKING NEWS: Heidi Klum to Pitch New TV Show: “Winner of Project Runway (Restaurant Edition)- Erika Cespedes is IN not OUT. “

Location: Five Napkins Restaurant on W45th and 9^th Ave.

Characters: Erika Cespedes, Michael Kors and his entourage of 5 men.

SCENE: A little latin girl engorging herself to the rim with a veggie patty, broccoli, French fries and a long island ice tea overhears her friend say “Oh my god is that Michael Kors?” She drops her patty so fast-as if it had e.coli and mad cow disease in it- looks at her black leather Michael Kors satchel and quickly debates whether she should walk up to Kors & Co., or not. Meanwhile, as Michael Kors and his friends are walking towards the exit, Kors dreams of meeting an ambitious little girl prancing around in one of his designs. At this point, Erika, the little latin girl says to herself, ‘My hair is too teased, my lashes are too long and my makeup is too on point for Michael not to acknowledge this.’

Dialogue: Being disclosed below upon popular request

E: “Haaay! Hi, excuse me, I’m so sorry to interrupt you guys buy I just wanted to say Hi!”

MK: “ Oh my Gosh You. Are. Too. Cute.”

::His friends smile and chuckle as I fling around my purse::

MK: “I love your bag who designed it?!”

E: “Ugh. Don’t you love it? It’s from this little designer boy named Michael”

MK:  “haha, oh is it? It looks great”

::as he smiles at me and jokes around about his bag I begin to twirl and model his design::

E: “Ohh don’t you love how I model it, I bet you want me to be in your Look-Book circa Summer 2010, huh?!”

MK: “Haha, what are you in NYC for? Are you from here?”

E: “I just moved here from Texas! I’m here to be a music/fashion journalist and publicist.”

MK: “Ohh you are going to do good here.”

E: “Aww thanks. Well, I’m going to let you guys go and I’m gonna get back to my Long Island Iced Tea! It was so incredible meeting you guys, you guys are FEROSH and incredible!”

MK: “Haha have a great night!”

Michael Kors and Co. smile and laugh as I walk away.

END DIALOGUE: The Academy should feel free to nominate Project Runway (Restaurant Edition) for an Emmy.

#Stepping out of reality TV and back into my real life.

 

This past week was filled with networking events that were hilarious, successful and incriminating. From accidentally knocking over a piece of art at the Trump Towers (enough to make Donald Trump want to send me an invoice if he knew who I was) to randomly meeting great people and ending up in their limo at the end of night, all while  sprinkling new friendships and new opportunities in between.

My job search is beginning to shimmer and shine. Although it is still incredibly hard and competitive I have a couple leads that will hopefully- through diligence, hard work and networking- manifest into cool little jobs.  I’m trying not to jinx anything because it seems that up here, anything and anyone can fall through at the last minute.

WORK WORK:: SHAN-TAY:: POSE:: SASH-SHAY:: FLASH FLASH POSE:: I FINALLY received my NOH8 picture as you can obviously tell! I hope you enjoy it…I think its alright; Im not excited over but I do wanna thank Mr. Blane for helping me out on a little touch up!

(PS: PH2H): It’s definitely a city that tests your limits and emotions to the brink. I’ve realized this past month that February, to put it lightly, was an unnecessary month full of regret, turmoil and growth. The purpose of this blog is to document a difficult transition in my life. I’ve gone through every emotion here: complete elation, satisfaction, intense despair, humiliation, insupportable sadness, exhaustion and happiness. What I haven’t experienced yet is peace. I’m a restless soul, I need to constantly be doing things, be challenged by things, and be around hilarious people that enjoy my company in order for me to feel complete harmony.  I am slowly harvesting friends here and there and trying to make the best of my situation.  People likeJacklynne Cleave, Cherry Sour, Penny Platinum, Sinatra SKYY, Golden Pearl make me desperately miss home. Conversations with Sasha Mess and Calista Olsen (known for currently being an avid dieter; while engaging in two diets simultaneously he most likely will transform into something as miniscule as Mary-Kate Olsen or something as dehydrated and frail as Calista Flockhart) are what center and ground me.  Thoughtful care packages from my parents and mentors, Anna Riot and DeedJra Clairestotle, are what inspire me. Despite the horrible regretful effects of February, March could become something optimistic and full of opportunity. Of course I miss one of my ex best friends more than anything but if this is the way our cards have been dealt then I have no other option but to let it be, since he is happy. Hopefully down the line, we can reconnect and be the way we were before- God knows I am willing.

To better myself, I have to keep my head up and maintain positivity as best I can for the sake of my well being.

## FROM ME TO YOU: Grab hold of what sustains you; be with people you would die for; obtain the profession you LIVE for.

 

Taking Off Her Construction Hat (forever) In NYC,

-erika

listening to: the sound of my crunching on Cheetos and “Rabbit Fighter” by T-REX

missing: certain people, black beans and chalupas

loving: my strong-pointy shouldered blazer

feeling: sad yet optimistic

<3

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE:

February 24, 2010

Mexican Food, Motivation & Mount St. Helens

(New York, NY) —After getting on the first flight to Austin,TX I arrive at the front door, set my carry-on on the floor, ring the doorbell and anxiously wait for my parents to open the door. Suddenly, I’m greeted by an excited fleet of ladies: my grandma, my cousin, my aunt and my mother, whose curly brown hair is rapidly bouncing up and down due to her impressive jumps and leaps of excitement. Stepping away from the fleet of estrogen, my dad strolls up, hugs and chuckles with glee as he immediately starts to take care of me by getting my things.  We all walk to the most obvious room, the room where from day one Mexicans have flocked to, the room Mexican families in a telenovela always go to- the kitchen.

“Mija, you have to eat, New York didn’t feed you, look at you; you’re so skinny, like those hungry weird teenagers I see on Maury.”

-My Mother

As my mother proceeds to convince my aunt and grandma that I have a striking resemblance to those emaciated, deviant guests on the Maury Povich show, I jitter with excitement as I see the culinary medley of homemade Mexican food I was about to consume.

The smell of freshly fried chalupas (in organic avocado oil ) and homemade Serrano lemmon hot sauce permeate the air. On our dining room table, is an assortment of dishes: spinach chalupas, guacamole, spicy vegetables sprinkled with shredded lactose-free cheese and hot peppers, black bean and tofu filled tamales and of course, the ridiculously delicious variety of low fat cheesecakes and blueberry almond oat bars for dessert.

Within a thirty-five minute time frame I had managed to eat 8 enchiladas, 2 chalupas, 2 soft tacos, chips and guacamole, cheesecake and drink NUMEROUS cups of refreshingly wonderful ice-cold purified water.  Any person would tell you that the numbers are shocking and any doctor would tell you this could lead to coronary heart disease and the loss of a modeling contract. Although my proportions may seem over indulgent, I feel that my fat-girl tooth is especially warranted.

# UNDER THE TABLE:

I should clarify why I abruptly flew home to Austin for the weekend. It was such a tumultuous month. My excel spreadsheet shows that I’ve emailed 187 people and the silent failure of no email notifications are a constant reminder that nobody has responded. Running around NYC like a bat out of hell, sending emails to journalists trying to get noticed, helping out at PR firms, constantly revamping my cover letter and resume, applying to part-time and full-time jobs, stressing about personal issues, striving to salvage an important friendship, being professionally agitated, geographically confused, financially depleted, and most importantly- assuring myself that (due to lack of money) it is perfectly fine not to buy the new BCBG magenta snakeskin clutch or the new white BCBG sailor skirt with a satin navy trim. Having endured my first month-and-a-half in NYC, I thought it would be appropriate to eject myself from the encompassing negativity that had been plaguing me for over a month.

Some call it growing up, acclimating yourself to a new city, or maybe even maturing…but I would just like to call it unnecessary. I needed to get away, for just a couple days to clear my head, recollect my spirit and EEAATT. It was nothing a weekend of tortillas, guacamole, and two kooky hilariously inspiring parents couldn’t fix.

# BACK TO THE DINING ROOM TABLE:

A heard of my extended family came in from Dallas, Mexico and San Antonio to visit me for my homecoming. With this comes food, critique and advice said in Spanglish that they deem profound but really, it kind of doesn’t make sense. As I was rapidly eating I would catch glimpses of my aunt and grandma through my peripherals, not knowing whether they were displaying faces of concern or disgust. I could hear my mother, aunt and grandma debating the best way to send me tortillas, black beans, crackers and other non-perishable food items via FedEx. It was like the United Nations, congregating and debating about the most efficient and economical way to send food to poverty-stricken children in third-world countries which in this case was me, I guess. In any case, they kept wanting to feed me, kept loading my plate and applying garnishes to every single chalupa, and after not having had a homemade meal in over a month, who am I to sit there and complain about the inhumane portions I was being served?

:::SHUT THE FRIDGE, COVER THE TABLE, ERIKA HAS PASSED OUT. DUE TO HOT SAUCE AND GUACAMOLE SUCCEEDING HER WHITE BLOOD CELL COUNT::

When I was at home, I would walk around the house with, really, no fundamental purpose. I would walk up and down the stairs and loiter around in every room because there was so much space! It was such a drastic change from my NY studio. All the chairs, the couches, the rooms, the TVs, the food, the tables, the space, all of the OPTIONS!  I would sit on a sofa for about 20 minutes, then switch to another in an entirely different room just because I could. UGH, freedom. You don’t even know.

# A BRIEF EXCERPT

After engaging in a very inspiring heart-to-heart with my parents about semi-struggling in NYC my dad states:
“You’re going to set that city on fire. We gave birth to a hustler; you complain a lot, but you’re a hustler. And come on, its only been a month.  You live in NYC and have endured half of January and almost ALL OF FEBRUARY! That says a lot…oh wait, HEY…isn’t February like, the shortest month of the year? You know, the flimsy one?”

-Daddy Fierce

Even though my weekend was very short lived, it was exactly what my heart needed. On the plane ride I was thinking of innovative ways to get noticed and land a job. I was constructing a cute cognitive map in my head about what I was going to do different, whom I was going to contact, and how I was going to set myself apart from the disarray of journalists and publicists fighting against me to get my job.

As I was heavily absorbed in my war-like game plan, I noticed that we were about to land. I took a few moments, gathered my thoughts and took out my iPod BOSE earphones. I started to panic and believe that, through some voodoo-aerodynamic curse, I had turned deaf. I gasped and fiddled with my ears then a cannon-like pop went off in my head and cleared out all the demons. As my hearing snapped back I heard the flight attendant mutter through the intercom the most daunting yet inspiring phrase:

“…AND WELCOME, [back] TO NEW YORK CITY.”

(PS: PH2H): Its time to immerse myself in NYC, and this time not come up for air until I get my way and make something happen. To be honest, I’m scared. I’m scared of being up here with no friends and no family and a dismal job search. I know that I need to be here, for my career, to be successful and support myself, my friends and family. I know I can do it, I know I’m meant for it, I know it’s my calling…but at times the transition is just brutal.

I think we all exert ourselves to be something great, to do something exceptional; however, with that initiative comes some reservation and sporadic moments of doubt. I think it’s just because we’re all a little worried of failure. The more I think about it…you [and I] would be surprised at what we are capable of… if we just set fear aside and ambition forward.

So lets do this. I’m about to get real stubborn up in this bitch and really start knocking down some doors. E-mail until my nail color (OPI’s Pretty In Pink Shade 045) chips off and my hands begin to impulsively stiffen. I refuse to get swallowed up by NYC..my lashes are too long and my hair is too big and they most likely wouldn’t fit down the City’s throat…sorry NY:     ERIKA- 1, NYC- 0

Filled With Mexican Food and Southern Spirit in NYC,

-erika

listening to: my stomach growling, my dad on speakerphone, and “Whole Lotta Rosie” by AC/DC

feeling:  like I need to shower

sitting: on my bed

missing: when my cheek used to not have huge pimples on it! As I type and look down at my keyboard…I can see three different forms of lumps alongside my cheek: Mount Vesuvius, Mount St. Helens and Mount Everest.

<3

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE:

February 17, 2010

Couture, The Congo & Constructive Criticism

(New York, NY)— It was something I desperately needed. To go to a place where waiting to receive a slew of response emails didn’t matter, a pending job search seemed irrelevant, being put on ANOTHER two-week hold to receive my IKEA furniture for no reason seemed practical and where accidentally dropping my debit card in the subway vent due to a freakishly smelling lady startling me when she sneezed in my ear just seemed like, you know, any other normal day. Where negative experiences and negative energies didn’t matter and where glitter, chrome spikes, glistening Christian Louboutin pumps, sparkly corsets and SEVERLY FEROCIOUS designs reigned supreme.

I needed an over-the-top spectacle to distract me from my monotonous routine. I needed to see imagination become reality and wanted to be bedazzled to such a cautionary degree that it could blind me.  This is what I asked for and this is what I received. The last time I had been this speechless, was when I was a six-year-old teased hair little hell raiser; my parents had taken away my Barbie Jeep because I had gotten lost driving around the neighborhood aimlessly trying to find the local Sears, which sadly to admit seemed to have been my fashion Mecca circa 1993. I am fully aware that typing out that last sentence might single-handedly ruin my blog. Perhaps even cause an angry glamour loving mob to find, attack and chain me down on 5^th Avenue and write “FAILED FASHIONISTA” all over my MAC Cosmetics Studio Fix (in shade NC42) painted face.

BELL RINGS. CLASS HAS STARTED: FASHION HISTORY 101 in Cliff’s Notes Style: The Blonds are known for seamlessly integrating two extreme groups: 1.) The frisky and liberal use of sequins, diamonds, leather and chains. 2.) The timeless silhouette of a corset most reminiscent of contemporary old Hollywood glamour. When done wrong, the look can be deemed distasteful, completely lacking in cohesive design and be ready to sell at a local flea market in Chatanooga, Tennessee for $12.75.  When done right, the design becomes more than a piece of thousand-dollar fashion you adorn your client with for a photo shoot, movie premier or concert performance- it becomes a gleaming piece of art that leaves people breathless at Fashion Week and becomes immortalized in the prestigious pages of Vogue, Harper’s Bazaar and V Magazine. The Blondes have a Bachelor’s in fierceness, a Masters in glitz and a Doctorate in Glittercorsetoure (a phrase I would like to officially coin as an amalgamation of the three key ingredients to happiness: glitter, corsets and couture). BELL RINGS. SEMESTER IS OVER. SCHOOLS OUT FOREVER. DONE.

My silent prayers to RuPaul and Lady GaGalupe were answered when I opened my e-mail at 9 a.m. and had received an opportunity to help work The Blonds Fashion Show during New York Fashion Week with a stellar PR firm. I could have convulsed, passed out and started drooling all over my MacBook to such a severity that I wouldn’t be able to physically stop, but I managed to keep it together, let out a couple of high-pitched shrieks and engage in an interpretive dance that consisted of three jumps, two triumphant arm raises and several annoying hand claps.

The crowd was beautifully eccentric, the celebrities were fabulous fashionistas, and the designs were absolutely radiant. I assisted in checking in members of the associated press, buyers, fashion editors, celebrities, publicists and friends of the designers and guide them to their seats. Basically, to strictly adhere to “The List,” and rule the event with an iron-yet perfectly manicured-hand. BEGIN SCENE:

Adam Lambert, dressed in a black tailored suit and wearing a single leather glove with golden spiked claws, checked in and walked by pretty quickly to his seat. Soon after, Ms. Jay Alexander of America’s Next Top Model strolled up with his two guests to check in…

Me: “Hi! Are you Alexander, Jay Alexander?”

JA: “Oh yes honey, that’s me.”

:::he sighs and reclines his above 6-feet-tall statuesque frame against the wall::

Me: “Aw, are you feeling okay? Just give us one moment as we find you on the list and look up your seat number.”

JA: “Chiiild I am so tired; I’m exhausted…Ohh but GIRL, THOSE SHOULDER PADS!”

::he gasps, smiles and touches my strong-pointy shouldered black blazer::

Me: Oh! Well you can take a little nap on my fierce little shoulder pad if you want!”

::he smiles and lets out a brief laugh::

JA: “Girl, and I gotta pee.”

I quickly improvise and grab one of the many bottles of FIJI water from the FIJI event sponsored bin and notify Ms. Jay that if he needs to relieve himself let it be in a FIJI bottle instead of a Dasani. I also assured him that no one would even notice since everyone was graciously sipping his/her champagne-filled glasses. Ms. Jay then chuckles with the miniscule energy he has left and after telling him where to go, he proceeds to find his seat.

Every now and then, a writer for French or Italian Vogue would walk in with their fur coats, patent nude-colored pumps and the whole “I just threw this together in five minutes before showtime because I don’t care” indie-bohemian chic look really caught my attention. I daydreamed for 2 minutes about how I would like to throw that stuff together in an hour and run unnecessary errands on a Wednesday afternoon just to show off my disheveled, yet put together, French look straight from the pages of NYLON. My European daydream was brought to a halt when I saw a sudden slew of fashionebrities walk towards us to check in. Jay Manuel of America’s Next Top Model, Mike Ruiz of RuPaul’s Drag Race, Patricia Fields head stylist to Sex and the City, Robert Verdi and his two publicists, notorious New York gay clubber Kenny Kenny, and Amanda Lepore the most famous transsexual in New York City. Amanda Lepore had boobs that can only be described as excessive and enough lip injections and plastic surgery that can only be referred to as superfluous. Despite the intense vision, she was cute in her own way and she could have been totally rude since she had to wait a bit until we found her name on the list, but she was really sweet.

The lights dimmed, the strong bass of electronic dance music pulsed through the floors, neon lights flickered to the climactic beat and then suddenly, bursts of diamonds, sequins, leather, fur and chrome spikes strutted the stage. The models mercilessly ripped up the runway with the show’s custom-made glittery Louboutin pumps. Each model’s hair was platinum, teased and big- as it should be. The corsets were embellished with crystals, glitter and grace. Some of the long sleeved strong-shouldered mini dresses were made of leather and fierceness but all were adorned with rock’n’roll chrome and golden spikes. Not an ounce of cotton could be seen. Everyone was so enamored by the immaculate radiance of every design that each person would stalk the model from the time they stepped foot on the runway to the time they stepped off, completely entranced by the meticulous detail and flawless construction of each piece.  Never had I seen such an enchanting showcase of glimmer and glamour. Every celebrity, every fashion editor, every intern, every publicist, every buyer was left utterly speechless, including myself.

Everyone batted their fake eyelashes in disbelief not knowing whether or not they just hallucinated a dazzling utopia or if they just witnessed The Blonds out-design the Godfather of Sequins and Glitz, Bob Mackie. Phillipe and David Blond, the two designers of The Blonds, did their end-of-show designer closing walk to an uproar of praise and the thunderous sound of numerous flashbulbs from photographers.

They always close and deliver with every piece they construct and with every show they produce, but this year’s show was taken to an entirely new echelon. The Blonds brought the fury and they brought the heat, in the form of everything I admire: MAC Cosmetics, Christian Louboutin, PERFECTLY-PURIFIED FIJI water bottles, glitter, glitz and classic-edgy rock’n’roll glamour wrapped up in a sparkly, shimmery splendor.

# Now, lets get out of this world of diamonds and back into my cubic zirconian lifestyle.

The New York PR and Journalism scene is brutal, yet little forms of vindication are what make it all worthwhile. Alex Kuczynski, a former reporter for the New York Times, current columnist for New York Times Style Magazine and Vanity Fair said my blog looked great and was really funny. She was kind enough to direct me to some editors that I should pitch to. VERY RARELY do writers do this and although it may seem minor to some, this little nugget of positive reinforcement is all I need to keep going. The amount of work that goes into getting at least one New York journalist to open your e-mail, read it and respond to your work in a receptive way is monumental.

For Valentines Day, my parents decided to be adorable and FedEx me a couple boxes of Wheat Thins, a 20-piece GODIVA Chocolate box-of which I disgustingly ate eight pieces in one sitting-three cans of chicken soup and four cans of Tuna to add to my ever-growing collection of canned goods. They even thought it would be necessary to throw in several Ziploc baggies full of chips. To which I couldn’t help but wonder…how come they didn’t leave the chips in the bags they bought them in? BUT, who am I to critique when my parents are going out of their way to be sweet. Sometimes I feel like my mother thinks I flew off to the Congo instead of New York. Her little girl, protagonist of Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness Part 2, shipped off to the depths of the jungle and left to revert back to her most primitive state in order to better scavenge for food, glitzy rockstars and designer labels.

(PS:PH2H)-Things with one of my best friends are still at an all time low and I really feel this time that it’s the worst its ever been and that it could be it. The last straw has been dealt, the damage is irreconcilable and I feel that his/her anger, although incredibly merited will last for a long time. I miss the way things were all the time and I wish better decision making had occurred and catastrophic mistakes weren’t made. No one can hit rewind, backspace, or rewrite the story line; we are only allowed to hit play, move forward and narrate a new storyline full of new-found maturity, evolution and change. I’m learning to grow up, take certain things in stride as opposed to fullforce and to discuss situations openly and honestly with close friends like Jacklynne Cleave, Sinatra SKYY, Golden Pearl, Cherry Sour and Penny Platinum. I value them all to such an extreme degree because they know all my flaws and want to help me ameliorate them, as I do theirs. They critique me constructively so that I can become a better person and they don’t tag me in hideous Facebook pictures where my pose is incredibly off and my collarbones aren’t sticking out enough due to me being caught off guard and not sucking in fast enough. Oh wait, didn’t Sinatra SKYY do this and Facebook message it to the world…hmm…itsok ilu ss.

Eating An Obscene Amount of Post-Valentines Day Godiva Chocolates in NYC,

-erika

location: apt on W34th.

listening to: the subway zoom underground, cars passing by and “November Rain” by Guns N Roses.

feeling: hungry, unsettled and anxious to wash my face

missing: green enchiladas and guacamole

<3

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE:

February 10, 2010

Snow Flurries, Little Beans & Inklings of Courage

(New York, NY) —I had yet to experience a day like this in NYC. The streets, once occupied with a plethora of fast-walking executives, deli workers, scenesters, tourists and shoppers, are now vacant. There’s no pushing or shoving or fighting to squeeze into the subway terminals but there is still an unlimited array of submarine yellow taxis weeving in and out fighting to the death just to pick up that one person that surrendered to the cold and decided to quit walking. The constant blare of honking has come to an arrest and the grinding sound of construction has reached a standstill-for the time being.

There’s something to be said about this beautiful, yet miserable, disaster of a blizzard occurring in NY. It forces the fleeting-quick nature of New York to slow down, stop and take a second. It is the perfect blend of a warm, comfy goose-down bed, an acoustic Jimi Hendrix whispering through my speakers and seeing miniature pearly-white fuzz balls cascade graciously to the ground. I feel like God, Slash, RuPaul and GaGa have all gotten together in some hyper-glitter-powered VIP room in outer space and decided to show me a cute little music video outside of my window in the form of petite snow flurries dancing and falling perfectly to the pleasant harmonies playing from my iTunes.

“I’m watching the news and it’s supposed to snow bad in new york erika, you NEED to go buy some bread and cucumbers before the snowstorm.”

-My own mother.

UM, WHAT. First of all, I don’t even know how to rationalize her thought process or how to even begin making fun of this. The thing about my mother is that, she is quite possibly the weirdest, yet most genuine mother a person could ask for. I know we all say that about our moms, as we should, but I bet when you Skype your mom she doesn’t repeatedly tap on the computer monitor and ask if the sound is coming from a satellite that you bought in outer space- and if it is, then how much was it and did you make sure to charge it on credit and not debit. I bet your mother knows that DKNY fashions stand for Donna Karen New York and not “DEEK-NYYE”- some Asian designer in Korea that distributes to Dillard’s.

My mom is, by definition, the Immigrant American dream. Poverty stricken and determined to help out her parents and 7 brothers and sisters, my mom at the age of 11, moved to the United States. She started off as a maid and made $20 a month; she sent half of everything she made -no matter how small the amount- to her family in San Luis Potosi, Mexico. She wanted to become a citizen, get an education, learn medicine and be brilliant in cardiology: and in the end, that’s what she did.

Any of my friends will tell you, shes the kookiest and cutest lady ever that blurts out unnecessary medical facts at the most awkward times. Like the time my friend came over for dinner and my mom randomly mentioned to her, that she should sit on a towel when she drives in the blistering Texas heat because the moisture caused between the heat and her leather seat will cause a yeast infection or a urinary tract infection.

Of course no 10 degree, 12-inch deep New York snow blizzard would be complete without my mother furiously glued to FOX News in Austin, TX and calling me in 50 minute incrimates to tell me about how yes, it is still snowing in new york.

“You’re gonna be a hungry Chilly Willy up there! Did you go buy some bread and bananas like I told you? Erika, make sure to eat, please. If you don’t have a lot to eat why don’t you eat like that Jewish man in that movie? You know, the guy in the Holocaust. Ah, what is that movie called I can’t remember. He ate one little bean a day. That’s what you need to do mija (daughter), just eat one little frijolito (tiny bean) to keep yourself warm like that man.”

-Mama Fierce

Thank you for alluding to the Holocaust when describing my New York experience.Oh, and the movie she is referring to is The Pianist. At this point…I don’t even know what to say.

This past Sunday I briefly mentioned the XEX Magazine Release party that I went to in order to network. I will say it was definitely a big step in developing my courage. I went by myself and went knowing absolutely no one. As I held my breath and squeezed myself into some tight jeans, I knew that I would have to force my swagger to skyrocket itself to an inhumane level of 142%.  I consider myself incredibly extroverted and my dad always tells me that I can start a conversation with a tree trunk on the side of the street, but I was still awfully nervous and terrified. I had never gone to an event, party, bar or anything by myself. When I walked in it was like a high school dance with everyone sitting at their private tables laughing hysterically with all of their friends and co-workers. I repressed my negative thoughts and told myself that I better make friends/network or get a couple job opportunities here or else I would have just wasted .2 ounces of my MAC foundation, four brush dips of MAC Fluidline eyeliner, 61 pounds of hairspray, and not to mention a waste of a shower. The nerves subsided, the charming commenced and hopefully some possible freelance writing opportunities will come out of the contacts I made. Networking parties are way more effective than emails: when 2-4-1 drink specials are involved!

(PS: PH2H): It’s very hard when you don’t have the security of going out with your best friends. You know, that whole thing of “oh lets go out and be cute because we are fun and we’ll throw sequins and rhinestones in the sky and completely WORK THE ROOM.” The thing with that is, even if you and your friends went to an awkward epic fail of a party or bar, you at least feel comfortable because they are there, holding your hand and making fierce poses with you in pictures (which will undeniably be uploaded on Facebook that same morning) every step of the way. Going to my first NY networking party made me realize that if I’m gonna do more of these I have to SHAN-TAY right up in that room and completely own it, bring it, kill it every. single. time. I’m in NY to do one thing: to get what’s mine. A successful publicist, hilarious blogger, eloquent feature writer, etc… Moving from Texas made some friendships incredibly tougher and disintegrated a few. I have another one that is currently dissolving and I hope to salvage it if it’s mutual. I think it’s that time in my life where the cliche movie summary begins to read: “Southern Girl moves to a big city for her career. Leaving all that she knew, she must learn to come into her own, stand/fend for herself and desperately find a delicious, cheap Mexican food restaurant in the process.”

 

#From me to you (mostly to me): Be cute, yet tough. Don’t be afraid to be alone. Try not to let disputes or your over-analytic thoughts drown you. You are your priority. True best friends and family will stay, the opportunities you get to transform your dream into reality- will not.

Eating One Little Bean A Day in NYC,

-erika

listening to: “Little Wing” by Jimi Hendrix

location: my apt on W34th

sitting: on what serves as my chair/loveseat/sofa/barstool/table and recliner (for the time being): my bed.

feeling: tempted to straight up brave the cold weather and spend my $10 on a pizza.

<3

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE:

February 8, 2010

Dressing To Impress, Meeting RuPaul & Sprinkling Sangria In Between

(New York, NY) — Let me start off by saying that I felt very PR Journalist earlier this week walking down Broadway Avenue clutching my laptop with my left arm, talking on the phone with my left hand and juggling the wobbling Starbucks cup that I stacked on top of my Whole Foods box with my right.

To get the full effect. My color scheme from head-to-toe was black. A black wool BCBG trench coat with black leather sleeves (to add a little edge to the class). The accessories consisted of a black leather Michael Kors satchel (currently obsessing over), black leather gloves with a hint of suede, black sunglasses, black leopard print Betsey Johnson earrings, a black satin scarf and black pumps. My hair was on point and my bangs were flowing ever so perfectly with the cold breeze. UGH. PERFECT. SEVERE. DONE. BYE. Had there been paparazzi, they would have gotten their money shot.

The look definitely didn’t match the lifestyle which holds the irony to the story. It looked like I had 852 clients conference calling me at once on my phone from Milan, LA, Miami, Dallas and Paris, but it was really just my mother calling me to ask if I had seen the Dateline NBC special about the girl who was kidnapped in NYC after someone spiked her drink at dinner. It looked like I was drinking expensive VIP mega-latte-superbig-frenti-whatever-it’s-called sized coffee because I was exhausted from writing all those feature stories for Rolling Stone and Vogue the night before, but really, it was a water-filled cup a Starbucks employee gave me after I walked into his coffee shop panting and wheezing asking for directions since I was SO OVER walking around aimlessly trying to find the correct subway stop. I’ve come to realize, that if you just LOOK the part, people will think you are important and that you own the world. Who needs a PR job when you can just dress like one! Speaking of playing dress-up…

# BREAKING NEWS: I finally met RuPaul at his book signing! My friend and I anxiously waited in line for about 2 hours. I would get sudden bursts of elation when I heard RuPaul’s loud laugh as I edged closer. A torrent of questions and comments were going through my mind: things I wanted to say, little cute things I wanted to do, the correct way to approach him, the most adorable way to hold the book, how I was going to get him to be my friend…basically, I was preparing myself for the big finale. The night before, I had prepared my lines with Sinatra SKYY in our rendition of When Erika Meets RuPaul. Sinatra SKYY’s role, RuPaul. Mine, the crazy fan with big hair. The role playing, the coaching, all the things I was supposed to say were quickly abandoned when it was my friend and I’s turn to walk up and meet RuPaul.

ACT I Scene I: The Beginning of a Friendship

Me and my friend: “Ru! Haaaaaay!!”

(He gasps and smiles as he watches us walk towards him)

RuPaul: “Oh my Gosh! What GOOORGEOUS children!”

(My friend and I smile, freak out, laugh, and try to keep it together.)

ACT 2 Scene 5: The Final Act

Everything was so abrupt and it all happened so fast, much like my description of it in this blog. It was like me speaking to someone immortal in a big, dragtastic, my-fake-lashes-are-stuck-together-and-there’s-sequins-in-my-eyes type of drunken blur. I do remember that my friend and I were apparently so energetic he asked if we were cheerleaders. We came and went into his life pretty quick, however, judging by what he signed in my book: “[you’re] a Glitter Explosion”

I believe we made a long-standing impression. We most definitely BLEW RUPAUL’S WIG OFF.

END SCENE

I made a pretty little new friend who we will call Captain Belle (a recently relocated Southern Belle from Texas that moved to Manhattan for her job. SEE ALSO: works in the corporate office at Anonymous Airlines and deals with cute airline captains and pretty-faced gay flight attendants all day, everyday). It was so great to get to know her, establish a friendship, talk for hours and have a RIDICULOUSLY cheap happy hour at a swanky, dark-lit Moroccan themed bar in the lower east side of Manhattan. We had TWO pitchers of Sangria, meaning one pitcher per Southern Belle, for $15 a person. This is very random but they gave us all-we-can-eat buttery popcorn to go with our Sangria. Necessary? Not really. Does it fill up our tummies, increase our tolerance and make us drink more Sangria? ABSOLUTELY.

I walked by an Alexander McQueen store in the Chelsea district on W14th and I would be lying if I said I didn’t stop dead in my tracks in front of everyone and say “ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING. OH MUH’ GAWD!” Needless to say, no one wanted to speak to the cool girl having a fashion Turrets attack. I passed by it on my way to the XEX Magazine Party. I went in order to effectively network, with the help of a semi-open bar and 2-4-1 drink specials that would make my whiskey-loving friend Jacklynne Cleave blush, I believe that I did.

Strutting Black Leather Coats To A Severe Degree in NYC,

-erika

listening to: my stomach grumbling, my mom and dad on speakerphone aimlessly rambling to each other about the difference between sticking bananas in the fridge or leaving them outside and “Starlight” by Muse

feeling: hungry and excited to finally eat a good meal of tuna AND avocado once I get off the phone with my parents!

missing: Momma and Poppa Fierce, certain friendships and the ability to drink purified water.

<3

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE:

February 3, 2010

An Entry Dedicated to The Hopeless, The Hungry & The Hopeful

(New York, NY) — It’s one of those days in the City where the most appropriate thing you can do is wrap yourself in a white goose down duvet cover, sip orange juice and obsessively check your Facebook. It’s ice cold outside and watching people walk by with their heads down (to block it from the wind), layered jackets, thick scarves and heavy boots all contribute to my decision of staying in. I’m sitting by my window, barely being able to type on my laptop since the majority of my arms are immersed in my duvet cover. Despite the difficulty, I’m sure I can bang out a new entry considering how I successfully typed one out last week while holding a popsicle in my left hand.

Situations and conversations this week have reignited in me the drive to pursue happiness in my career and in my friendships. I know in every entry I discuss the copious amount of emails I send out every day asking for an interview/job/freelance/internship, and the sporadic bursts of inspiration I get from people and/or things that keep me staying positive, courageous and driven. At times I feel completely hopeless and at times I feel completely driven. There’s an intense vacillation in my emotions when doing the job search thing. I realize the redundancies in my blog at times, but I must make it clear that this is what New York is like. I’m wanting to project to you the struggle and the hustle it takes just to get through a day (which may I say that for every one day in NYC it equals to about 6 days in Texas…like, FOR REAL)

I came here thinking that with my personality and flair, I would own the City, buy the franchise, and sell its entire stock within a weeks time.  This is not the case; apparently, you’re supposed to work hard and put in long hours to get what you want. Everyone wants to do what I want to do. Everyone wants to do what you want to do. There’s competition and opposition everywhere in New York City and in the world in general. At the end of the day I, and you, have to let go of what you can’t control (the competitors and the competition), and maintain control with what you can( your end result): getting out there and taking what’s yours.

“Stay hungry, stay foolish.”

-said the Jesus of the Macbook Pro, Steve Jobs, after giving a speech stressing the importance of staying driven, humble and to never give up the primitive hunger you have of pursuing your dream.

# MINI-NEWS ALERT! This week has been so comforting because A) I MADE NEW FRANZZZ B) one of two of my favorite bosses came up here on business and met up with me in NYC and C) I got to eat a FULL FLEDGED meal at a restaurant thanks to my little boss D) my good friend (whose drag name alias will remain undisclosed until the perfect one comes to mind) and I are beginning to mend our recent disconnection and E) my boo boo Slash did a surprise performance on the Grammys!

Earlier this week, I was walking through W25th and Broadway trying to walk like a fast New Yorker and act like I knew what I was doing. In the midst of my catwalk, I was impetuously stopped on the concrete runway by a rugged, short and round Latino that reminded me of my Uncle Anonymous- after a few too many drinks at my cousins Quincenera. He decided to be a gentlemen and compliment my hair:

“Awww, SHIT girrrrrl WHATCHU’ GOT UP IN THAT HAIR! CAN UH’ FEEL IT?!” I take it the Texas-teased hair hasn’t quite caught on yet…

To understand the wonderful time I had with my old boss you must comprehend that 1/2 of the Fave Bosses Duo is ex-boss exhibit A) DeedJra (dee-druh’) Clairestotle ( a name all too appropriate for an ex-boss that became a second mother to me and gives advice so PROFOUND that it rivals that of Aristotle. The classic, eloquent decorum of a princess but has the constant hunger of a pauper. SEE ALSO: the “Wild Excursions of Deedjra Clairestotle and Erika” in the kitchen scarving down- ALL BUT NOT LIMITED TO: mexican food, fries, desserts, wraps, black beans, tamales, guacamole, salads, veggie patties, the EARTH- pg.63, Played her role as D.J. at the office every other day spinning records of Mika, Journey, Chester French, The 88, Queen, WHAM!, and cheesy Christmas songs.) has been keeping in touch with me and managed to send me a little gorgeous, dark rock-n-roll angel with pretty lashes to stop by and visit me in NYC. This dark angel of the world, completes the other half of the Fave Bosses Duo and her name is Anna Riot (SEE: the Anna Wintour of Rock’n’Roll in Texas. Glamorous enough to allure you and dangerously dark enough to keep you. She IS the edgy, she IS the class. Not one to mend hearts but is one to break a few. Fiercely independent with a heart of gold. SEE ALSO: pg 23 index IX: Isn’t one to be a diplomat but is one to condone anarchic behavior.  and riots? I’m 99% sure she’s guilty of igniting a few…)

Anna Riot and I had dinner with Smile Smile, one of her many clients: a current acoustic-pop band that you would enjoy, and I will tell you that the dinner WAS MUCH NEEDED. Not only for survival purposes, since I haven’t had the luxury of eating a full course glamourous meal, but for emotional stability and positive purposes as well. It was therapeutic, cathartic and exhilarating to see and speak with her. It reminded me of talking to my parents, my best friends and my mentors all in one. Her and Deedjra Clairestotle have been through it all with me and to see Anna Riot inspired me to make not only myself proud, but to remain driven and focused to make my family, friends and them proud and/or prouder of me.

DOLLAH’ DOLLAH’ BILL YALL. CONFESSION: Due to my lack of monetary funds, I don’t have cable or a TV SOOOO I sorta, kinda, in a way,  saw the Grammy’s on Skype with Sinatra SKYY. This poor little soul stopped what he was doing to turn on his TV, log into Skype and situate his laptop in front his TV so that I could watch the Grammy’s and wait with intense anticipation for my IDOL- Slash to perform. If this isn’t a STELLAR friend…I really don’t know what is. While watching Bon Jovi perform on the Grammy’s:

SINATRA SKYY: “Ummm are we listening to 99.5 The Wolf?”

ME: “BeeArrBee. I need to put my 80s hairmetal wig on…NOW”

SINATRA SKYY:” Girl, you already got more hair than all the 80s bands put together.”

# BREAKING NEWS -“SOUTHERN BELLE ENGAGES IN CIRQUE DE SOLEIL MOVES TO STAND UP FOR GAY FRIENDS’ RIGHTS”—

I explored Columbus Circle and the Lincoln Center on W64th a couple days ago because I volunteered and participated in the NOH8 Campaign Photoshoot. The wind was freezing but I have never been so enamored by lights IN MY LIFE. Walking towards the Empire Hotel, where they had the shoot, I was thinking to myself how much money the mayor must pay every month for NYC’s electricity bill. Along the streets of W64th are trees adorned with sky-blue colored light bulbs. You walk down and the sharp wind hits you and forces you to look up at the gorgeous placement of skyblue glitter that is meticulously placed on each limb of every tree.

New York has a way of doing that. One minute you are walking down a filthy avenue permeated with the smell of death and rotten tomatoes and then you turn the next avenue and you see the most incredible vision of lights streamed across buildings, enormous trees and streets.

To get to the point, the photo shoot was fun. First thing, while I was about to take my picture it was sprung on me, that I had to pay $40.  I dont have liquid cash like that to shell out, but then I thought… all of my greatest friends are gay. RuPaul is gay and somewhere, somehow I’m probably donating scholarship money to some little gay boy aspiring to go to college. This was my rationality of the situation. So with a smile on my face and a cute “HERE YA GO!”, I paid. I will say that I am incredibly concerned of how my picture will turn out. I had practiced for a good 45 minutes to an hour on my poses and was ready to strike them as soon as the camera turned towards me. So I was ready.

What I wasn’t ready for was how as soon as I stepped in front of the camera the photographer had his own idea of how I should pose. He wanted me, to like, turn to the side and flip my opposing arm behind my head throwing the peace sign and then the opposite hand to do the “shh” pose, all while trying to “smize” (Tyra defines it as smiling with your eyes). If I knew I was going to be doing intense acrobatics and Cirque De Soleil with my limbs I wouldn’t have even bothered practicing my facial poses in my bathroom. My desperate need to rebuttal his posing suggestions was a complete failure seeing as to how I couldn’t speak. It’s tradition that in every shoot the model is supposed to wear a piece of duct tape over his or her’s mouth as a sign of silent protest. WELL, having this discouraging strip of silence on my mouth took one cup of fierceness, two quartz of cuteness and added 3 pints of insecurity to my photo shoot.  I spoke to my friend who did it in the past and he said that the photographer is brilliant and is known for taking great pictures. I see the final picture in about 5 weeks so until then, lets just hope I killed it and hope it didnt kill me.

This week as I continue my job/internship search I will also pitch my blog to New York Magazine and a couple other magazines and newspapers just to see if anything happens. Even more exciting, RuPaul will be doing a book signing at the Borders on W63rd this Friday!!!!!!!usbefiysdbg6w4t!!! YOU! DONT! EVEN! KNOW! HOW! EXCITED! I! AM! I also think that when I meet the Queen of the Glitterati- RuPaul, I am going to hand her a piece of paper with my blog on it and say to her, “I adore you and you are the reason why I look cute sometimes and you drive me to want to kill it in this world and conquer it alllllll. you should also read my blog because I write about you all the time and I know you will love it. ok thank you. love you. nice to meet you!” ::::FLASH FLASH PHOTO PHOTO POSE POSE SASH-SHAY SHAN-TAY POSE::::: WALK.

 

let us all bring the heat this week. let us all bring it in some way or another.

Putting the Stiletto to the Medal in NYC,

-erika

listening to: some asian man yelling in the hallway and “Float On” a Modest Mouse Cover by Ben Lee.

feeling: hungry, tired and I have to pee.

missing: my mom’s huevos rancheros, hot chocolate and whole wheat flour tortillas on a cold morning

<3

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE:

January 29, 2010

Perseverance, Contrition & Drag Queens

(New York, NY) — Let me aplogize in advance for teh numerous typos I’m abuot to make. As I type this blog I’m holding a popsicle with my left thumb and pointer figner. I feel that eating a potassium-packed coconut popsicle from Wohle Foods is completly justified in order to cope with the residual stress left over from earlier this week. Apparently my body finds it is so necessary in fact, that it refuses to set it back in the freezer in order to fisnish my blog.

Let’s get on with it.

If there is one thing, despite friends and family, that can make me smile its the Queen of Queens, RuPaul. (Of course let us not forget my ultimate favorite, the guitar-shredding king, Slash.) After a week of disappointment, RuPaul somehow manages to fill my heart with sequins and smiles. This past week has been a series of unexpected events, some minor, but there is a particular one that held such gravity- it lead me to tears. A severe drought in my gmail inbox, bad decisions, mangled friendships, mistakenly stating the Eiffel Tower as the Empire State Building in a press release, getting stuck in the revolving doors at PENN Station only to be let out by a homeless man whose smell can only be compared to a bucket full of rotten eggs and tuna, and unknowingly drinking 1/2 a quart of someone’s hyper protein body-building muscle milk when I was under the impression it was 100% organic fat free milk, have all contributed to an awkward week.

Of course the little funny ones, are just epic tales of stupidity and the occasional case of bad luck. However, I wouldn’t be honest with myself and to you if I said that the week of random, humorous happenings didn’t end with making poor decisions and losing the faith of a friend. We all are subject to circumstances out of our control, but what happens when there is a fine line between what you can control, and what you can’t? At times you can only control so much and those lines may blur together, leaving room for the unexpected and your biggest upset to occur. We have all exerted ourselves at one point or another to “be good,” to try and learn form our mistakes and not repeat them. However sometimes whether it’s by being human or having bad luck, we repeat them. Like when someone- after several false alarms- practices safe sex for a while but still gets pregnant or when someone at the end of the month-after overcoming debt and successfully saving money- saves their money for “emergencies” only to spend it on the new strong shouldered military jacket by Balmain, or when you try to not drink that much ever again but you end up doing that the next weekend.  A SEVERE PS: N-O I’m not having sex or getting pregnant or spending money on a $10,000 jacket.

(PS:PH2H): Long story short, it was my fault and I take full responsibility for it. Drinking led to arguments and embarrassingly frustrating moments with a good friend of mine. Who knows if we will bounce back or if things will ever be the same. We’ve all been there at some point or another. Some more than others. I was incredibly remorseful of my actions, but despite apologies and contrition, there are only so many times you can make the same mistake. I may be putting myself out there, for being too honest, too transparent with this entry but it’s what I feel and it’s what happened. Perhaps it’s happened to you or someone you know. We’re all young or we’ve all been young and we’ve all done some messed up things in this world. The point is- which is what I should be preaching to myself- you live, you learn, you take responsibility for the mistakes you commit, you realize what you need to do next time, you get through it and you thank your lucky stars that you have other good friends who will stick by you at any cost.

Today I saw a press clip of RuPaul promoting the upcoming season of Drag Race and I’m TELLING YOU I have NEVER been so excited to see such an EPIC battle between tranny messes and drag beauties. Hearing RuPaul preach about perseverance and confidence inspired me to keep pushing and fighting for a spot at the top of the PR pyramid.

“Make this life worthwhile; Stop playing small and own your power, experience the tenacity of the human spirit.”

-the Queen of the Glitterati, Ms.RuPaul

I am blessed to regularly be talking to my own little Texas beauties on the phone/skype: Cherry Sour (known for her fierce red hair w/ highlights of shimmery orange like an orange sour skittle; SEE ALSO: having a sweet and demure personality but will shake your world up and punch you if need be), Jacklynne Cleave (an appropriate name for a girl obsessed with the cleavage in her hair thanks to the Bump-It and her obscene boobie cleavage thanks to Victoria’s Secret; perfect name for a girl that will literally drink nothing but Jack Daniels), Penny Platinum (known for her expensive yet thrifty sense of style and bottled peroxide LEGIT platinum blonde hair; SEE ALSO: shines like platinum due to her personality and Chanel jewelery collection) Sinatra SKYY (known for his gorgeous blue eyes and dark hair; known for being a gentleman, drinking nothing but SKYY vodka and emitting a ridiculous amount of swagger), Golden Pearl (known for his intense fixation with M.A.C Bronzer in shade-Golden, his pearly white straight teeth and bringing the latin heat to northern texas), Tupac Teeny(known as a contradiction of sorts; she’s the skinniest white girl you will meet; she’s known for her proper decorum but will cut you and quote Tupac better than ANY PERSON on this earth) and Beatle Bailey (known for innately being petite and adorable, this girl can literally OUT QUOTE you in not only any Beatles song, but any song in general, she will cite any song from any era, and sing any beat at a moments notice-of course when drinking is involved)

No matter what. keep loving. keep fighting.

 

Eating An Inappropriate Amount of Popsicles In NYC,

-erika

location: apt on W34th in my bed

feeling: lethargic and full of coconut Popsicle juice

listening to: cars honking, and “3 Kids in Brooklyn” by Butch Walker

<3

EMBARGOED UNTIL MARCH

January 26, 2010

Being Indispensable and Helping Broken Hearts

(New York, NY) — There is a term in the PR world that is used whenever a publicist needs to withhold the release of information until a certain date. The term is embargoed, and the situation, is my life. I feel like I’ve been on hold. Waiting for people to get back to me. Waiting for their availability. Waiting for fashion publicists to get back to me until late February, early March because of Fashion Week. Waiting for a glimmer of hope in the form of a meeting and/or interview. Despite the halt, I am still fiercely adamant in getting my way and determined to get my foot in the door.

I was walking through Times Square today and stopped at a small coffee shop/diner on W43rd to get on my laptop, answer some emails and grab a green tea.

I got to googling and emailing more publicists and got to thinking. Whenever I sit down and think about things, it seems to always lead to an over analysis of sorts.  I am craving more than ever to land a killer PR job and to network effectively. I am disregarding the rejection letters and benign neglect by staying positive. Of course the positivity is reinforced with the help of my parents and good friends.

“You need to make yourself essential; make (a company) feel that they can’t afford to lose you. Be necessary; Be indispensable.”

-The father to a ridiculously outrageous child: Mr. Eddie Cespedes

While I was having my Thinkfest 2010 in Times Square today I also got to thinking about producing something myself. If I’m not going to bang out some stellar publicity campaigns through someone elses PR firm, why not generate some PR buzz for clients of my choosing? Like friends that are starting out in the beauty, art, modeling and fashion industry. It’s worth a shot and it will give me something to do.

To myself and to you: BE FEARLESS WITH YOUR AMBITION

 

PS:PH2H- (PS Personal Heart-to-Heart): one of my besties, recently had his heart broken into little pieces. To him and to all others who have had their emotions crushed and their souls ripped up…whatever the situation may be…you should realize that no one should EVER have that power over you. Its natural to feel hurt and its natural to feel that your life is over. We all strive for a beautiful connection with someone, we long for acceptance, and we yearn for someone to think of us as infinite: as an essential puzzle piece to their happiness. It is vital to understand that you ARE essential, you ARE incredible and you don’t need a relationship to validate your worth.

When a healthy relationship/friendship is experienced, it becomes more than a connection- it becomes an integration of souls. It’s an appreciation of the other’s worth and well-being. It is perhaps the most exhilarating feeling a person can experience; however, when lost it can be the most dismal and can thrust a person into a whirlwind of confusion, loneliness, sadness and despair. Everyone copes with heartache differently but it is imperative to stress: no matter how severe the breakup, you must keep loving.

I am a firm believer in living amorously, living with a passion, living with a constant thirst to give affection, attention and love to those most dear to your soul. The urge to protect, adore and unconditionally love should always be imperative. More importantly, your love and security for yourself should take precedence above all else: above life’s irrelevancies and minuscule disputes. I put my heart and soul into every friendship because it is mutually deserved.

Every person you care for becomes a vein that pumps blood to your heart, allowing your heart and soul to thrive.

I believe that we are all put on this earth because we are essential in some way or another. I seem to have started rambling like a severely senile 95-year-old drunk lady: the one you find in the back of the nursing home abruptly pulling the Franzia nozzle out of her tote bag. Before the old lady in me gets the best of this blog, I will leave you with my concluding thought.

Keep striving to fulfill your professional purpose. Live with a fierceness that no one can emulate. Love amorously. Love without restraint and when you are broken- give pieces of your weathered and shattered heart to many, until your heart is at peace again and whole.

Having a Flat Hair Day in NYC,

-erika

location: apt on W34th

feeling: sleepy and hungry for a chocolate truffle

listening to: “Bad Romance (Chew Fu Remix) by Lady GodGa

<3

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE: 

January 23, 2010

(New York, NY) — “You need to eat every 2 hours because you’re now walking a lot around those tall buildings, you could develop ulcers and your stomach will explode,” said my mom, “Mija, im watching CNN and it could happen to you, its on the news.” 

If there is one thing in life that will make the most melancholy of souls the happiest, it’s friends and family. Incredibly trite and overused, yet its the most accurate of statements.

This week has been hectic with my internship and learning to get around in the city. HOWEVER its been such a stellar week with keeping in touch with my beautiful buddies from texassssss. my SKYPE be ON AND POPPIN YALLLLL. omg i love. seriously best. thing. ever. I’m incredibly content with the relationships i have with family and friends. the overwhelming support I have from them is humbling, adorable and satisfying. I love and miss every single one of them. Tonight my friend from Jersey is coming to visit me and we’re going to go out with a couple of friends, strut down the city and set it on fire. Funniest thing. I’ve always thought I was pretty self-explanatory and that there is no ambiguity in my look. To me, I LOOK my race. For some crazy reason people in NYC  believe i’m every other nationality other than my own! The other night I got that I looked like I was from Taiwan. I’ve gotten that I looked Egyptian, Asian, philipino and Arabian. wiiiiiiiierd. its ok though, its fun to play around and say that I am and make up stories about how I’m a wealthy princess from Egypt and that I’m in town to visit Tyra Banks. I dont know…I might have said that to a guy in a navy trenchcoat at a bar on 55th St…maybe.

Tonight the fashion menu is:  a CLASSIC black leather BCBG trenchcoat, black leather leggings, black knee high boots, black leather gloves, a gorgeous cerulean blue top with black sequin things cascading down the shoulder and a black leather Michael Kors satchel. FIERCE? ima’ look SEVERE.  UM OK. THANKS.LOVE YOU BYE.

PS: lets all pray to RuPaul and hope that she magically bestows upon me 3 liters of vodka. lest hope it falls from the sky in the midst of diamonds and rainbows.

PSS and a little TMI: last night my bestie, in a drunken stupor, adamantly needed to pee. so he believed that the opportune moment and appropriate place to do this would be on a staircase in my building. the next morning we took a tour to his landmark and saw that his pee had literally eaten through the paint. On a scale of 1 to 10 the boy definitely gets a 10 for his level of acidity. I’m sure my hilarious drunken moments will come. and believe you me, it will be of epic proportions.

Fierce and Fabulous in NYC, 

-erika

location: my apt on W34th

sitting: on my real HARD hardwood floors

listening to: “Do the Ricky Bobby” by B Dash

<3

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE 

January 21, 2010 

NYC: Too Ambitious, Too Soon 

(New York, NY) — It’s where dreams are made of: created and executed. It’s where friendships are tested: your courage, discovered and your ambition, proven.

 I’ve been in new york for exactly a week and am getting restless. I’ve been at my music PR internship for only two days and am noticing how I am meant for other things other than music. music PR will ALWAYS be my concentration and I will still do it; however, i’ve always felt that I am designed to be all encompassing. Having thought my capricious nature was a negative, I now believe my impulsive personality is a blessing. I want to be a publicist for musicians, fashion designers, magazines, beauty products, journalists, hairstylists, THE WORLD. Of course, let’s sprinkle in generating publicity for Drag Queens and the occasional Gay Pride Parade and THEN I will I feel like I’ve made it as a publicist.

 My inability to feel passionate about this internship has fueled me to research and email numerous relevant publicists of fashion, music and beauty. I’ve been sending out a plethora of emails to an incalculable number of people, yet the number of responses I’ve received is equivalent to the number of ice cold bottles of water you would find in the Sahara dessert.

I see publicists and successful journalists strutting down SoHo, sipping martinis on 5th avenue, graciously entering their tinted pitch black town cars, and spinning out of the revolving doors of Conde Naste Publications (publishing company of Vogue, GQ, Glamour, W, Esquire,etc…) with their Marc Jacobs leather satchels, Chanel trench coats and Louboutin pumps that eloquently grace the surface of New York’s concrete runway. Witnessing this is discouraging, yet intensely inspiring. I left everything in Texas to absolutely kill it here. I not only want to create an insanely successful career in NYC, I need to; there is no other option, there is no plan B.

 So, from discouragement to enlightenment-I will continue to push and break myself through the clutter and email my way to better networking opportunities and land some ridiculously great interviews. I will send out emails full of glitter, diamonds and grace… and pray for break.

Bringing Texas Hair To NYC, 

 

-erika

 

location: my apt on W34th.

sitting/laying: on a bare mattress

listening to: cars honking outside, and Alicia Keys’ acoustic version of “Empire State of Mind” (OH MUH’ GAWD- tell me how cliche that is…)

<3