L.A. Examiner Articles

A link to my Examiner articles... A worthy read.

http://www.examiner.com/user-erinrae-miller

Fucket List

Somewhere along the dash to check off each item on a lengthy Bucket List, I realized that some things are better on paper. That is why I am starting my Fucket List. It's time to face the facts-- there are things worth abandoning.

Item Number One: PADI certification.

I'm completely certain that I will love scuba diving as a hobby or vacation activity, but the life and death nature of diving to great depths of the ocean as some sort of expert isn't for this girl. I don't want to take my mask off under water and get it back on without snorting sea water through my nose and panicking, rocketing back to the surface where the bends threaten my blood. I don't want my water supply to be secretly turned off. I am not going to remember the stupid hand signals for my buddy to give me his octopus (back-up air supply) so that I don't die. There is no way I can take my weight belt off under water and get it back on without cracking myself in the head, which is actually hard to do. Not to mention the fact that the oxygen tank weighs half of what I do, making it a nightmare to get into the water once I have the tank, the weight belt and the fins on. For all you jerks that thought I was certifiable, you were incorrect.

So to the Professional Association of Diving Instructors, to you I say FUCKET!!

Arabian Nights

Somewhere after the Hawaiian feast and delicious, delicious sangria, three girlfriends braved the fashion district together. After a promise to several shops to return before the end of business day to purchase a few items, no money had yet changed hands. After all, with the bountiful choices of the L.A. alleys, one has to be frugal and particular with spending power.

That's when I saw the pants. Genie pants. With cheap cotton drawstrings. They were glorious. Or maybe that was the sangria. Either way, that mannequin was working those black and white beauties and I decided I could do it better. So, I made my first purchase. Then Malo decided she liked them, too, and she wanted to put them on right away because it was too hot for jeans and boots--another one of my great ideas, though I suffered gladly for my autumn wardrobe. And then, I just suffered, as Malo was now wearing the Aladdin pants with a navy top, brown fanny pack and black motorcycle boots. And just when it couldn't get any weirder, Emily (new recruit to this circle of friends, and an excellent one at that) also purchased the pants.

Later, we all powwowed back at Emily's for a nightcap, of course wearing our new duds and vowing to never wear them again...

We all woke up with some buyer's remorse and a hilarious $18 story. I can only conclude that there must have been vodka in that sangria, and I must also apologize for being condemned to never share any of the pants' pictures. It's probably worse than you think...

It's Always Sunny in Los Angeles

The Fall of Erin is not scheduled to begin (de)construction until 2050, leaving at least 14, 235 hay-days. Thank you for your patience.

Vegas, Baby!

Vegas. I used to think "What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas" was an idiotic thing to say, but it turns out to be true. It should stay there. Always. All I can tell you about my recent trip there is this: I may be permanently blacklisted from the MGM Grand, I found the outside of my comfort zone with a stripper named Delishay (some variation of Delicious), and Swedish people are crazy.

Remember that time you gave me the ants?

One of my best gal pals, Malo, surprised me with a small, blue vase she bought at an art school. There were wild flowers crowding the stem, which she had picked while singing and prancing, thinking of me--but that's her version of the story. My story kicks in an hour or so later, when we were waving our goodbyes. I placed the tiny gifted ceramic in between my legs for the drive home to ensure its safe travels. Once parked, I realized that there were ants crawling everywhere. And not just any ants, the bitey kind. I began slapping myself on all exposed skin and hunting down the runners with an opposable thumb. More than a few got away, though they have probably suffocated in their hot, leather hiding places by now. That is my hope, at least. I am still itchy with bites from that time Malo gave me the ants...

**Stay tuned for tonight's adventure: Malo and I go to the Prince concert.

Summer of Erin

According to the tarot card reader on the Venice boardwalk, my social cup will runneth over as long as I open my iron fist, let go of the past and remain open to beauty, art and love. Even though he never stopped picking his nose and talked entirely too much about himself, his roommate, his ex-girlfriend and did an uncomfortably long Rodney Dangerfield impression, he seemed to know a thing or two about reading a deck of cards. All he really told me was to take my own advice, which is pretty good advice... So begins the chronicles of the Summer of Erin.