Where do we go from here?

"...How do we carry on?

I can't get beyond the questions,

Clambering for the scraps in the shatter of us collapsed,

It cuts me with every 'could have been'."

-lyrics of Wait It Out, by Imogen Heap

Okay, I'm laying it on thick because I didn't write anything sob-story-ish when I did feel lower than a grasshopper's knee, a couple of days ago.

Yeah, Operation Get A Man/Fish In The Sea was a major bust, guys.

If you didn't already know that.

I told S.D. that I liked him very, very much on the 11th or 10th, and then had to wait FOUR DAYS only to be told that though in some other situation, he'd be interested, he's "not on the market" right now.

I nodded politely like I had any idea what the crap that meant.

He was all concerned that we stay friends and I assured him we would (in retrospect, a bad idea), and attempted to leave with my dignity.

However, as I walked away in the direction of my bus (we were talking outside the theatre), there was one of those metal tree support poles on the ground, and I wickedly stubbed my toe on it.

So I had to hobble away with my dignity, which, I'm sure, would have been fairly hilarious if it had happened in a romantic comedy and not in REAL LIFE.

BLURG.

Following day: Couldn't look at him at all, and walked around the theatre like I was always on a mission and couldn't spare the time to talk to anyone, much less him.

Needless to say, he is giving me my space. Which I guess I appreciate in that "Oh, why are you bothering? The damage is done!" sort of way.

I'm just counting my lucky stars for Christmas break, right, ladies and gents?

Happier notes commencing.

My house is ridiculously Christmas-y, and I couldn't love it more! My mama and I have been belting all sorts of songs in the car as we race around town getting the final presents and finishing the final errands! I have the swankiest, prettiest, Parisian-est new blouse from Strut, thanks to the gift certificate that Circe gave me for my birthday! I got a wooden kazoo in the White Elephant gift exchange we had at the last Hamlet rehearsal! My papa just came home with a new copy of "tiny titans"! (That's right; I read children's comic books. They're awesome!)

Basically, the break is fantabulously excellent thus far, although it got off to a dubious start.

Bet you didn't think this entry was gonna end this well based on the beginning!

Guess I pulled a switcheroo! Put that in your juice box and suck it!

P.S. Love to all my friends, wherever you are spending your holiday! I hope you are having lovely times!

I think I'll try defying gravity.

Dear lovely people who care about me dearly,

Oh, I haven't talked to you recently. Not because I don't love you. I do. So much. With a deep swelling in my heart.

"I feel so much better than before!"- Legally Blonde

I have cajones, yo. I may have been talking some nonsense about hobos and velociraptors (see Amani's blog, if you can) a few days ago, but now all I'm doing is singing songs from "Wicked" and other musicals really loud because I feel empowered!

To introduce another, even more blatant- I mean, awesome- set of code names, let's talk a little about Smutch and Blenser.

Brittney came up with that, and now I love her forever.

Anyway, talked it up with Smutch and was all, "I had an awesome time with you, but we don't really talk, and I just wanted to make sure we were on the same page, that we're not going out or anything."

And he was all, "...Yeah."

Seriously, that conversation was over in under a minute.

Not because it was terrible, but because it was so straightforward.

WHICH WAS AWESOME.

And liberating.

And I was so excited afterwards that I ran halfway around the school. True story.

So Operation Get A Man (or, alternately, Operation Fish in the Sea) goes into Part 2 tomorrow. You can guess what that is. (Hint: conversation with Blenser.)

And I think I'm gonna be fine.

I mean, I know what I WANT him to say, but I have this funny feeling that I'll totally survive if he just wants to be friends.

I guess I just feel to badass to sink over something like that.

After all, I got a freaking Tower of Power.

So....

BUH-BLAM!

Biiiiiiiitch, please.

Lots of love and Christmas cheer,

Rosalind

P.S. You can have Hanukkah or Kwanzaa cheer if you prefer.

Can anybody find me somebody to love?

I do declare! (Read in Southern accent.)

Today, I was an American hero and I let some lady stick a needle in my arm and take most of my spare blood.

It wasn't thaaat traumatic, but I still feel like I should have gotten a dinner invitation out of it. Whatever.

I don't have a lot to say here, I'm afraid, except that I am completely in love with "Glee" and their renditions of pretty much anything.

And there was a really weird moment today when S.D. and I were talking comic books and H was kind of hovering around us. It made me a little nervous, honestly, like I needed to cover up an affair or something. Not that there would be like there is a relationship to cheat on in this situation, or anything besides my frustratingly enduring interest in S.D. with which to "betray" H, but whatever. Paranoia.

Why does S.D. feel the need to TALK to me all the time about interesting things that make me like him more?

Why doesn't H feel any compulsion to talk to me whatsoever?

Sometimes, I wonder about hypotheticals, and I wonder, if I put up a mailbox that invited people to be honest to me, what would people write?

I guess I have to credit Amani for that thought, what with the very mysterious Secret Admirer letter she- I mean, someone- left in the Righteous Awesome Clubhouse of Ghostly Fun.

Anyway.

Blah-de-blah-blah.

I want my congestion to go away so I can sing better. I do love that singing.

Truth, justice, and the unicorn way!

"Chapter one says the lover, you love her with all your heart,

Chapter Two, you tell her, you never, never, never wanna be apart,

In Chapter Three, remember the meaning of romance,

In Chapter Four, you break up, but you give her just one more chance,

Oh, I wonder, wonder who, be-dooo, who, who wrote the book of love?"

Dear Jerk-Wad and Silly-Dumb,

You are stupid, stupid boys.

I am getting a little cyclical here, and that makes me nervous because the tarot was all, "Rosalind! You best be stopping with the way you're always acting, with the mooning over the boys and the not doing of anything! Best be starting making the sacrifices!" Or somesuch. But the inherent flaw in this logic is that I can't sacrifice my coziness for definitive, positive action if I cannot figure out what I want!

If I knew what I wanted, I would know how to get it.

Anyway, I am living by the sisterhood of the Righteous Awesome Clubhouse of Ghostly Fun and forevermore vow never to lose my dinosaur sparkles, even if I have been supremely disappointed by the turn of events in How I Met Your Mother and the unsatisfying demise of the beautiful Robin-Barney relationship. (Really? That's the best way they could write off that relationship? Really?)

Girl needs to get her laser tag on!

It's a true story.

So tired of getting nowhere!

"I guess the Lord must be in New York City." -Harry Nilsson

Here I am and I can't decide what mood to be in. With my limited energy, it is very easy to be downcast. It comes naturally when one has only had two hours of sleep and can't get boys to behave the way one wants.

HOWEVER.

I have been rather dour of late. And it's boring.

I had a splendiferous birthday party, where I received five different hair ornamentations! (Two paperboy caps, one mini hat-clip, and two feather barrettes.)

I have a plethora of friends who are kind and supportive at the drop of a hat! (Unintentional link to the above.)

I live an excellent, privileged life, and frankly, all the troubles I wrestle with right now will probably quickly pass!

Damn right, I'm optimistic, tarot cards! But I ain't gonna just let this whole being confused thing happen to me! I'm gonna happen to it!

....Does that work?

Whatever. I am in the process of regaining my dinosaur sparkles.

Gentlemen thieves.

Dear sir,

Alright, ha ha ha. We've reached the part of the screwball comedy where our stubbornness and our refusal to discuss things (like civilized human beings) has driven us to drag innocents into the fray. We've paired up with opposites, people we might have been with in an alternate universe. And of course, they're better suited for each other, which is obvious when we dance, when you and I let loose, and they both stand still. Or shuffle awkwardly.

And I'm waiting for the resolution, only you seem content to wait. Was that really a date? Is that how you do it? Because I'd like to point out that it doesn't count by anyone else's standards.

And damn it, I'm getting mad again, and part of me is still crying because you weren't there when I had the courage to tell you. Because maybe that was the universe trying to tell me that you can't actually leave and then run back, scared and out of breath, and ask someone out before you can regret it, before the bus leaves. Because maybe that's exactly the time you decide to run errands.

Probably this is just the vestiges of Cherry Valence, who hated to push you away every night. Probably you really like another girl, and I just can't believe that all my darkest nightmares on this subject were actually true.

If that's the case, I am pleading for you to show it. Be the best boyfriend you could possibly be to someone else, so that I can see the boundary line. Or give me some space. Don't touch my hand. Don't smile so much at my jokes. And don't ask me about comic books.

Dear sir,

When I watched The Notebook for the first time (and by the first time, I mean the only time), it made me angry. If you haven't seen it (which I'm pretty damn sure you haven't), here's a brief description: Boy meets girl during summer, love ensues, they split after the summer and though they try to write to each other for a year afterward, their letters get stopped, and they give up on each other. Now pay attention here. Girl meets another boy years later, they get engaged. Original boy sees girl again, and even though, frankly, they don't seem like that great of a couple (i.e. they argue ALL the time), they fall back in love because their love is ETERNAl, yadayadayada. Girl has to choose between the two, and she ditches the new boy. Who, BY THE WAY, was completely understanding about her feelings for original boy, willing to work through their conflicts, and, I DON'T KNOW, engaged to her.

Anyway, I thought that was a complete rip-off. I mean, what the hell? The new boy worked his ass off for this girl, who ends up with this guy she knew for ONE summer many, many years ago. I was told that it was very romantic.

I have never wished for that kind of romance, nor have I ever wanted to rip off someone off who so obviously cares for me. And part of me feels like you are that guy, and so I want to do better by you. But then my metaphor kind of slinks off and dies, because unless I'm mistaken, you don't know anything about the other boy and frankly, you haven't been up front with me about your feelings, and I'm once again relying on hearsay.

Which, though you don't know it, didn't get me that far the last time I walked this road.

I don't understand how a boy who can do the best dip and kiss imaginable and who can make one of worst (and longest) jokes imaginable funny and painful at the same time couldn't have given me a heads up about any affection prior Homecoming.

Maybe if we'd talked before, I mean, honestly and beyond jokes, this would be easier. But we've an upward battle right now. We have to learn to be around each other first, and if that works out, then we have to learn what being a relationship with each other means.

And maybe I'm paranoid and maybe I'm sensitive, but I'm pretty sure that he's paying more attention to me than you are.

And that kills me.

Celebrate the Irony!

"Everything is going wrong, but we're so happy!" -Let's Dance to Joy Division, by the Wombats

What, do you wonder is the first thing that comes up if you Google "Werewolf Sleepoever"? Why, this blog, of course! Followed by a short story about a werewolf who drinks coffee and may or may not be at a sleepoever? I don't know; I didn't read the whole thing. Because I am a SLACKER.

Which is why I'm writing this, instead of the drivel for English.

Pssh. Learning about The Scarlet Letter and logic. Pssh.

I am sitting on the precipice of disobeying my own advice. And the me that is giving the advice is the smarter one, but the me that wouldn't mind a little self-pitying crying now and then couldn't care less.

An attempt to organize my recently re-jumbled thoughts.

1) One week

2) I am discovering a distressing tendency within myself to instinctively rebel against the expectations of others.

3) I am tired of cutting all these different boys slack because they're "dumb" and they're "inexperienced" and they're "not the most forthcoming when it comes to feelings". I am just about ready to call them ALL on their bullshit.

I want to write some more letters, and I probably will, if I can reign myself in to properly articulate my feelings.

I think I may owe you an apology, Amani.

A little one.

I need you like Ben Affleck needs acting school.

I was recently introduced to the filthy excellence of "Team America: World Police". Now, I didn't see all of it, as my mother was a little scandalized when it came on Comedy Central a few weekends ago, but luckily, the whole family came together to sing along with "America (F*** Yeah!)". Because that's what family's like.

Ironically, now I want to see "Pearl Harbor", so that I can legitimately complain about it.

Speaking of terrible movies, or rather, unintentionally hilarious films: "Transformers"! I mean, seriously, who polled the thirteen year old boys to find out that what they love most in cinema is 1) boobs, 2) explosions, and 3) cheap humor. Why did they bother with trying to piece together a plot line? And in the second one, really? Robot heaven? Really?

I think that movie dropped my IQ a couple of points.

Haha, not like anyone would notice me missing a handful of grey matter.

Speaking of things that matter, HOMECOMING. Yeah, that's right, yo. It's coming on serious, and it's coming on fast. And damn! I need a dress! And apparently H and I are gonna try to follow theme (Way Back When), though I dunno what time period. (His suggestion of going as the 1930s wearing barrels is hilariously tempting.) Flapper or '40s, ladies and gents? Send in your votes, or bets, or whatever!

And finalement, who actually READS this blog? I thought it was just Amani and Lauren and those folks, but apparently, you read it, Clayton? What in the blue blazes? Reveal yourselves, mystery readers, so that I know exactly who I'm divulging my secrets to.....

Much love,

Rosa! The Fiery Latina!

Gimme some lovin'!

In hindsight, waaaay too much caps lock in the previous post.

I apologize. I was... distressed.

Not gonna lie, still a little "distressed". If you've never attempted it before, let me tell you how difficult it is to suddenly turn off the part of your brain that, for the last 2+ months has always subtly scanned the room for that person.

No, you're not putting it on dimmer. You're attempting to just shut down that part of the thought factory.

Difficult. (See? Resisted the urge to caps lock that. Proud?)

In happier news!

Disney princessing is the best thing ever! The once-laughed-at idea of Halloween caroling bore fruit and with a couple of pages of song lyrics, me and my gal pals hit the neighborhoods, bringing joy to all the college age kids and middle-aged people who serve America by staying in on Halloween and distributing candy. Salute the heros, people!

Pluswhich, we all looked HOT. But tastefully so. (Weren't no slutty princesses up in here!)

And tonight I finally had my familial birthday dinner/night. My Nana, parents, and cousin were ridiculously generous and gave the hugest possible boost to my wardrobe (badass leather jacket! amongst other things), my musical knowledge ("Blues Brothers" and "American Graffiti" soundtracks!), and library (soon to be reading "Sense and Sensibility and Sea Monsters"! Bookpeople giftcard!). Delicious-ness in the food department, also.

Ack! Such awesomeness! So different from last Sunday!

"Keep them doggies rolling, Rawhide!"

Wham, bam, thank you, ma'am!

Well, slap me on the table and put me in a blender. Frickedy frack and snappety Sue. Could I be a more confused, flattered, distraught, confused girl?

Probably not.

How could a boy, whom EVERYBODY assured me was HEAD OVER HEELS for me, be actually about to embark on a serious relationship with a girl he's known since, like, third grade?

How could a boy whom I hardly ever have a ONE-ON-ONE conversation with, decided to ask ME to Homecoming, without really saying whether or not it was because he LIKED me?

I'm mad. I'm sad. I'm delighted. I'm perplexed.

I'm hurt, and I don't want to hurt someone else.

When I was little, I used to wish that my name was Sarah. Let me tell you, that ship has sailed.

I feel kind of like, "Golly gee, Universe. You've just caved in on yourself." Except everyone keeps acting normally.

I mean, come on! My grandfather, my birthday, S.D., H!

And speaking of the confusions of H, awkward friends-with-his-sister much?

That's a true story.

Why can't men be STRAIGHT-FORWARD?

"Hi. I like you a lot. Would you like to go to Homecoming?"

"Hi. Ms. A has told me that I HAVE to have a date to Homecoming, so will you go with me so that I won't get yelled at?"

How simple is that?

I say this as a woman who has suppressed her feelings for someone for a little more than TWO MONTHS.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.

I'm kind of a hot mess right now.

At least I have a cool costume.

Beaumont.

I hate open caskets
And rigor mortis
No one's hands look like that
Thumbs are wrong,
Thumbs, thumbs, thumbs
No different than apes
But gorillas buy satin boxes
for people who aren't alive
to appreciate them?
Don't think so
Don't think
Don't think about the fact
That I won't see you again.

Walk on.

Dear all,

In a event of ludicrous tragedy, my grandfather passed away on my 17th birthday. He was very ill, but we did not expect him to die so soon. Luckily, we were able to visit him last weekend in the hospice, but, again, we all thought he had at least a month left.

It is weird. It is horrible. It is incomprehensible.

I'm traveling to Beaumont for the funeral, so I will be gone Monday thru Wednesday. (Wednesday I intend to be at RenFest in Houston, as I'd planned before.) I've sent emails to all my teachers about getting make-up work, but if they don't get back to me, I'll send ya'll questions about what we've done in class.

Also: I haven't gotten my Halloween costume (Snow White) pulled together yet, and I'm going to be gone for most of the days leading up, so if anyone has a long-ish yellow skirt that A) would fit me and B) I could borrow, please let me know.

Thank you. I'm not gonna lie; this is a really tough time for me.

Lots of love,

Rosalind

Do I have to tell the story....

....of a thousand rainy days since we first met?

You know that song? The Police's "Every Little Thing She Does is Magic".

I am musing on love/like/crushing/etc. Because I feel a little overwhelmed right now. And I know it must seem like angst is all I talk about/write about right now, but I'm using this little slice of Internet to "explore" my feelings and whatnot, so I'm afraid you'll have to put up with me a little longer.

First. I am in a constant state of trying to be beautiful. I want everything little thing I do to be magic, and it's really quite stressful, trying to make sure my shorts aren't mussed in Dance Class, that I am not a complete slob (or if I am dressed casually, in a tasteful, cute manner), that I get at least one pass with a mascara wand before coming into the theatre.

Second. I don't even understand where I stand on the S.D. issue anymore. I'm experiencing the "maybe-I-just-want-him-in-order-to-have-someone-to-care-about-me" doubts. I'm irrationally irritated that he won't ask me out, even though everyone has made it abundantly clear that I wear the metaphorical pants in this "relationship". And no one is letting me have the slightest doubt that he doesn't like me. Which would seem like a good thing, except it (and the time this whole thing has taken) has raised the stakes astronomically.

Frankly, what if everyone is WRONG?

You're not, of course, but if you were? What if I ask him out, and he explains that he's after another girl, and suddenly I have a flashback and everything he said makes as much, more sense with him talking about the other girl that he actually likes?

Excuse my neuroses, but I have more.

I know, Dr. Seuss says the "what ifs" can get you. Well, they've got me.

Third. I have very little experience in the girlfriend business. Would we be couple-y? I've never been kissed, I'll screw it up, I don't know how to dance with a boy really, I'll screw that up. Would it be the same, but with....dates? On the weekends? Will we even have anything to say to each other without H and C to bounce off of? Hell, do we even really agree on anything, besides comic books? Even that's rough. (DC vs. Marvel.)

What would we listen to in the car?!

We agree on Moulin Rouge, I guess. We could listen to that, maybe. Would that be too cloying?

This is what I think about. I'm a little muddled. And self-absorbed.

"How can there be any sin in sincere? Where is the good in goodbye? Your apprehensions confuse me, dear, puzzle and mystify. Tell me what can be fair in farewell, dear, while one single star shines above? How can there be any sin in sincere? Aren't we sincerely in love? Oh, we're in love...."

-The Music Man

How do you call your lover-boy?

"Come here, lover-boy!"

I'm listening to '50s rock like there's no tomorrow. I'm flying by the seat of my pants and trying to put together a mix myself because I couldn't find/afford a good DJ for the partay, particularly one who had a lot of period tracks.

Speaking of, if ya'll have any CDs of people other than Elvis, Little Richard, Beatles, and the Beach Boys that you wanna shimmy to at said party, please get those CDs to me. 'Cuz that would be swell.

See, already talking that way. Golly gee.

Theatre-wise: got the part of Rostad (sp?) and Voices for "Farenheit 451", which I'm kind of psyched about. The Voice part, really, because there is a team of three (me, Reed, and Ailie) who will get to record all the special voice-over bits in the play. Which means I get to pull out all my awesome announcer voices! :D

"It's the....Mildred....Show!" 

Yeah, if you haven't read the script (aka, if you're not Amani), you won't get that, but someday you will, so don't worry.

Homecoming! I'm for it! I'm excited! Except apparently, he wants ME to ask HIM. Which is completely backwards, and I'm in the process of deciding how stubborn and prideful I am on this issue. More to come.

Blah, blah, blah.

"Hey, hey, baby. I wanna know if you'll be my girl."

A watched pot won't ever boil.

Is that the correct metaphor for where I am (or am not) with S.D.? He cut his hair, and I wish he hadn't, but he gave me the best face when I brought him the comics, so I didn't mind.

Sigh.

I went to U2! In Dallas! Out of 95,000 people, I was one of the lucky who got to be less than five feet away from the band (when they were on the runway). Basically, made of win. Best birthday present ever? I have been waiting to see U2 in concert since I understood what a concert was. 

Righteous.

But, frankly, it's a little lackluster when no one else gets how big a deal it was for me. Because ya'll don't really know a lot about U2 and/or don't really like them.

Sigh.

I love ya'll anyway.

I'll write more letters soon. If I remember. I have to remember to ask him for the CD, too- remind me. (Go up to me and say, "Imogen Heap." Then walk away. It'll be like a Bond film.)

Speaking of letters, real ones that you write on paper and give people are awesome, too. We should have a letter system at LASA. Instead of lockers, mail boxes. Mail is way more important than lockers, anyway. Speaking of lockers, Amani, can I still have yours? I've got a lock.

My brain is reeling and my fingers can hardly keep up.

I'm leaving you with a link: http://teenink.com/fiction/romance/article/86180/Improvising/

The long and short of it is that it is one of the best short stories describing what is like to love/crush on/like/whatever someone that I have ever read. Obviously, I'm particularly sensitive to the subject matter right now, but I honestly think it's fab. Plus-which, it's written by a Brit. So that pretty much makes it fancy.

Go read it.

<3

Cheerio.

Princess Fail and other Things.

Before I write anything else, I want to credit Amani for the idea I'm using in this post (i.e. unnamed letters to people in my life). What she wrote was beautiful, heartfelt, and -I felt like writing this in a comment box was too dorky- totally made me choke up. So... here's looking at you, kid. As she said before me, you may know what I'm writing about, you may not, and it just might be about you. Who knows?

To you:

I am always the one who gets to be mad. Why don't you- What makes you angry? I feel like I'm the one who gets to indulge in her selfishness, and then we can joke about this up to a certain point, but I want you to get angry for once. At me. Or at him. I want you to be happy so badly. Not pining for someone who will never again, in my eyes, be worth your while. I want to be your Italian mother who makes you eat a lot of spaghetti and wants you to marry that nice boy from across the street.

To you:

Everyday, I swear to God, I think about walking right over to you and kissing you. But then I think about it, and about that fact that in real life, not everybody claps when the people get together, and frankly, I don't have any experience with this kissing thing, so I probably suck at it, and what if you don't even want to kiss me? So instead I sit down next to you and play the "are we friends or something more" game, and I can't even tell if I'm the only one playing. I have come up with about a hundred different ways to ask you out and they would all be really terrific in movies. Because I think we'd be the couple that everyone would root for in a movie.

To you:

I am jealous every time he hugs you. You are so damn funny, so damn creepy when you want to be, and I am so glad we ended up in the same boat. Literally and figuratively. Your life, your real life is so different from mine, though. I don't know it except in bits and pieces, but I guess I don't talk about my home life much either. Do I have white girl guilt? Maybe. Shoot, I don't know. And it's not really important, either, because we're friends because we're both silly, and so screw the rest, right? He told me he knew (about the thing), and I thought she had told him. I'm glad it was you instead.

To you:

You are one of my lifelines. Can I use a lot of weird and cheesy metaphors? You are my sherpa. God knows who I would have ended up with if we hadn't had to interview each other. You led me to a safe haven and now you are my Jeeves! But sometimes it shocks me how little you are tied down. I don't understand the concept of not knowing what you want to study, not because you can't choose between your favorite subjects, but because you don't know what your favorites are. And I want so badly to see you fall in love, because I feel like that would help me understand you better, because it makes a person a special type of silly, and you get to see me like that all the time. 

To you:

I have no idea how you ended up among us sometimes. You're a superhero and I want to know your origin story, because right now, all I know is your weakness. You are the magnificent embodiment of reason and I can't thank you enough for not letting me be taken to a mental institute. Because, seriously, I'm pretty sure that's where I would end up if you weren't around to stop us from overdosing on musicals. I wish we talked more. You're an enigma and I want to figure you out.

To you:

Who are you? Are you the embodiment of Austin, minus Sixth Street? You're a flower child way out of your decade, even if you won't admit it. It seems like you're hopelessly in love with everything, and determined to protect that which you love. I know I'm not your confidante these days, and I don't see as much of you as I did last year. And that sucks. I see you in love all the time, and I haven't gotten to the point where I understand it yet. It makes me giggle and it makes me want so desperately to save you the pain of some of it. Because some guys are douches, and I want you to be able to recognize them.

To you:

Please stop doing your homework three times a day. I miss you so much. We're like passing trains in the night; all I have time to do is compliment you on your fabulous dress (which seriously, you need to wear more often) and we're off to our different classes. I'd like to think that we do each other a lot of good, because you're the most Type A person I've ever met, and I'm sure I must drive you crazy, but I think we balance out a little. I mean, I've started really using my day planner, and you seem a little less panicked by grades that don't start with 1, have a 0 in the middle, and end with another 0. We need to talk so badly, I need to catch you up with things, and I want to hear what you have to say. 

TO BE CON'T?

More later, if I think of them (which I most assuredly will).

Cookie Monster.

You know what's delicious?

Cookies.

They're freaking great.

I don't care if Sesame Street is concerned with childhood obesity; for me, there will always be one kind of Monster. The COOKIE Monster.

And I honored him today.

By some miracle, I have no homework due immediately AND no afterschool activities a-calling, so I did some exploring on my mom's favorite website, epicurious.com and dug up this little jewel:

http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/Deep-Dark-Chocolate-Cookies-242468

Yeah. These flour-less, butter-less chocks of cocoa are probably what Amy has nightmares about, but they are RIGHT up my alley, so, taking the advice left in the user reviews, I added in a little cinnamon and chili powder-

Okay, they just finished.

The lower rack had their bottoms burned (That's what she said?), but WHAM, BAM, THANK YOU, MA'AM!

They're freaking great.

Like the love child of a brownie of a chocolate chip cookie. 

AWESOME.

Dare I say, "Legendary"?

I dare. It's Monday, and that's How I Met Your Mother night.

Dear Jeeves.

The hero of the day is........ LAUREN VUNDERINK. (For her brave action in the line of duty investigating the Drag in search of bargains.)

The song of the day is........... "Brand New Day", from the Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along soundtrack. (It was the first thing that came up when I put my iPod on shuffle.)

The foreign word of the day is........l'embouteillage. (French for "traffic".)

The theme of the day is...............sock hop!

Ponder this, class. Ponder.......

Not Hideously Disfigured!

Well, my face got cut today, but I seem to be fine.

Let me revise.

Today, a pediatric plastic surgeon removed a small cyst from my right cheek. It was my first surgery.

It was really weird. (The laughing gas. There was loss of depth perception and hearing distortion involved.)

It was really easy. (Under thirty minutes for the entire procedure and thirty minutes in Recovery before being sent home.)

It meant I spent most of today watching stuff I've TiVoed. (Awesome! I am now totally caught up on "Castle", "Mad Men", "Project Runway", "Community", and the in-aptly named "Saturday Night Live Weekend Update: Thursday".)

Also, I watched "Slumdog Millionaire"! (Absolutely fantastic movie. Can't believe it took me this long to see it.)

Basically, I rotted my brain on drugs and television.

Awesome, right?

Yeah.

I'm still sore from the wicked deep tissue massage Kat gave me before the frustratingly anti-climactic football game on Thursday. (Note: It is very difficult to have real conversations between five people when said five people are sitting on one bench and the person heading the convo is at one of the ends.)

Blah-blah-blah.

At least I (kind of) learned to play dominos and got to be around S.D. Whatever. 

I WISH BOYS GAVE SIGNALS.

Though it's not like I can talk. Subtlety is my strong suit. I just do not come on strong.

No matter how much good it would do me.

Also: I think my mattress is infested with bed bugs? It's either that or the bean bags in theatre, because I am getting some ridiculous bites all over.

It's gross.

Rawr, rawr, rawr.

Dinosaurs.

I agree with MLIA. I think T-rexs were angry because their arms were too short to give hugs.

Hurt, Blurg, Complain.

My feet are made of pain.

Also my heart, but I'm just being melodramatic. URGH! Why do I get to be called a wimp when l'autre jumeau is supposedly in the same position I'm in (i.e. crushing, but not asking out)? How is that fair? 

I just want to know whether it's a waste of time or not. I just want to know that there is equal exchange of angst going on here. 

Rawr, rawr, rawr.

That's just the "angry at male slobs" part of me talking. Seriously, any gents who may or may not read this, LEARN TO CLEAN UP AFTER YOURSELF. 

A few pointers:

1) Don't clog your drain with hair. IMPOSSIBLY GROSS. ALL POSSIBLE ATTRACTION LOST.

2) Don't think it's hilarious that you don't clean up after yourself. IT MAKES LADIES ANGRY.

3) Learn how to use disinfecting wipes. THEY ARE MADE OF WIN.

Whew.

So much stress just got relieved.

Speaking of stress, improv=not scary! Today, at least. It was the first of a series of Varsity Theatre improv classes, taught by head of Coldtown Theatre (sp?), Mr. J. (Haha, Mr. J, the Joker, haha. Comic book joke.)

Anyways, S.D. and I already rocked a three-sentence Irish potato famine improv, so I think I'm riding the (conversion) train to success!

Woo, woo!

Haha, woo girls. ("How I Met Your Mother" joke.)

I'm petering out. 

Sooooooo tired......

Gotta go get some PreCal done. 

'Night!

Awesome/Stress.

No time to blog makes Rosalind a sad girl.

Oh, noes!

This late nights are no bueno. 

But SOOOOOOOOO worth it! Could I be more excited about opening night? I think not.

(Also the fact that I continue to crush on S.D. without avail and get to spend time in his ridiculous, excellent company give things an extra sprinkling of awesome.)

But stress.

Stress, stress, stress.

At least I don't have LOADS of homework.

I just have to fix my Euro History paper.

Which I'm gonna do right now.

Write now.

:D

Homework.

Is what I'm doing.

Or, rather, was doing. I wrote the best story in that English packet. It was about a sheriff named Sally Nickels who wrangles dinosaurs, including a baby-stealing velociraptor. 

It was made of win.

It was legen-

Wait for it-

OMG, Neal Patrick Harris. Soooo funny in "Undercover Brother". I'm actually gonna try and watch the Emmys because he's hosting.

Speaking of Emmys....

Speaking of red-carpet...

Speaking of dressing up... I can never make up my mind whether or not to wear high heels to school. The block schedule means that I would never be walking far enough to make my feet hurt, and I love the way they look with outfits and how they make your legs look awesome, but I face an unfortunate problem:

me+high heels= taller than all the boys

Which I wouldn't mind if I wasn't trying to court someone.

Haha, old-fashioned words. I like that better than "trying to get together with" or some such modern slang.

I feel cruddy. But my purty painted finger and toe-nails are cheering me up. I'm so classy! :D

Gotta get those fingers to work through my homework.

-Dary!

It was legendary.

Sashay, ball change.

Some people don't know to leave well enough alone.

Some of you know what (who) I'm talking about, and some of you don't. Well, "some" is a relative term, because saying that assumes that anyone actually reads this, but it's fun, it's therapeutic, etc. 

It's fun, mostly.

Man, I'm getting moody just thinking about angst.

So let's talk about something else.

1) My hair is redder/oranger! Dyed it again this morning (with a lighter color) and it made more of a difference. Awesome! Looks really red in natural light. Also COSTUME=AWESOME. I can't say anything, except: sea foam green, preppy, cute.

2) Petra Haden. Those Prius commercials where the landscape is people and there's a lady singing? Well, this lady is kinda freaking great. She only has one real album out, but what she does is cover awesome songs (Don't Stop Believin', Thriller, etc.) and sings the entire song. She layers her voice over and over for both the singing parts and the instruments and basically, it is made of fun. 

Get a free download of her cover of the Beach Boy's "God Only Knows" on her website, http://petrahadenmusic.com/sounds.html

Yeah. I gotta do homework now, so....yeah.

Sad.

Tragic.

Naw.

It's swell.

P.S. Why do boys+me+parties=fail? Always? What is this, the third time in a row? All with different boys!

P.P.S. Saw "Measure for Measure" today. An odd play, but well done for the most part. Worth going to 1) watch Matt Davies (?) play the Duke, 2) see Jason Amato's set, and 3) listen to the excellent 1920s tunes.

P.P.P.S. Why do people think they can be rude on the internet?

A barrel full of awesome.

Jumeau+me=potential awesome.

Lots and lots of potential awesome.

Could it be like BRomance....

...But real?!

Would the awesome spill out our ears?

So many questions. 

So much silliness.

Man, I don't have rehearsal, and I don't really know what to do.

This is how I compensate.

I should go see if I can find me a costume.

Ba ba ba ba ba ba Barbara Ann!

Jumble of thoughts that I do not have the presence of mind to organize:

1.

Dearest Amani, 

In deference to your wishes, I will here-forward refrain from making commentary as to the importance of your forming a romantic alliance with a particular gentleman lacking in height and blessed in handsome-tude.  Even if it is in the better interest of all womankind.

I'm sorry. I had to go out with a bang. 

Sincerely,

Your most loving princesse francaise,

Rosalind.

2.

Comic book geeks among you: seek out the Marvel series "Agents of Atlas". It is made of excellence, and also of fun.

Allow me to use math.

(robot+mermaid+talking ape+alien+siren+former government agent+resurrected government agent+talking dragon+guy with metal hand)*(huge-ass conspiracy)=AWESOME

Proceed to Austin Books and Comics, or wherever you chose to unleash your nerdiness.

3.

I'm pretty sure Charlie wrestled with Crocodile the Alligator last night (against my wishes), because he came back into the house with a suspicious limp. The kind of limp caused by a muscular injury. A wrestling muscular injury....

Thoughts?

4.

Remind to buy that issue of "Runaways". 

Please.

5.

Will I ever attempt to read my copy of "Artemis Fowl" in French? Does that French bookstore guy pine over me, even to this day?

6.

Will I actually have a decent birthday party this year?

7.

WILL I EVER BE KISSED?

Tune in next time, for "Werewolf Sleepover!"

P.S. You best be going to "The Outsiders". I ain't dying my hair for nothing.

Darry/dairy/dary.

Yeah, that's right. Europe was legendary.

But I don't really need to tell ya'll about it (unless there are untold legions of followers that don't subscribe and don't actually know me). There was exploration of a thousand tourist sites, a thousand and one delicious meals, the French train adventure, and the French romance that wasn't... Was the amount of fun we had beyond the possimpible?

Perhaps. Perhaps, it was....

Anywho, school's started up again, yada yada yada and I wanna actually write in this thing again, even if you've all forgotten about it. I never did keep a diary; this is the closest thing to it, and I don't wanna give up now.

Even if it was started on a whim.

Whatev.

"So, what are you up to?" you ask, with bated breath. Wellllll, I'm still Theatre's Minister of Fun, so I'm working on my fun board, and in my freetime in classes, I've been writing a little freestyle poetry and designing a line of clothes based on the Greek gods. 

Yeah, basically, I'm being weird. As per the usual.

But I'm pretty sure I'm having a lot of really vivid dreams while I sleep. I don't usually remember them (or at least, not all of them), but when I walk up, I have the sense of leaving another reality, almost. Lots of colors. 

And I think I'm mostly dreaming about boys. 

I think I might like S.D. (aka l'autre jumeau). (It's French. Look it up.) I'm certainly dreaming about getting together with him. 

In fact, my dream-me seems to be a lot like the real me, but better. Like, I'm pretty sure I beat up Ari in one of my dreams and explained to him why he pissed me off.

And then, last night, I had an EPIC dream, and I've remembered all of it, and I really need to write it down, so here goes.

(Disclaimer: almost all the people in this dream are people who were in "Comedy of Errors" with me, so you may not know them.)

I'm going to a football game between LBJ and the school that Rachel and Kat go to. I look for Jeremy Polk, but apparently it's a JV game, so there isn't a band or him or any LBJ people I know there. However, Mr. E is playing for the other team. I definitely pay attention to him, but I don't think he notices me. 

I hang with Rachel and Kat and after a while, we take walk around the stadium (it's small). There a bunk bed sitting right on the edge of the end zone, and I decide to sit there and watch by myself. It's kind of near the stands, and I see Mr. E there, talking to some guy, saying he's seen "her" (me?) looking at him, and he's thinking about saying hi, but in a sort of pitying way, at which point, he mentions that he used to date Kat (he says this in a way that I imagine he wouldn't mind getting back together with her). 

I'm like, "Damn."

And then a freaking demon shows up. Seriously. This ugly-ass, Ghostbusters-style demon-thing appears in the middle of the stadium with a vortex and says he's gonna suck us all into hell of something. He comes in riding a horse, but then he turns it into lava, just to show how badass he is.

He floats on over to me (vortex in tow) and I don't remember exactly what he says, but basically, it's "Hahaha, you're a stupid human, you can't beat me, you're gonna fry, etc." He's attracted to me (literally) because I'm wearing gold, which apparently is his weakness, but he makes it clear that I don't have nearly enough gold to defeat him. I throw my earrings and necklace at him and he absorbs them, but remains super powerful. I just keep throwing crap at him, and he just keeps laughing, but then I pry off these hing-things that attach the top bunk to the bottom bunk and I throw the top bunk bed at him. He's too weak to catch it, and it fall on top of him, pushing him into his own little vortex, and the vortex disappears.

Yay, me!

At which point, I am obviously the hero, and Mr. E comes over and he's always been in love with me, yada yada yada, I get the guy. 

IT WAS AWESOME.

And now I'm mad because I had to wake up, and not actually be a hero who has a reallllly cute guy to kiss. 

Rawr.

I'm still mad I couldn't go to that party with him.

Damnit.

Au revoir!

And now I say farewell, as I embark on a trip....a trip traveled by many before....

To England and France!

Up, up, and away!

May the halls of Tonbridge School be crammed with cute boys with even cuter accents, and may I return with many a story to tell!

It will be legen-

Wait for it........

Ten bucks say that when you turn around, I say "wow".

Laser tag tomorrooooooooooooooow!

Legendary!

Awesome!

Computer five! 

*waits for you to high five your computer screen*

I can't stop talking in Barneyisms!

I need a vaccine!

Pick-a-little, talk-a-little...

"I would like him to be more interested in me than he's in himself, and more interested in us than in me." -Marion, the librarian

Aw, guuuuuuuuuuuuys. I went and saw "The Music Man" in Zilker Park last night with my Papa, and it was utterly charming! I hadn't listened to the music in ages, and I had practically forgotten how great that musical is. I mean, the score is terrific, and the characters offer depth without trying to be Hamlet, and the story is sweet and funny. 

What's not to like?

There was a rather odd age difference between Marion and Harold Hill, and I liked Marion a lot better than Harold, but overall it was an excellent performance and it couldn't have been more fun to see. 

Go see it, yo!

Also, go see my dad's show, if you haven't already. Because it's LEGENDARY.

Oh, teeheehee. That reminds me of the beautifulocity of Robney, the lengendarious couple of awesomeness that there ever was.

So many made up words, so little time.

Speaking of so little time, I'm ditching this country on the 29th! I can't hardly believe it, I'm so excited! It's funny; I'm going to have to memorize lines while I'm overseas. And then come back to dye my hair! (SO excited about that, ladies and gents. Definitely gonna merit a party.)

Golly gee! There's so much to do! Gotta make sure I do all the things one ought to do in an Austin summer that I haven't done yet (i.e. tea party, being a mall rat, seeing movies).

Who's with me? All for one, and one for all!

Third season, bros and hos!

Yeah, I'm going a little How I Met Your Mother crazy, but it's summer and I'm allowed to. Right?

Right. 

Also, decision made: I usually respect this, but no more. I don't care if you watch the show. I'm quoting it anyway.

It will be legend-

Wait for it.

And I hope you're not lactose intolerant, but the last part of the word is

-Dary.

Legendary.

Yeah.

Once I was sad, but then I decided to be awesome instead. True story.

Seriously, guys, can I be the Barney Stinson of all our friendships?

Because he's awesome. And he suits up.

And what's classier than a guy in a suit?

Maybe I should start wearing a suit. 

No. 

I don't think it works that way for girls. Unless you want a corporate job.

Not that there's anything wrong with that.

Anywho, I've figured out romance in the terms of the male characters of How I Met Your Mother. 

All girls want a Barney (chosen for high levels of hotness, amusement potential, and awesomeness) because we know there's a suppressed Ted (devoted romantic who will steal a blue French horn for you) in there, and that if we're right, eventually he'll even out and you'll have a Marshall (adorkable guy worth sticking with through thick and thin). 

Yeah.

This is how I spend my days.

I also made a necklace and knitted a little! 

Go me!

Bikes, and gents, and beads, oh my!

"Her tears will dry when I hand her the keys to our shiny new Australia." -Dr. Horrible

Yeah, I'm just putting up lines from the songs I'm listening to it. Put it in your juice box and suck it!

I think (read: I know) that's my new favorite insult/statement of defiance. I've been saying it a lot while working pre-show for Henry V (for fun), and since ma mere et ma stage manager both get a kick out of it, I persist. 

Did you know that there are few things more disarmingly charming as a very cute boy first talking respectfully to your father and then blowing you a kiss as you leave just as you begin to notice these little freckles on the bridge of his nose which you didn't know notice when you were watching him perform? Well, it's true.

Actually, I think he mistook me for someone else, because he looked all quizzically right after he blew me a kiss, but it was very cute anyway.

Anywhooooooooooo.

My bike just got fixed and I had totally forgotten how much I love that baby! Somebody (*cough* Lauren, you have a bicycle *cough*) should go riding with me. On a day when it is slightly less beastly hot. Like when the sun is setting. Or we could just make the destination of the ride a pool.

And speaking of you, Lauren, email me the Blanton pics. I NEED THEM FOR MY BIZNESS.

Well, I'm off to go see if Legendary Beads will honor a $25 gift certificate that I got for my birthday three years ago!

Ta-ta!

Too-doo-loo!

Oh! That reminds me!

We should have a tea party!

Discuss it with me at a later time! 

Puttin' on the Ritz

Semi-recent pictures of my lady-in-white outfit. (Thematically photographed in my grandmother's blue-and-white room.) I saw those pictures of the Jazz Age picnic on Governor's Island on the Sartorialist, and couldn't help myself!

The hat's my grandmother's and the skirt is from Target. Who knows about the parts!

One more time with feeling...

"Breathing's just a rhythm." -Regina Spektor

I gotta clean this place up! 

Modcloth (my one true love) is having another contest (several, actually), and I have to win AT LEAST ONE.

Right?

Root for me, now.

I feel like a Regina Spektor song: quirky, upbeat, but with a tiny speck of mournful in the center. 

Blah, blah, blah.

I finished Season 1 of How I Met Your Mother and the ending KILLED me. All the boys on that show are so adorable, adorkable, and dumb in their own special way, I wanna hug 'em all.

But especially Neal Patrick Harris! Put that in your juice box and suck it, Max!

No, he's gay.

So I can't really have him.

Damn.

:P

Haha. This is my life. Arguing about a gay guy who I don't even know.

But enough about me. 

What do YOU like about me? 

:D

How Did I Meet Your Mother?

"How I Met Your Mother". 

Good show.

Better cast.

WHY IS NEIL PATRICK HARRIS GAY? WHY MUST HE TORMENT ME SO?

Seriously.

Hilarious.

Especially at 1:49 in the morning.

See?

This is summer as it ought to be.

:D

Bemused/Amused.

It is ridiculous that I like two guys with the exact same name.

It's stupid.

It's comic gold.

Seriously, one of these days, I'm going to ask one of you to just get out your video cameras and just follow me around and see my life.

I'm in an odd mood.

I'm just going to write down main points of my life and the lives of others and write a fantastic comedy.

And then my Hollywood career will be launched and I will be able to afford those Modcloth dresses I want (read: "NEED"). 

Lalalalala!

Ob-la-di, ob-la-da!

Life goes on!

I love the Beatles.

What are guy names that are pronounced the same, but spelled differently?

(I have Stephen/Steven/Stefan, Jaymes/James, and the obvious.)

I want to play allllllllllllllllll of Shakespeare's great heroines.

And some of the heroes, too.

Not to mention, some of the villains. 

Oh, the ambition!

I had better get on that work of mine,

If I wish to see the end I hope for.

OH, SNAP.

Iambic pentameter!

I'm done now.

Look!

Check it out: 50% less angst in the below post.

Maybe even 75% less.

Oh, who can say?

Here's a picture; I missed having it in the last post. It's from the Sartorialist (aka the best fashion photography blog ever). Now imagine looking that cool in day to day life.

Remarkably chic. 

Lalalalalalala!

Looking at the picture of Mrs. Peel makes me long for Halloween.

Well, whatever.

I dug up some old songs I wrote a year or two ago and have started to record them on le computer (speaking of my laptop; Amani, you should be glad to know that it is adorned with the "C'est vrai." sticker you printed me off your fantastic label printer.)

Anywhoooooo.

They're not terrible. I've been trying to slip some Regina Spektor-esque hooks into the original melodies, and I think they may have potential. As in, Werewolf Sleepover potential. Maybe I'll email a few tracks around and hear what you all have to say.

Yeah, not a lot going on except waiting for the end of ACC with baited breath and listening to the new Regina Spektor album ("Far") over and over again on the bus.

Oh, the bus!

I love bus people, especially when they're not crazy. Of late, I have spotted: an excellent handlebar mustache, a genuine greaser, and the classic classy old lady with a purple and red hat. Plus-which, tons of adorable toddlers who think public transportation is the best thing since sliced bread. 

See, Amani? Nothing to be afraid of! 

Fancy Avenging.

Gosh.

Mister E's number feels like a weapon in my hands. Why, I could attempt to text him and say something stupid! It could be disastrous! It could be catastrophic!

Actually, I haven't the faintest idea why I don't do anything with it, seeing as I no longer have anything to risk, be it self-respect or the integrity of the show or friendship. 

Because chances are, I won't see him again unless I make a point of it.

Rawr.

Anyways, it reminds me of a gun.

Which reminds me of the word "avenger".

Because it is an excellent word and I associate it with the 1960s British show entitled "The Avengers" about a pair of spies, one of whom is my role model-Emma Peel, classiest of the lady spies I have ever known! (See above pic.)

Classy classy classy.

Fancy fancy fancy.

I want to write a song entitled, "I Want To Be Your Girlfriend". It seems direct enough.

Crap! Still have to record "Arctic Princess"! My public awaits!

Murky.

I feel all mixed up.

I miss the Comedy of Errors cast SO MUCH, especially Sexy Club and Mr. E. I really don't want this to be one of those things where I never see these wonderful people ever again.

I want to see them all.

I want to kiss Mr. E.

Well, I got his phone number. So I guess that's a start. (That's what Rachel said.)

Okay, so guys, don't look at me weird or anything, but OMG.

River clay is SUCH a good exfoliant.

Seriously. My skin is so fancy-soft and sexy now. See, me and Rachel and Kat and Dillon (The Abbess, Courtesan, Angela the Goldsmith, and Balthazar) all exfoliated our skin with this awesome river clay and became Sexy Club, so-

Well, basically, it was pretty great.

And I miss them.

And I was talking to Catherine (family friend who is staying with us as she directs my pa in Henry V) about colleges (She works at DePaul) and she was talking about the crazy-ass theatre program that accepts 45 in the first year, but then ousts something like 15 in the second year because they end up "not being good enough".

Which scares the CRAP out of me.

Because I love acting. Love it, love it, love it and I really want to get some sort of degree in it, but there are so many beautiful, fantastic actors and it feels like there isn't room in the world for all of us. 

And I am, of course, scared that I'm the one who would get the boot. 

So I'm befuddled.

I don't want to go off and leave you guys for some silly college.

:P

Oh, I just want to hug everyone.

Parties: The Life Blood of Our Teenage Years

So Comedy is going really, really well, and I've been so happy to see all you lovely, supportive people there. (Hopefully, this trend continues into the next two days. :D )

I'm in a lovelorn mood, listening to the Titanic soundtrack and not comprehending that I may never see Mr. E again after Sunday. 

Speaking of Titanic...party!

And speaking of parties, yes! We should have some. We need to have our modeling party (Lauren and I are in deep cahoots for this one; involves singing along to "I'm Too Sexy" and prancing around in three-inch heels), and our Titanic-watching sleepover, and a dance party, and- and-

And a lot of other parties, too!

And we will have a terribly excellent time and we will be fancy (I mean, what else would we be?) and oh, it shall be swell! 

Speaking of swell, we should have swing dancing at the dance party.

Oh, so much to plan! So little time!

Shows and swellitude!

Dear Besties,

Red Then Productions (a group formed by my mother and myself), is producing a one-man version of Shakespeare’s Henry V starring my very own pater, Robert Faires. It runs at the Off Center, home of the Rude Mechs, for 15 performances, July 2-25 and I am extending a special “friends and family” discount to you and your friends! 

Henry V is the culmination of an 18 year-old dream first conceived by Faires in 1991. Using Shakespeare’s instruction to the audience to use their imaginations to conjure the play’s royal courts, horses, armies, and battlefields, Faires reconceived the drama for a solo performer playing 13 characters. Over the course of 75 minutes, with only a few household props, he leads the audience from Henry’s throne across the English Channel into the French court, through a fearful war and into one of the most charming wooing scenes in Shakespeare. 
 
We are thrilled and honored friend and colleague Catherine Weidner has joined us here in Austin to direct Henry V. Catherine is the Associate Professor Classical Acting/Heightened Text at The Theatre School of DePaul University in Chicago and was the Program Director of The Shakespeare Theatre Company Academy for Classical Acting at George Washington University in D.C. and has directed for the Illinois Shakespeare Festival. 

Henry V runs Thursdays-Saturdays at 8pm and Sundays at 5pm. There is a special 4th of July performance at 5pm with complimentary champagne and sparklers too! Tickets are ON SALE NOW for $15 but as a FOB (Friend of Bill) you and your friends can gain admittance for the low price of $10. To get this discount, log on torudemechs.com and click on “get your tickets now”. Select the performance date and click on “begin order.” In the box marked DISCOUNT CODE enter the word: five and click on additional prices. The FOB price of $10 will become one of your selections! Easy peasy. 

Phone orders are available at 1800-838-3006. Ask for the “five” discount and you’ll be eligible for the $10 FOB ticket there too. 

Tickets are also on sale at austix, but the FOB discount is not available via the website. Call or email Rachel Watreas at 474-8497 or austix@austix.com for the special $10 ticket. 

Tickets are on sale now. Buy soon, buy lots!

(NOTE: As students, you automatically get the $10 discounted ticket; this is more to forward to your parents/adults/other fancy people!)

<3

Rosalind

W.H.O.R.E.S.

I love a good giggle. Last night, Rachel and I nearly ruined rehearsal with our laughing. It was most excellent.

You know what is always fun?

Calling people "whores". Especially when they're playing the part of a whore.

No!

She's not a whore.

She's a "courtesan". 

She's fancy.

I'm in a silly mood.

I bet you can tell.

Our History II professor didn't show up today!

Oh, I pretty much have a smashed-into-the-wall-crush on Mr. E. I can't even get interesting words to come out of my mouth around him anymore. And nothing's sexy like a girl with nothing to say.

:P

All that, and I just learned the best possible way to hold hands!

Hahaha, it's true. I must teach all of you.

Haha.

Thinking about the flirting seminar backstage during the Outsiders auditions.

I'm in a really good mood, and I don't even have that good of a reason.

:D

Damn! That last post was long.

Oh, well. Makes up for the last few days of silence.

Be sure to read it all! 

:D

(This is me being cheeky in an attempt to make you read it, even though it may bore you.)

It won't bore you!

Therapy (of all shapes and sizes)!

You know what would be splendid? A little retail therapy.

Or creative therapy.

Such as writing a hit Werewolf Sleepover song before nearly passing out from heatstroke!

I'm gonna write the lyrics down right now, so I don't forget them, but I hope to lay down a rough track and share it with you lovelies in short order.

Arctic Princess (Working Title)

I just wanna go home

And sit next to my air conditioning

I just wanna go home

And pursue a career as an Arctic princess!

Lord, I just want to be

An Arctic princess, sipping cups of iced tea

Cause it's ninety degrees

And I want to be with my AC-ee-ee

Oh, no! 

I'm fooling myself!

Oh, no!

My brain's been left on the shelf!

For if you ask any young W.H.O.R.E.

She'll tell you it's a hundred and eight

And, oh, this weather I hate!

And abhor and abhor and abhor

Oh, oh, oh

Oh-oh-oh-oh!

Oh, oh, oh

Oh-oh-oh-oh!

I want to be an Eskimo-o!

End song.

Swell, ain't it? It's my baby.

Not literally.

That's would be distressing.

And SPEAKING OF DISTRESSING, I am all muddled by the roadblocks I continue to face in my rehearsal time with Mr. E. Really, quite distressing. When I have time off, he is on stage, and when I have time off, he's working to get off book.

Plus-which, he has recently revealed that he has never been kissed, and I certainly have never been kissed, and I think we could solve each other's problems quite simply, really, but I don't really have an inkling of how to suggest such a thing.

Which is bothersome.

Such are the trials and tribulations of a privileged, middle-class, white girl!

C'est tragique.

And speaking of white people, I just watched "National Treasure" because it was on the television and I was extremely fatigued after rehearsal and wanted to watch something dumb. Let me tell you: it is a terrible movie. Also, you should definitely watch it when you want to watch something dumb but fun. Nicholas Cage's hairpiece looks awful and he hooks up with a girl way too young for him, but there's some historical inaccuracies (particularly amusing when one is taking American History and all things are fresh in the mind) and running around Philadelphia and New York looking for Freemasons, so in the end I was glad to spend an hour and a half eating pasta and looking at shiny treasure. 

Now I ought to talk about other things, like MY FATHER'S SHOW (Henry V), or for that matter, MY SHOW (Comedy of Errors), both of which you SHOULD DEFINITELY ATTEND, or the beautiful and amazing aerial dance entitled "Impermanence" that I saw tonight (See this if you can; only runs this weekend and next), but frankly, it's late and I need to go to bed, so what I've just said will have to convince you on it's own. Perhaps I will entice you later at my leisure.

Oh, also my cat has diabetes. WHICH IS TERRIBLE. Not kidding. Luckily, we caught it really early (she may not even be full on diabetic, yet), but it still makes me worried for my kitty. So send your good karma Tiger's way, m'kay?

That's it. I'm going to bed.

M'kay?

M'kay.

Goodnight!

SNAP.

I think I wished too hard.

Crap. Carp. Prac. Parc. 

He's single and I have about the same chances with him: none. And now I just feel dirty for wishing him ill. 

Sigh. 

Oh, well.

I'm a big girl. 

I'm going to listen to The Producers soundtrack and stop being a silly mumpkin. 

Someday I'll write a Werewolf Sleepover song about this.

Speaking of! I never said what this blog was named after! It's a band. The best of the best. Join the Facebook group! (http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=111969376094) Be a groupie. We like groupies. We treat them nicely.

Okay. That's enough excellence for one day. Homework time.

This was a weird day.

D:

This is tragic.

I'm a real woman. I don't to just have to sit and take this. 

I am going to be so awesome tomorrow.

It may blow (very specific) people's minds.

It will be excellent.

Must decide on wardrobe. Will consult The Sartorialist blog (http://thesartorialist.blogspot.com/) for fancy new fashion trends. 

Also, side-note: I love volunteering with kids. And I finally have the whole "Legally Blonde: The Musical" soundtrack!

Maybe I'll pull out some bend-and-snap tomorrow! :D

Facebook is making me irate.

"Love: you can't start it like a car, you can't stop it with a gun." -Facebook quote

Why?

Why would someone post this? To personally torture me?

I think I'm becoming a stalker. Crap. I don't want to be a creeper. 

Blah.

Blah.

Blah.

I really need to have something else to do with my time besides homework and learning my lines.

I mean, besides mooning over Mr. E.

CRAP.

Nononononono.

I am selfish. I should shut my trap sometimes.

:P

I need to go study for my US History II class. 

And having said thus, I shall do thus.

La dee da dee da.

Goodnight, ladies and gents, and good luck.

(Goodnight and Good Luck is an excellent movie, by the by.)

No, really.

Au revoir!

Stuffstuffstuff.

I want an awesome label-maker, like the one Amani has.

I want some pretty white menswear-style oxford shoes.

I want have a real birthday party.

I want a boyfriend. 

D:

Crabby McGrumpy.

It's pretty much my name right now. BLAHBLAHBLAHBLAHBLAHBLAHBLAHBLURG.

Alright. Get all geared up for my...

SECOND STORY:

I'm going to use a code name for the gent we will be discussing today, as one NEVER KNOWS who will stumble across this lil' blog. 

He shall be called.............Mr. E, with regards to his character. 

Oh, hell, there's not even really a story with this one, except that I definitely, definitely like this guy and we've been maybe flirting? And I just found out that he has a girlfriend. WHICH IS DUMB. And FOOLISH. 

And this isn't even a blog post, really; it's just a rant, but I don't know what else to write except that I think other boys (who, coincidentally, HAVE EXACTLY THE SAME NAME) are dumb for being awkward turtles and for never taking action. 

Damn. Now my feminist side of me is really pissed at this whiny side of me.

Well, crapernackles.

Blah, blah, blah, blah.

I want certain people to get OFF Facebook so I will stop having the temptation to start a chat with them.

Lalalalalalalalalalalala.

I just finished reading my first Agatha Christie book. I rather liked it. 

I have never liked pianos so much.

This is how I angst.

I am angry. The weak stabs I've made at summer romance have completely died and have left a nasty stink over everything like the dead rat that is currently taking a dirt nap under the replica Globe stage the Comedy of Errors cast (including myself) is performing on. 

I hate Facebook. It brings unwanted reality into my life. Do I  NEED to know who is going out with whom? Couldn't I just pretend everyone was fair game? 

I have two sad tales to tell. 

STORY THE FIRST:

Amani and I have seen the handsomest man in Austin, and perhaps in the world. I joke not, ladies. He was distractingly perfect, the kind of guy who gives George Clooney a run for his money. Short dark hair, slim but muscular body, cute and slightly chiseled face. Anywho, said Mr. Handsome (as he will now be referred to) was encountered at Deep Eddy Pool. So first, he's just sitting poolside looking handsome, but then he does some laps, and then he sits down to talk to this guy, whom he obviously knows and they start chatting. Whatever. 

Amani and I gaze from the distance, whilst pretending not to. We argue about whether he is gay. The fellow with sunglasses on is OBVIOUSLY gay (here on will be referred to as The Gay One), but I just don't want someone of this caliber lost for females everywhere. 

And THEN.

They come over to the wall between the shallow end and the lap lanes where Amani and I have been chillaxing and reconnoitering and sit some feet away from us. And they (particularly Mr. Handsome, I must point out) completely check us out. For a long time. 

And then they leave and go back to their towels after Amani and I get into a laughing fit. 

Which SUCKS.

But then we have to go to our towel, which is near their towels, and they totally have their eyes on us whenever we pass by. So basically, we make a point of walking past a lot. 

But then Amani leaves, and I walk her out, and then I come back to the towel, hoping that maybe my nearby sunbathing will grant Mr. Handsome the courage to come over and chat me up or something. 

Does it?

Would I be writing this if it had a happy ending?

No.

I sit down for about two minutes, and he gets up and LEAVES.

Which on the one hand may mean that he was so smitten with Amani that he took off after her, in which case, I wish you both oodles of happiness. 

But it still sucked.

Blurg.

Second story coming later.

BLARG.

I WANT A PARTY NOW, BEOTCHES. 

Make it happen.

Please.

I really need one.

Why are you crazy people all too busy for me?

Endorsing Machine.

I am at the point that I am realizing that I spend 90%  of my time of this blog endorsing things: shows, people, films, etc. and I think I should really get famous right about now so I start getting paid for it.

That said, yay me! I've totally figured out what my two favorite (fiction) books about World War II are! You're so proud, aren't you? Anywhoooo.... titles and descriptions below; you should totally borrow them from me, ladies and gents!

In no particular order (I couldn't possibly think of picking one over another):

The Book Thief, by Markus Zusack: Heart-rending, brilliant, engrossing book about a orphan girl in Nazi Germany who is adopted and, with her adopted family, ends up harboring a Jewish man, as well as growing up. The prose is positively beautiful, and it finds its uniqueness in its portrayal of the mundane as well as in its narrator. The personification of Death leads the story around for the reader and lets us see a Reaper without scythe and skeleton face. Overall, a ridiculously good book that will absolutely slay you. In a good way.

Tamar, by Mal Peet. The spy novel that is about so much more than spies. (Not to imply that there isn't loads of espionage in this sucker- there is plenty.)  The story goes back and forth between 1944 and 1995, between a man (hint, hint: a spy) and his granddaughter, and the reader gets to see the story of this man unfold. The main players are two Allied spies who drop into Nazi-occupied Holland, and a Hunger Winter insues. Yeah, not exactly hilarious, but a completely engrossing, terrific "novel of espionage, passion, and betrayal", as the cover so excellently describes itself. 

READ THEM, CHILDREN! 

What You Should Be Doing At 1 AM.

Watch "Castle". Lauren has got me hooked on the incredible asshole/attractive paradox of Nathan Fillon. 

Other gents I have on my radar:

1. Adrian Brody, after seeing "The Brothers Bloom". First of all, I cannot recommend said film enough: a delightful, touching caper of a movie with gorgeous settings and performances. Also: wow! It has led me to appreciate the man behind the nose.

2. Neal Patrick Harris, following a classy bit of hosting at the Tony Awards. Dr. Horrible's Sing Along Blog got me hooked on him, and he got to do a little singing to close down this show, too!

3. Lee Pace. Ever adorkable, ever my fave.

In the day-to-day: hilarity crisis! Inquire about the Reed-Reid-Dallas triangle, a coincidence that is surely a sign of a government-led conspiracy against me. Oh noes!

Quickie.

STATEMENT OF THE DAY:

Amani is pretty much great and awesome. Break a leg salsaing, girl!

QUESTION OF THE DAY:

Would ya'll be interested in reading a story posted in chapters?

Heat Wave

Today is a freaking perfect Austin day. I'm sitting outside on the ACC campus and it's hot (but not unbearable), sunny, and blue-skyed and it's making my day. If only I could go frolic with my besties...

Alright, I'm going to make a official endorsement of ACC. It's really fun and fancy and it makes me feel like a big person. 

And, of course, speaking of being big, OHMIGOD, Imma gonna be a junior next year! I mean, the hell?! I can't decide what I think of it besides the fact that it's utterly ludicrous. Juniors are big people. 

1. They think about college.

2. They go to prom.

3. They are upperclassmen.

4. They become seniors when they are done being juniors.

All of this is RIDICULOUS. Patently. I refuse to believe it. I don't know what I'll be next year, but it won't be a junior. 

Oh, whatever. This rant is foolish. I'm hungry, and that's probably what is fueling all of this. (Ha, irony- I'm "fueled" because I'm without "fuel". Hahahahaha.....) 

So I'll talk about food. (Look out, I'm good at this.) 

Food will always be in my top five favorite things because I need it to live, but food is also great because it is (or at least, ideally is) an excellent experience of deliciousity. As a youngin', the highlight of my birthday was the dinner; in my family, it is tradition that the birthday girl or boy dictates what the birthday dinner is. So basically, deliciousity. 

I've got to cut off this post- I'm going to rehearsal, yo! And that be tres importante! :D

Mah duty.

Well, I wouldn't want to let you LOVELY three people down, so here I am, posting again. 

Except I don't have much to say. 

OH NOES!

Well....

Okay, so I'm just gonna plug an advert in here and then go back to homework. I am in a production of The Comedy of Errors (Shakespeare) that the Austin Shakespeare Festival is doing with youth this summer. The performances are at the Curtain Theatre, and run from June 25th to the 28th, with weekday shows at 6:00 and doubles on the weekend. More info can be found on the ASF website: http://austinshakespeare.org/drupal/

So come see me play a nun, alright? It will be swell. :D