21 Gifts You Can Buy Me for Christmas

Elf of the shelf

  1. An elf humping a tiny beer glass of marshmallows. I’m just kidding. I already have two.
  2. A picture of me giving a shit.
  3. Your mom.
  4. A necktie with fifteen cats in various poses. Naughty ones.
  5. My husband’s dignity.
  6. My dignity.
  7. A bra that doesn’t feel like you’re wearing a bra or a bra that DOES feel like you’re wearing bra that can say your name in Chinese. I shall call him Gary.
  8. That one time in middle school when I got my period randomly at that amusement park in front of all my friends. I just feel like I should have enjoyed it more.
  9. Proof that my dog is cheating on me with my husband. It’s not as weird as it sounds. Hahahahahaha. No, it is.
  10. An Eskimo. I want to touch its jacket.
  11. “That part of my heart that’s locked away that has feelings and is supposed to make you a nice person who cares about things,” is what I’d say if I were a pussy.
  12. A bottle of  vodka that’s disguised as a bottle of vodka. #mindexplosion
  13. A flame thrower that fits in my purse.
  14. All those Yankee candles my mother used to buy that my father said he sent to live on his uncle’s farm.
  15. The square root of 1,651. I just broke my brain.
  16. A pair of jeans that doesn’t make my ass look awesome. Good luck!
  17. A tiny hamster that I shall call “Baby Paws” who I shall train to steal snacks from restaurant kitchens when the waiter denies my request for a roasted goat “appateaser.” Take that, Jonathan! No one will love you and your adult braces you wide smiling, appeteaser denying, son of a bitch!
  18. Jonathan’s braces.
  19. A mirror that doesn’t make my face look good. Good luck!
  20. A lock of Gary Busey’s hair or I will flame throw you.
  21. A cat. No wait! Seventy cats.

“It’s going to be a wonderful Christmas and I can’t wait to spend it with everyone I love!” is what I would say if I were a pussy.


How to Look Like a Seven-Year-Old

I went to tour my daughter’s future school today, and I had this irrational fear that everyone thought the couple touring with me were my parents.

Because I look like this:

Hi, I'm Ericka, and I'm old enough to raise a child. SCARINESSSSS!!!!!
We’re in the same class! Oh wait, no. I’m her mother. Oops.

At first, this was a little upsetting because Dave Coulier follows me on Twitter, which basically gives me a free pass to wear your underwear on my head (You might want to cut the tags.  They itch).  But then I thought, “Ericka, stop getting so upset and go dunk your head in some bleach.”  And after a good scrubbing, I realized I don’t have to change shit for anybody.

I’m me.  Deal with it.

And then I got to thinking how some people actually want to like like they’re roughly 7 1/2 years-old, so I thought I’d be generous and give you a few of my favorite skin care tips.

Because I want to go to heaven.  (Haha, but no, really, I’m not a fan of the heat.)


So I used to pay a shit ton for products because I have a vagina and that’s what science/TV tells me to do, but here recently I found out that I can still look embryo-esque even when switching to natural products.  Below is my nightly skin care routine (not listed: rubbing my face against a well-trained cat; memorizing rock climbing lingo so I can impress strangers on crowded buses…it’s good for the pores) :

  1. Every morning and evening I wash my face with Trader Joe’s Nourish All-In-One Facial Cleanser mixed with a little baking soda (to exfoliate). I haven’t tried eating it yet but it probably tastes delicious.
  2. I then use a mixture of three parts water and one part apple cider vinegar that I put on a cotton pad and rub all over my face while writing hip new pop songs.  I really think I have something with, “This Is A Bra? I Thought It Was Earmuffs. No I Won’t Lower My Voice!”
  3.  Next, is the rosehip oil, or as I call it “Screw you Jenna Makowski! Sure I got my period in front of the entire sixth grade class and you pointed and laughed out loud but my therapist says I turned out just fine!” cream.  Apparently, Miranda Kerr uses it and I don’t know who that is but her last name starts with a “K so she’s probably stunning.  Seriously, this stuff makes me look almost six y’all.
  4. After I slather on the rosehip oil, I then put on some coconut oil because you can’t have enough coconut oil.  Or tampons.
  5. Finally, I use a mixture of coconut oil and vitamin E for my under eye area. This stuff is like crack. If crack didn’t break up families. And was smeared on my face.

There you go!  Face products that don’t cost a trillion dollars and may even get you adopted on a crowded bus!  Carabiners and tampons for everyone!   

What are your skin care tips? If you don’t mention cats or tampons once, we can still be friends, but I’ll probably talk about you behind your back.


He Still Won’t Stop Talking

matt clay
This shirt is the representation of the things his mouth says. Just horrible.

Long, long ago in a village far, far away where the local inhabitants wore nothing but yoga pants and prank called their former algebra teacher who once said “math is necessary,” there was a writer named Ericka who punished her husband for saying that she “maybe shouldn’t drive on the sidewalks” and “probably should wear clothes to church” by posting all the other horrifying things he said on the Internet.

You can find those horrifying things here and here.

You’d think said husband would “maybe stop talking, please, seriously, Matt, stop talking, and could you hold this cat while I get more Cheetos?  Don’t worry about where I got the glitter!  Mr. Cattypants likes it!!” but alas, he has not.

Here’s proof:

  • “I chiseled a baby spoon out of wood when I was six months old.”
  • “I am rich in puppy.”
  • “I should suspend your vent privileges.”
  • “I’m about to get wild, and I’m all like, ‘Matt, stop.  That’s too fucking wild.'”
  • “I just hurt my neck with my exaggerated head and eye movements.”
  • “I choose grammar over everyone.”
  • “After this, can you remind me to eat an egg roll and check the mail?”
  • “You have a wonderful hairline.”
  • “I’d risk my life to build a treehouse.”
  • “You know what’s funny?  You’re not a police officer, and you don’t know the definition of ‘cop sexy.'”
  • “A Lincoln Town Car limousine?  Those were simpler times.”
  • “Dennis Quaid is still wide smiling his way around America.”
  • Me: What’s the name of the Ryan Phillippe movie you like?  Matt: Which one?”
  • “I’m sorry, it’s just that I find water’s affinity for itself in glasses interesting.”
  • (His take on papaya) “Nasty.  Disgusting.  I’m going to put it down your shirt.”

Maybe one day he’ll grow up and be a mature adult like me.


Oh God.  Our poor child.

How to Parent a Child

dog in a sombrero
See, Mr. McFluffycakes? This is how you pull of a sombrero you non-sombrero wearing son-of-a-bitch!!

Listen, I know I’m really great at a lot of things like wearing shirts and making my neighbor’s dog feel inferior because he can’t walk on two feet like me, a very smart human being (You hear that, Mr. McFluffycakes?  Huh?  You hear that?  I’m the smart one you sickeningly adorable son of a bitch!), but what I’m really great at is parenting.

Parenting is by far the best thing I’ve ever done because 1) I’ve never lost my child.

So there’s that.

But there’s also the fact that she’s developing into a very not scary person proven by the hilarious non-scary things she says.  Usually in public:

  • “Let’s pretend we’re all at a wedding and don’t know each other. Hi! I’m Tilly, I’m six, and I live alone.”
  • Me: How was the Humane Society presentation at school?  Ava: Well, the dog didn’t have any eyes and the cat died so they brought us a bag of fur to pet.
  • “It smells like eyeballs and helicopters in here.”
  • Ava: Maybe my new friend can be my boyfriend.  Me: Aren’t you a little young to have a boyfriend?  Ava: Don’t judge me!!
  • Me: Ava, guess what! We sold the house!  Ava: I know. I made a few emails on my iPad so you’re welcome.
  • Me: What are you doing?  Ava: Watching a video about Dropbox. It’s relaxing.
  • Me: Why is it you never listen?  Ava (with wide “innocent” eyes): Well, because I’m a little girl and little girls just don’t know how to listen.
  • Me: How did gym camp go?  Ava (laughing): Great! Told some guy I was twenty-five!
  • Me: It’s time to take your bath.  Ava: Okay, give me just one second.  Me: Nope, it’s time now.   Ava (in her best first grade teacher tone): Remember when we talked about patience?
  • “I’m in charge of the world.”
  • Ava: What are these?  Me: Onions.   Ava: Oh, I’m so sorry, but my doctor says I can’t have these.
  • Ava: Want to play Oprah and Gayle?  Me: Sure.  Ava: I’m Oprah.  Me: Okay, hi Oprah.  Ava: Get out of my office Gayle!!
  • Me: Why are you acting like a crazy person?  Ava: Because Jesus made me this way!!!

See?  Parenting isn’t hard.  You just have to be willing to dress up like the best friend of a multi-billionaire and be screamed at from time to time.

And in the end, just realize Jesus made them that way, so really, it’s all his fault.

The Most Outlandish Tale About Anxiety and Depression Ever Told

Wait wait, the story doesn’t start here!  This is a blog hop, people!  Click HERE to start from the beginning.

Photo credit: HDFynnon Flickr

The dreams come and they’re all okay, except the last one, the one with the baby.  I’m in a grocery store and the grocery store’s too hot, too flourescent.  I’ve forgotten to wear a bra again.

And I know this is a dream, and I’m drawing real life like a needle in a vein because of that one time in sixth grade when I forgot the sports bra my mother laid out for me which is a rather unfortunate occurrence when you’re the point guard on your basketball team.  Thank bejeebus for that undershirt.

So right, the baby.  It’s one of those sticky, beautiful babies and its mouth is packed with something crummy.  Something like Cheerios and the mother’s back is turned to me, small thighs, beautiful hair.  I’m sure she has a lot of friends, a lot of money, a lot of something that’s missing in my well whenever I dip a cup and it comes up dry.

And the baby’s head is attached to the mother’s shoulder, bodyless, wide-eyed and when that baby looks at me, it says the words that make up the braided fear in my core:

“You’ll never be like her.”

I want to wake up.

Click HERE to continue the story.


Being Ericka Clay: Jessica & Tim

A girl and her fanny pack
How is this not a statue yet???

Welcome, folks!  Today, two brave readers have stepped up to the plate of being Ericka Clay.  Let’s all hold hands and support them on this journey as they don these extremely delicate ankles for the first time.


1.Why do you think Ericka’s ankles are so beautifully delicate?  I personally think she was a ballerina in a past life. I mean, she’s a very tiny person and probably has this secret vice of smoking like a choo-choo train.  Because all writers smoke. This is truth. Also, she already admitted to making up some sort of zombie style ballet dancing with her daughter, Ava. This is her past life seeping through.

2.If you were Ericka Clay, how many mirrors would you look into every day?  Only one is needed. “Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all.” And she’s already killed that bitch Snow White so we all know who that mirror is going to answer with.

3.If you could change one thing about Ericka Clay, what would it be?  Be specific so she knows how hard to punch you.  I’d like to see her eat a hamburger with cheddar cheese and bacon. And none of that veggie burger crap. I’m not saying she is too skinny or anything (I mean, have you SEEN her in jorts?!), I’m saying the whole gluten-free, vegan thing makes me want to punch her (lovingly) in the mouth.

4.If your name was Ericka Clay, what would you do with your life?  (Besides be awesome, of course.)  Honestly, I can’t associate anything other than writing with the venerable name of Ericka Clay.  So I’d probably spend my days at coffee houses wearing scarves in sweltering heat with “I am writing a novel” tattooed across my forehead.

5.If you were going to make a statue in honor of Ericka Clay (which you should), what would you make it out of?  The souls of forgotten poems.

Blurb: Jessica Sita is an author and poet living in Oklahoma with her husband and two dogs. Recently, she published her first chapbook of poems, Outcry, which is available on Lulu.com now.  She often daydreams about switching lives with Ericka Clay, if only for a day.

Blog: http://watchfulcreature.wordpress.com
Twitter: https://twitter.com/JessSita
Google+: https://plus.google.com/+JessicaSitaWriter



1. Why do you think Ericka’s ankles are so beautifully delicate? Just enough to carry a winnowy person. 

2.  If you were Ericka Clay, how many mirrors would you look into every day?Hmmmm…. all of them–twice.

3.  If you could change one thing about Ericka Clay, what would it be?  Be specific so she knows how hard to punch you.  Put the mouse down, back away from the keyboard & get out & get some more color dude.  Punch away.

4.  If your name was Ericka Clay, what would you do with your life?  (Besides be awesome, of course.)  Believe in myself more than I “should.”

5.  If you were going to make a statue in honor of Ericka Clay (which you should), what would you make it out of?  Texas caliche clay.  Tough, lasting & apropos.

Blurb: Needs more cowbell.

Blog: What are these “blogs” you speak of?
LinkedIn: www.linkedin.com/in/timgbarry/
About.me: about.me/timbarry/