Monday, November 30, 2009

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.

Saturday, November 28, 2009

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.

Monday, November 16, 2009

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.

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

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.

Monday, November 2, 2009

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!

Sunday, November 1, 2009

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!"