vague mystique.

the comeback, part two: ramble.

2010-01-01T14:04:00.001-05:00

Eminem is an extraordinary rapper who has been and always will be one of my favorite musical artists. Even when I was a small child I had an odd appreciation of his work, idolizing the person that he was regardless of the fact that I was too young to understand the meaning behind any of his lyrics or actions. I adored him simply because it felt right, and even now that I’m older and am able to understand more about his music and his being, as well as possess the ability to analyze and truly comprehend everything about him, I still hold a fairly deep respect for him. He is, as unbelievable as it may seem, one of my much-adored idols.

With that being said, I feel the need to quote the lyrics of one of his songs, Beautiful, to convey what I have been going through lately and use as a starting point of my explanation of why I’ve mysteriously disappeared for the past few months.

I'm just so fucking depressed

I just can't seem to get out this slump.

If I could just get over this hump

But I need something to pull me out this dump.

I took my bruises, took my lumps

Fell down and I got right back up.

But I need that spark to get psyched back up

And in order for me to pick the mic back up.

I don't know how or why or when

I ended up this position I'm in.

I'm starting to feel distant again

So I decided just to pick this pen

Up and try to make an attempt to vent

But I just can't admit

Or come to grips with the fact that I may be done with rap.

I need a new outlet.

And I know some shit's so hard to swallow

But I can't just sit back and wallow

In my own sorrow but I know one fact

I'll be one tough act to follow.

It is said that at one point or another, everyone has a life crisis – most of the time, it’s towards the middle of one’s existence, thus named the “mid-life crisis”. For some reason or another, I believe that I had my crisis a little early on in my existence, at the ripe age of sixteen. I had all the symptoms of one – extreme depression, a sense of panic at where I stood in life, a heightened urge to do impulsive things, an intense fear of my future, and basically all of that immensely fun stuff. My mental state was in shambles; I couldn’t handle everything that was coming at me – I couldn’t handle the pressure, the stress, of my current life. I spent years handling all of the obstacles that the universe threw at me, from a difficult family life (which has progressively gotten worse) to financial troubles, from maintaining good grades to preparing myself to have the bright future that my family and teachers expected me to have. Quite suddenly, however, it all became entirely too much, and I couldn’t handle it all anymore.

So, knowing me, I ran. I couldn’t balance everything that I was expected to, couldn’t balance having an extremely dysfunctional family that lived below the poverty line, putting my best effort into school, having a social life, working anywhere from ten to thirty hours a week, doing the swim team, anything. Somehow, someway, I lost my ability to cope, to handle things. So I ran. I put everything that I was expected to handle into a small box deep inside my self-conscious, and simply (metaphorically) ran from it all.

Unfortunately I cannot go into much detail about what happened during this period, because I really don’t remember much from the past few months. I feel like I became a completely different person, living someone else’s life. All that I can remember was that my grades dropped tremendously (I’m failing several classes right now), I slept more than I ever have before, I focused a lot on my social life, and had an extremely complicated love life. Everything else is a blur, literally. It’s like I was a zombie for the first half of my junior year.

Somehow, however, I was resurrected from my zombie state and forced back into my actual life of responsibilities and expectations. I’m not sure how it happened… I’m fairly positive that my creative writing teacher had a lot to do with it though. He saw that there was more to me than the zombie, fuck-it-all persona that I put on, and put actual, legit effort into helping me through everything. He’s gone where no teacher has ever gone before to help me, and for that, I will be forever grateful.

I don’t know if I’m fully back yet… I’m not sure if the zombie is completely massacred, or if part of it is still lurking somewhere inside me. I’m terrified that I’m going fail at balancing everything again, that I’m going to lose myself. I hope that doesn’t happen, but for now, I’m taking things one week at a time.

I’m also completely fucking terrified that I lost my ability to write, but I’m trying not to think about that right now. I have homework to do.

xoxo,

Rosalie

Oh, and by the way, one of the first things that happened after I was resurrected was the addition of James as a boyfriend. It’s only been about a week, so I’m going to go too in depth, but just know that after a year of wanting this, it finally happened.

the comeback, part one: post quotes that inspire.

2010-01-01T11:59:00.002-05:00

"If you are a genius, you'll make your own rules, but if not - and the odds are against it - go to your desk, no matter what your mood, face the icy challenge of the paper - write." -J. B. Priestly

"What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters, compared to what lies within us." -Ralph Waldo Emerson

"Writing is a socially acceptable form of schizophrenia." -E.L. Doctorow

"I must write it all out, at any cost. Writing is thinking. It is more than living, for it is being conscious of living." -Anne Morrow Lindbergh

"I have always believed that writing advertisements is the second most profitable form of writing. The first, of course, is ransom notes..." -Phillip Dusenberry

"There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed." -Ernest Hemmingway

"The will to keep trying is often the difference between success and failure" -Davie Sarnoff

"Dreams become reality when intentions become action." -Author Unknown

"Writing is easy. All you do is stare at a blank sheet of paper until drops of blood form on your forehead." -Gene Fowler

Fragments. Shards. Pieces. Ashes. Dust.

2009-09-30T19:45:00.001-04:00

I am afraid that this is a short post.

Ten minutes ago I was sitting in my room doing my Algebra II homework, completely minding my own business and actually attempting to be productive instead of the lazy, procrastinating person junior I've been lately.

All of the sudden, I hear a screech, a car door slam, and people shouting obscenities. I walk into the living room and look out the window, and there is my sister with three of her friends on one side of the yard, staring down six black people on the opposite side. My sister is screaming "GET THE FUCK OFF MY PROPERTY!" while a black girl screams simultaneously, her speech mixing with Serena's.

My grandmother takes this as her que to come outside and see what's going on while I stay inside staring out the window at the scene. She starts screaming at some black kid, and my sister is about to punch this black chick, and basically a ghetto fight is about to go down on my suburban lawn.

After a few more seconds of shouting, my grandmother walks about an inch away from this black kid's face and starts cursing and screaming in a really intimidating manner. Probably taken aback by the seventy year old woman, and the fact that my sister's crew is about to go APESHIT on theirs, the black crew of six motherfuckers leave.

Then my grandmother rounds on my sister, telling HER to get the fuck off the property because she is a disgrace and her bringing the fucking ghetto crew to our house is the last straw.

(Like we haven't heard that before.)

Serena says, "It's fine," and other useless reassurances, and then gets back into her car (which she had drove diagonal across the lawn in an attempt to run the black chick over, probably) and leaves.

My grandmother then comes back into the house and fucking screams at ME, telling me how much of a fucking bitch I am and how I shouldn't have stayed in the house, but went outside and fought the black motherfuckers even though they were several years older than me and obviously would have kicked my ass. And were a ghetto crew. Let's not forget that.

She then screams some more about how much of a failure I am, informs me that she will no longer take me to the fucking college fair tomorrow that we were supposed to go to because of my attitude, slams the door, and walks away.

I love how everything always comes back to something wrong that I did. Apparently doing one's algebra two homework is not a sufficient way to spend one's time anymore.

And I love how I've had a fucking horrid day and get to come home to screaming guardians who really don't give a fuck about me and have a gift for making me feel insurmountably guilty when, logically, I did nothing wrong.

I apologize, but I really cannot do this anymore. I can't... I can't keep living in this personal Hell, and I don't care if this makes me sound weak, but I CANNOT TAKE THE CONSTANT DISAPPROVAL AND SCREAMING ANYMORE.

I get screamed at every. single. day.

And get told how much of a complete failure I am by people who are supposed to LOVE ME AND SUPPORT ME every. single. day.

I give up. I admit defeat. I am a failure.

I'm not even angry anymore. I'm numb. And I'm talking in fragments. This is definately NOT my best example of writing.

I don't fucking care. I fail at writing, I fail at life.

I am inadequate.

I hate you.

2009-08-27T22:03:00.004-04:00

Well they encourage your complete cooperation,
Send you roses when they think you need to smile.
I can't control myself because I don't know how,
And they love me for it honestly, I'll be here for a while.

So give them blood, blood, gallons of the stuff!
Give them all that they can drink and it will never be enough.
So give them blood, blood, blood.
Grab a glass because there's going to be a flood!

A celebrated man amongst the gurneys.
They can fix me proper with a bit of luck.
The doctors and the nurses they adore me so,
But it's really quite alarming cause I'm such an awful fuck. (Why thank you!)

I gave you blood, blood, gallons of the stuff,
I gave you all that you can drink and it has never been enough.
I gave you blood, blood, blood,
I'm the kind of human wreckage that you love!

-My Chemical Romance

-------------

I haven't posted for the past few weeks becuase my laptop broke again. I finally managed to figure out how to fix it though, so all should be well. Posts should be steaming in soon.

The Turmoil of Storms.

2009-08-09T19:51:00.003-04:00

clouds envelope the sunny skies
turning glorious radiance into profound darkness.
winds scream with emotion, thrashing those in its path
with savage cruelty
making the undeniably, utmost stable fall down.
the intonation of thunder
reverberates throughout the land,
daring anyone to challenge its wrath,
each individual crackle and explosion
a plea for attention, a desperation for understanding.
a strike of lightning
sovereign and commanding,
a flash of hope, temporary candescence in the shadows.
scintillating tears descend from the sky
with an overbearing passion, empathetic in all definitions,
always feeling the vehemence of heightened
emotions.
as the storm progresses in its journey, the
perfect become imperfect,
and pain becomes apprehended
like a raw clarity.

Alpuntal.

2009-08-09T15:29:00.001-04:00

Those of you who follow me on Twitter may know that recently, your one and only Rosalie Bass has invented a new genre of music called Alpuntal. To put it simply is the words alternative, punk, and metal combined respectively, and is aimed to be used as a way to describe playlists and musical interests.

Pretend that you are walking down the streets in the Upper East Side of New York, on your way to Starbuck’s to grab a Caffè Vanilla Frappuccino Blended Coffee before you start your glorious socialite day. While you’re strutting down the street in your obsessively fashionable, highly expensive clothes you happen to be listening to a playlist of Linkin Park, Three Days Grace, My Chemical Romance and Marilyn Manson, all falling under the categories of alternative, metal, and punk. Suddenly, your friend Anna Mai spots you as you turn the corner, and pulls you aside to tell you the latest dirt on your mutual enemy, Rita Sparks. It doesn’t occur to her until after she had babbled on for ten minutes straight that you have been listening to your ipod the whole time.

Looking at you questioningly, Anna Mai inquires, “What are you listening to?”

With a playlist covering so many genres, your answer would be quite descriptive. “Oh, just a little alternative,” You would say. “There’s some metal and punk in there as well.”

“I see,” Anna Mai replies. “What type of bands?”

“You know, Linkin Park… My Chemical Romance… Three Days Grace… Marilyn Manson. Et cetra.”

Now, if you were to substitute alternative, metal, and punk for Alpuntal, your answer would be much less shorter and time consuming. “Alpuntal,” You would say instead. “Specifically, some Manson, MCR, Three Days Grace, and Linkin Park.” With that answer Anna Mai’s response wouldn’t be necessary, as well as your reply to her second question, saving you at least a minute or so time wise, and at least ten or so people that would have lined up at Starbuck’s if you went with the first conversation. So much time saved!

I feel that this new word could not only save time, but money also (Time is money!), and perhaps even lives. So, my fellow readers, you can either be with me on this new musical genre and start using it in everyday life*, or you can stand against me and be a conformist, time wasting murderer. It is up to you.

Have a wonderful day!

------------------------------

*Also, by using this new word you are showing how nonconformist and creative you are, which not only attracts attention from the opposite sex but greatly improve your social life if the word catches on, as you would be the person that started the fad.

Morbid forward message.

2009-08-03T01:23:00.004-04:00

For those of you that do not know, forward messages are text/picture messages that people send to each other that more or less tell everybody that if they do not forward the message to ten people in four minutes, they will be stabbed in their sleep that night, their entire family will get raped and their best friends will have terrible, wreched luck for the rest of their lives. For some reason, sending these threatening messages around is conceived as "fun" by most teenagers. I get them sent to me constantly, but since I am a rebel at heart, I don't usually forward them.

Tonight, however, I had no choice but to forward a forward message I got sent to me, because it was quite possibly the most morbid forward message I ever read.

Now that you opened this you have to read this. Six years ago
Carmen Winstead was pushed down a sewer opening by five classmates trying to
embarress her at a fire drill. When she did not come up, the police were called.
The classmates told everyone she fell. They believed them. FACT: two months
later Jared Morgan read this and didn't send it. When he went to take a shower,
he heard laughter, freaked out, and ran to his cell to send it. He went to sleep
that night perfect. Five hours later his mom was woke to a loud noise and found
Jared gone. Later police found him in a nearby sewer, neck broken and his face
skin peeled off. Even google his name, you'll find this to be true. If you
don't forward this to ten people, they hurt Carmen. Carmen will either come from
a sewer, toilet, shower, or when you go to sleep to do to you what she did
to Jared. No sendbacks, this is a curse!

Humorous Videos.

2009-08-02T17:16:00.001-04:00

vlogbrothers

cracked

Perhaps “humorous” is an understatement, because I almost DIED watching all of these videos! These are curtsey of the wonderful, wonderful website cracked.com and the vlogbrothers, who you may be aware of already if you are a nerdfighter. If not, check them out, because just about every one of their videos are absolutely hilarious.

Another guy is now in the picture, right when James decides to consider “us”.

2009-07-24T01:03:00.001-04:00

My town celebrates the fourth of July every year by setting off fireworks in the field of my local high school. It’s quite enjoyable; the band and colorguard go around the entire time selling food, everybody crams together in sports field for small talk and cheerful celebrating, and there’s a DJ that plays wholesome, family-approved music. Instead of being one of those joyful celebrators this year, however, I had to join my fellow high schoolers and pull around a wagon full of sugary goodness and attempt to sell it to random passerby, as I plan to join the colorguard next year and doing this is a requirement (They also do car washes and football games, wahoo!).

My group of wagon pullers, nicknamed “Team Sexy", were composed of five people: myself (junior, colorguard), Alex (senior, band), Karen (sophomore, band), Violet (senior, colorguard), and some other senior guy in the band whose name currently escapes me. The entire food selling experience turned out to be really fun, and our team completely creamed the other ones by raising a stunning one hundred eighty dollars (I think it was because we were energetic and persistent, constantly shouting “HOTDOGS! PREZTELS! SODA! CANDY! SUGAR!” at the tops of our lungs and manipulating unsuspecting teenagers who came in our path). Through this experience I also started a friendship with Alex.

Alex, who is a tuba player in the band, turned out to be a very nice senior whose interests and hobbies mirrored mine. While not particularly attractive, he has a fantastic personality and seemed to take an interest in me right away. After befriending me on facebook after the fireworks and getting my cell phone number off my profile, he proceeded to text me everyday for a good two weeks. I found out early on that he was extremely easy to talk to; without even trying, we ended up texting for hours at a time, talking about things we shared in common, things we disagreed on, etc. As the days wore on, too, and the weeks passed, I started actually considering him as a potential boyfriend. I already knew he liked me, because he said so several times and tried relentlessly to get me to hang out with him. He also bombarded me with the most amazing compliments that flustered me almost every time, radiated sincerity, and was the type of person that strived for a serious relationship and would honestly treat you like royalty.

Respectively, after two and a half weeks of this I finally caved and allowed him to take me on a mini-date to see the next Harry Potter film.

The date went well, even though I was extremely nervous and was having panic attacks all day before the date (I have bad anxiety). He paid for my ticket, kept the conversation going, and even pulled the whole yawn, stretch and put his arm around you thing halfway through the movie. We even managed to talk for an hour after the film while waiting for his sister to pick us up. There was only one problem throughout the entire thing: it just didn’t seem right to me. He was a great guy, and it was obvious that we had potential, but for some reason it just didn’t seem right.

Then, as if to confirm my strange feeling, right before I got into the car James texted me. James, whom I have severely liked for the past several months. James, who has denied me on several occasions, whom I have blogged about numerous times, who has caused me so much and suffering, and who for some reason I unconditionally love. Him.

We ended up having the most BIZAAR conversation through text message that I completely and utterly did not expect, and that almost made me cry, sing, and scream all at once during the ride home from my date with another guy. For your viewing pleasure, I will post the entire thing:

James: hello!
Me: hey jimmy! what's up?
James: You told me to let you know if things don't work out with the girl I was after, well, things didn't work out.
Me: aw, I'm really sorry. Are you okay?
James: I'm in a kind of confused state where I don't know what I should do or how I should feel about urrythang. I really want you to know about it though.
Me: Thank you, I appreciate it. :] If you want to talk about what happened I'm here...
James: I want to say so much to you, but I need to get my head straight. My whole attraction to her, though over, is now clearly one of childish desire. Puppy love at this age is disgraceful lol. There was no maturity involved and I feel like such an ass for considering it in the first place.
Me: It happens to the best of us, don't beat yourself up about it. Did you end up getting together at all? (referring to him and the girl that has been standing between us)
James: Nope. I wanted to spend time with her by inviting her over to watch a movie, twice, each time she was a complete no show and did not talk to me. Then she said she didn't want to come over because I would try to kiss her. Not my intention at all. Her entire approach to it was all juvenile. I'm stupid for wasting my time... and yours. :(
Me: One, you weren't wasting my time, and two, I agree, she could have handled things differnetly. She didn't spare your feelings at all. That's not right, and I'm glad you see that.
James: I've been constantly told that she is a waste of my time and I'm worth a lot better. It's just took me a while to listen. I'm just hopin' that you still been waitin' for my slow ass lol.
Me: I've been hoping, I'll admit it.
James: The situation is chaotic and so much is surrounding me. I was wondering if you was still thurr. I'm getting over and I'm looking for some alone time, but I gots a lot on my mind.
Me: I am still here, but I don't want to be a fallback. If you decide to give us a shot... I want it to be because you legit like me. Keep that in mind.
James: I like you and had an interest in you, it's just at the time, I had a previous interest in her and had told her that. Now, she crushed it. I am simply a mistake-ridden hormonal dude mang. This is maturing at its best. You are one of the only two people I text who uses correct grammar and punctuation. Pat yoself on the back!
[enter meaningless conversation for a few more hours]

Finally, my unrequited love has a chance of being requited. It figured that this would happen as soon as I made the gruesome decision to attempt to accept the fact that I will never be good enough for him, and to try to move on and see other people. It also would happen during a date.

It happened, though, and I could not be happier.

I’m trying not to get my hopes up, however. Even though we’ve been talking a lot since that night, something tells me that things probably won’t work out between us… because things that seem too good to be true usually are.

Explanation of URL change, and updates to site.

2009-07-18T23:27:00.001-04:00

When this blog debuted, I sent out an email to three of my friends inviting them to read my first blog post and send me their comments and critiques about it. At this point I was unsure of what I was going to be writing about, yet confident that I would be comfortable with my friends reading it. After all, I was close to them, and your close, true friends are supposed to know your innermost thoughts and feelings, are they not? Perhaps it would even strengthen my relationship with them if they became active readers, constantly knowing what was going through my head, who I was thinking about, situations I was currently analyzing. It could make them understand me more, and by their reactions, make me understand them more, too.

I, Rosalie Bass, regret this decision.

Last December, one of the friends mentioned above found fault with something that I wrote in the first edition of my gossip column and became extremely agitated with me. They viewed what I wrote about them in one of the paragraphs as a personal attack, even though I didn’t mention their full name or go into that much detail over the situation. Their agitation was so high, in fact, that they felt the need to tell someone who wasn’t meant to see the blog what I wrote, and, coincidentally, their name was mentioned in the column too, and before I knew it I was plunged into a two week long feud with a bunch of people that I really didn’t feel like fighting with. It was horrible, and after that experience, I was always careful about what I wrote about and who I mentioned.

A few months later, when my blogs started to include more personal information about my life and my thoughts, I noticed that it was impacting my relationship with my best friend, Jami, who also is an active reader of this blog. Even though she never made a big deal out of anything that I wrote (She’s a very chill, accepting person), every so often I would publish a post that would make her feel uncomfortable and ask awkward questions. In addition, if at any point I was feeling aggravated at her, or needed to analyze/complain about her, I had to refrain from it because I knew that she would end up seeing what I said and get offended, thus making the situation worse.

Then, today, I had the most unsettling realization that there is a very distinct possibility that somehow, some way, Brenden found out about my blog and has started to read it. THIS IS VERY BAD. He is not the type of person I tell things to, or want knowing about my personal life. Actually, in all honesty, this goes for the majority of my friends. The only people that I don’t mind knowing about what goes on in my personal life are Jami and Nathaniel, and even them I don’t tell everything to. Some things are better left unsaid in real life. It’s just how it is.

Anyway, though, the point is that today I made the decision to change the URL of this blog for the benefit of my own self. I simply don’t want my writing to be influenced by other people anymore, and quite honestly I do not want to have another panic attack like I did today with the realization about Brenden (I am simply NOT COMFORTABLE with him knowing intimate details about me. NOT COMFORTABLE AT ALL). Having a more private audience (aka, people whom I do not know in real life) will allow me to discuss more things and mention more situations and occurrences in my life. I feel that there will be less taboo topics, and that I will be able to stop writing fantastic posts only to end up not publishing them in the end because they revealed information that I didn’t want certain people to know (This has happened a lot lately).

ALSO!

With the change in the URL, I have decided to upgrade the layout of the blog a little. As you will see in the fancy sidebar to your right, there is now a quote box directly below the banner, aimed to enlighten your minds with a thoughtful quote that has some sort of significance to me. The archive section is also in a new spot, and the gossip column has been updated due to some of you complaining to me about it being outdated (See, I LISTEN to my requests! I READ my emails!). As I am an active music listener I also created a section devoted to what I am currently listening to, linking the icons to the band/singer’s official website in case anybody has not heard of them and wants to check them out. There is also a likes section linking to all of the websites I’ve been obsessed with lately (The last link is to my profile, if nobody has seen it), and a section after that about the television shows I’ve been watching because I am a freak and like to share every detail of my life with people I don’t even know. If any of these things INTEREST you, and you want to strike up a CONVERSATION about it, feel free to EMAIL ME or something (Or Twitter, as I check/update that several times a day. I’m a little obsessed with things like that). Oh, and at the end of all of that hubub is a picture of me because I don’t know about you guys, but I am the type of person that enjoys having a visual of the person I am reading about. I promise to update it every few weeks or so, for your viewing pleasure (It shouldn’t be that hard; I’m a picture whore).

I hope all of you are doing well!

xoxo

The aftermath.

2009-07-11T02:30:00.001-04:00

Life is like a brownie. You never know which kind you’re going to get, and what the brownie is composed of, who made it, or what it’s going to taste like.

The response to the email I sent to my step brother, Fredrick, was vague, but at the same time brutally severe. He received my message a few days after I sent it (I know this because it tells you if it has been read or not), but casually neglected to reply to the message. Instead, I woke up the next day to find that his profile was switched from public to private overnight, meaning that I can’t see it anymore.

What a prick.

I admit that this move did not go over well with me; I more or less spent the next few days in a shattered mental state, wallowing in the fact that after all these years of building up the courage to contact them, it would turn out that it would be all for nothing. Couldn’t he at least have said something, even if it were, “Never contact me again,” or something equally blunt and insulting? Why did he just make his profile private? That is such a slap in the face.

On the bright side, though, one not-so-wretched thing that did come out of my message was that while Fredrick’s profile went from public to private, Dominic’s profile went from private to public. I could never see it before… but this morning, when I went to check, I could. I don’t know what this means. It could just be a huge coincidence, or it could be his way of telling me that while his brother may not want anything to do with me, he does. However, if that is true, why the HELL can’t he email me? I can tell from lurking around his Myspace that he’s a bright sixteen year old. Surely, if he wanted to honestly make contact with me, he would find a better way than making his profile public?

This sudden move could also mean that he does not wish to talk to me, but at the same time, wants me to have a glimpse of his life. By making his profile public I can see quite clearly at the person that he has become- I can see his writing style, his friends, his taste in music and art, his personality, even pictures of him. With a public profile, it could be like I’m in his life, in a way… except that I’m not. Which, unfortunately, could be beneficial to him.

I honestly don’t know what to do at this point. I could contact Fredrick again, or I could give up on him and move to Dominic, or I could give up on both of them because chances are they both read my message and agreed that I have never and will never be good enough for their family. I’m leaning toward the latter, mainly because despite the fact that I care about them, I do not want to get hurt again. Having Fredrick respond to my message hurt me like having a frozen knife plunged into your spinal cord, and I certainly do not want to feel that kind of pain again.

I did my part; I gave them their bricks, cement and measuring tape. It’s their turn to decide whether or not to build the house, and then if they choose, build it. Like I said before, they’re smart kids. If they want to have me in their life I’m sure they’ll find a way.

…And if they don’t, well, shit happens. I tried. Life is morbidly cruel. There is really nothing I can do about it.

…Right?

Take a bite out of this soulpancake.

2009-07-01T01:54:00.002-04:00

Analytical

Imperfect

Difficult

Layered

Withdrawn

Writer

Passionate

Opaque (Using the definition, “hard to understand; not clear or lucid; obscure”)

Descriptive

Awkward

The article that I got this from (soulpancake.com) challenged readers to put forth ten words that they would use to describe themselves. A lot of people used phrases instead of adjectives, like, “I never want to be standing still for you again,” or even wrote some poetry, but I thought that adjectives would be better in my case. I used the term passionate in mine lightly; in all honesty addict probably would have fit better, since I have an extremely addictive personality, but I couldn’t bring myself to use another A word. The turnout of this activity is quite pleasing though.

I’m dead curious on what you guys would say about yourselves. Do comment and do the activity. I beg of you! There will be a green apple vodka martini on the rocks in it for you …!

...Also, I feel the need to give my darling blogger friend e u r a some credit for this, because I found soulpancake from creeping around her twitter page, looking at the people she follows. I'm such a stalker.

xoxo

I contacted him.

2009-06-25T03:07:00.002-04:00

REFERENCE LIST

Fredrick: step brother, age fourteen/fifteen (I forget the exact age)

Dominic: step brother, age sixteen

Bill: my father (he doesn't deserve the title "dad" anymore)

Helena: my step mother

Fredrick -

I know that this message is probably the last thing that you expected to get, and I honestly am really sorry if hearing from me upsets you, but I couldn't help it... I had to at least try to make contact with you once in my life. This is your step sister, rosalie. I haven't seen you since I was in the second grade so I understand completely if you don't remember me, or the every other weekends that serena and I used to spend at bill's house. If you do, however, well... hello.

I don't really know what I'm supposed to say. All I know is that I miss you and your brother so much, and it has killed me not being a part of your life for all of these years. I never got to say goodbye to you after bill lost the custody case with serena and me. I never got to say anything. I just know that I was in like, second grade... and I went from seeing you guys every other weekend... to abruptly stopping. I'm not going to go any futher into that, though, because I fear that we were told different stories on what went down all those years ago... and I don't want to start fighting with you or dominic.

All I want, honestly, is to get to know you and your brother. I want to see how your life went, who the person is that you grew up to be. No strings attached. We don't have to meet if you don't want to. NOTHING has to happen if you don't want to. If you decide that you don't want to get to know us, even, that's fine... because I know a lot has passed. I want to be in your life... but it's up to you, fredrick. I DON'T want to force anything on you. Serena doesn't, either. We both have talked about this... and we want to make it up to you guys.

Alright. I don't have a Myspace (Obviously, since I'm on my friend's acount*), but I do have a Facebook account; Serena does as well. They're both public so you can check us out without having an account, if you decide to. I'll also give you our email addresses if you want to do it that way. If you decide that you want to meet us... I am sure that we can work that out. Serena's nineteen now (I'm sixteen), and drives, so I'm sure us getting to you won't be a problem at all. It's up to you though. I can't stress that enough.

I have a feeling that bill and helena won't be too happy about me contacting you, but if you want to tell them, go ahead. I'm prepared to get screamed at by either them or my grandmother.

MY EMAIL: [ insert email ]
MY FACEBOOK: [ insert facebook ]

SERENA'S EMAIL: [ insert email ]
SERENA'S FACEBOOK: [ insert facebook ]
(I think she has a myspace too but I don't know it)

I *think* I know dominic's myspace but I'm not completely sure so I won't send this to him... in case it turns out to be a coincidence that there's a dominic on your friend list (Yeah, I creeped around a bit. My bad. I wanted to make sure this was you). Hopefully you'll show this to him. If you don't.. shit happens. I won't be mad.

- rosalie

(Oh, btw, I found you on google. I remembered your last name. If you were wondering)

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* I sent that message on Nathaniel's myspace account because I didn't one to make a myspace purely for the reason of messaging him, and having it be all bare and creepy.

Ramblings at 3 AM.

2009-06-24T02:54:00.001-04:00

It is currently 2:50 in the morning and I have spent the last two hours staring at my step brother’s myspace page.

I want to contact him. He’s my fucking brother.

I know that I cannot. All fucking HELL will break loose between my family and his.

We’re not allowed to be aware of each other’s existence.

It’s a rule.

…But I’ve never really been one for rules.

I like to rebel.

It’s in my nature. In my blood.

But would he want me to contact him? Does he think of me as much as I think of him and my two other brothers whom I haven’t seen since the second grade?

Is it even POSSIBLE that the amount that they care is even a FRACTION of the amount I care?

I’m emotionally damaged. My father has made me emotionally damaged.

Blame genetics.

All it would take is one click on the “Message” box.

I don’t even know what I would say.

Updated pictures of Rosalie for the sake of your mental images.

2009-06-18T18:24:00.005-04:00

Labyrinthine

2009-06-18T18:12:00.002-04:00

The past few weeks have been morbidly labyrinthine at best.

Honestly, I feel as if my existence has turned into one of a Gossip Girl (Blair Waldorf’s to be specific, as she is my favorite character) over the past few weeks. I went from being an innocent, ordinary, nothing-too-special teenage girl to a completely corrupted, boundary lacking, philosophical female who laughs in the face of everything that threatens to destroy her. I feel like a completely different person… and I am not sure yet if this is a good thing or a bad thing.

I mean, don’t get me wrong- there are parts of me that haven’t been destroyed or transformed, that are still me. My desire to become an English teacher at a private school as well as a Young Adult author and skydiving instructor has not changed, and my love for writing is still as strong as ever (Even though I haven’t exactly been writing adequately as of late). I still want to travel when I get older, and I still want to impulsively go to Tokyo for a weekend early in my teaching career and stay at one of those capsule hotels that they talk about on the travel channel from time to time. I want to adopt Japanese/Chinese/Korean teenagers when I am older, and I want to live in a gorgeous house in a nice community with a fantastic school district. Basically, my plans for the future have not changed.

The part that has changed, however, is the way that I am dealing with the occurrences in my life. Since the start of this blog, I have been writing about all of the disastrous plot twists that is my existence, about the shattered soul that inhabits my mangled, imperfect self, and how everything in my life is piling up to a point where I feel like I am trapped at the bottom of the ocean floor gasping for air, drowning, suffocating, about to be another statistic in the teenage asphyxiation category. I never dealt with this very well. I always fought against all the unfortunate occurrences with all of my strength, tried to push off the ocean floor to the surface, kick and thrash against the waves of the dark abyss that carried me there in the first place. This is no longer the case.

The new philosophy that I have adapted in life is called the “Fuck It” philosophy. Unlike the philosophy before it, which was just doing whatever made me happy, this philosophy’s main goal is to just not care. Truth be told, I got this brilliant piece of perspective from my beloved James, who, in fact, is still in my life, despite the fact that he still does not wish to pursue a relationship with me. His home life is extremely similar to mine, and his past is quite more horrific, so I know from his experience using this philosophy that it is effective. He uses it as his way of life. As of the past month or so, I do as well.

This philosophy deals with a lot detachment from the world, and the logic behind it is that if you cease caring about what happens to you, then your life will become easier and more bearable. You will have less to handle, less to worry about, less to stress out over. You do not even have to hold your own life dear to you- if you live, you live. If you die, you die. It is similar to suicide in the way that you honestly don’t have a problem with dying at this exact moment of your life, but different in the way that you’re not going to take direct action against your life- everything you do will be indirectly at best.

The only things that I have chosen to continue giving a shit about are my future, getting into college, and maintaining some type of relationship (It doesn’t have to be great) with my immediate family and a select few friends. Even though they have caused me an immense amount of strife over the years, I want Serena and my grandmother to have the world. Of course that won’t happen though, so I’m going to have to settle for just making life easier for them. This will not happen emotionally, but physically- since our financial status isn’t exactly the best right now, and we can barely afford to pay the bills, I want to keep my presence in the household as cheap as possible. I have applied at about ten places throughout the district, barely eat anything (There are deeper reasons for this however), try to keep the electricity down to a minimum, and every so often, yes, I do take freezing cold showers even though I am SO the hot showering type. Like oh my gosh!

Everything else I do not care about anymore. I don’t care about my existence, and I don’t care about what happens to me. I don’t care that karma hates me, and that my life gets progressively worse with every year, and that I’m always fighting with my family. I don’t care that my brother and law got arrested last night, and that Serena texted me at four o’ clock in the fucking morning to tell me this. I don’t care that Serena is an alcoholic and a drug abuser, and I don’t care that my grandmother wishes that Serena and I weren’t around. I don’t care that my biological mother is an alcoholic and chose vodka over my sister and I, and that my father hasn’t spoken to me in years and doesn’t plan on it. I don’t care that my childhood has sucked, and that the past few years I have been suicidal, and that this year in particular has been dreadful. I don’t care that I’m a broken person, and that guys aren’t really into me. I don’t care that I’m socially awkward, and really just awkward in general. I don’t care that I’m extremely shy, and fall down a lot, and am not that athletic except for certain sports. I don’t care that the only thing I’m really good at is writing, and that I convey my feelings WAY easier through text than through speaking. I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care, I DON’T CARE! Life can throw ANYTHING at me and I WILL NOT CARE.

Knowing this, there are probably a few things that you should be aware of:

I only ended up fooling around with Brenden once, because it caused a shitload of drama to happen. However, I do not regret doing it, and never will, for it has opened me up to a new best friend named Violet, and I honestly love her so much and spend a lot of my free time with her. She is the third person that I consider “best friend”.
Violet is Brenden’s ex girlfriend. They went out for over a year, and she broke up with him, but they still both love each other, and Brenden has already cheated on his new girlfriend with Violet (They didn’t sleep together, though. There are other forms of cheating besides that).
Violet used to want me dead but once she figured out that Brenden wasn’t that into me and that I wasn’t that much of a threat, we became friends. Then, best friends.
I’m going to movies tonight with Brenden. I haven’t hung out with him since that night we hooked up. I am extremely nervous and feel that Violet is going to get upset over this. I am aware that some may view going to the movies with a taken guy as “cheating”. I only have friendly feelings for him, though. As I said, I love James.
I am currently working on a lie to prevent the loss of a new best friend because of this.

Last Friday Violet and I got completely trashed for the first time. It was incredibly fun, and I ended up texting Brenden and James telling them both how much I love them, even though in all honesty I only love James. I ended up saying a lot of things to Brenden that I shouldn’t have. James got mad that I kept texting him and it caused some drama, but we fixed it the next night at a party we both attended.
Violet and I both have self destructive, addictive natures, and both of us plan to do a lot of stupid things this summer… even though we both have already done many reckless things. Now that I no longer care, and have three glorious months without worrying about school, I want to live.

Changes.

2009-04-29T18:10:00.001-04:00

Before I type anything today, I want to address one thing, which is the epic fail that has been Rosalie’s BEDA. I know that I promised you all that I would be blogging everyday, and trust me, I had every intention to, I did. However, my LAPTOP BROKE. REALLY. A few weeks ago I went to turn it on and it decided to give me error messages, and for WEEKS I was without a laptop, spending my days and nights on the phone with disturbingly calm technical support agents from Dell with hopes that if I explained my problem enough, someone, SOMEWHERE, from Dell would find me a solution.

And they did, so thank you Dell (Even though it was YOUR product that malfunctioned and you SHOULD have anticipated something like this and PREVENTED it from happening because you are ALWAYS supposed to ANTICIPATE THE WORST IN THINGS. EVERYONE KNOWS THIS). You have my utmost gratitude.

Anyway, though, let’s continue because I’ve been gone for three weeks or so and a lot of things have happened.

WHAT YOU MISSED (BECAUSE OF DELL’S IDOCY)

I received my report card a few weeks ago, and for the first time in like, ever, I didn’t get honor roll because of STUPID FUCKING WESTERN CIV. I hate you, honors western civilizations, I really do. You have hurt me to the point where I have given up in the class and am now struggling to pass for the year.

Last Friday at youth group, I got one of my friends to tell James that I like him as more than a friend because I was tired of the mixed signals he was giving me and wanted a straight answer. Even though on some days we’ve been talking for around nine hours through text, and even though we have insane chemistry, I knew the answer would be no. It was. He told Melissa something along the lines of, “Look, I have nothing against her, but I don’t want a girlfriend right now because I’m still hung up over the ugly slut I started dating after the soph hop and only went out with for a few days, and whom I broke up with because things were moving too fast. I still want to be friends however.” I have not given up on him.

Shortly after the soph hop, and around the time that James started dating the ugly slut, I went into the first relationship I’ve been in since sixth grade. He was junior who was working at the place where the sop hop was at, and I knew we didn’t have a lot of chemistry (Absolutely nothing in common. Nothing), but I wanted the experience so I accepted when he asked me out a few days after the dance. The relationship lasted two weeks. He was my first kiss.

I went through a week or two of severe depression, again. I questioned the meaning of life, again. This resulted in some radical changes in my life, all revolving around the philosophy that I’m going to do whatever it takes to be content with my life, even if it involves doing some things that society deems “unacceptable” or “inappropriate”. I don’t care what it socially acceptable anymore. I, Rosalie Bass, am the only thing that matters to I, Rosalie Bass, right now. I am number one in my list of priorities.

With that said, I think I should let you guys know that one of the radical changes I have made has been the addition of a new male in my life, named Brenden. I’ve known him since seventh grade, and swim with him on the swim team. He’s the captain and a grade above me. He is also my friends with benefits.

I know a lot of my friends will disapprove of this, which is why I have decided not to tell anybody. He hasn’t either. This arrangement happened several days ago during a late night conversation with him through text message, where we were both heavily engaged in one of our many much-loved conversations that involve asking insanely awkward, uncomfortable questions about the other (What’s the kinkiest thing you’ve ever done? What’s your favorite underwear? How far have you went? Would you make out with so-and-so?) just because we can. It’s rather hilarious, and I absolutely adore those conversations, and love him for being so forward and starting the whole ordeal in the first place.

Anyway, though, one of the questions asked involved relationships, and it sparked a very enlightening conversation (For me, anyway) about how complicated relationships have gotten and how neither of us are particularly interested in a relationship (Well, for me it’s more that for the past several months I’ve only wanted a relationship with James, who doesn’t want a relationship with anybody right now and probably will never want a relationship with me, but whatever). The both of us are just looking to have a good time, no strings attached. We can date other people if we want, get with other people if we want, whatever. It’s very casual. I think it will be quite the change of pace.

The second radical decision I’ve made is that I want to do something memorable and absolutely insane for my birthday next month, just to keep things interesting. My original plan was to go clubbing with my sister and her friends, but a few days ago that fell through because of the club’s pesky age brackets (I’m not in the same age bracket as Serena, so we wouldn’t be able to go together). As a result, I skillfully concocted a second plan- tag along with Serena to a college party and get completely and utterly wasted. I already asked her, and am currently in the process of waiting for an answer (She’s talking it over with her crew). I’m quite confident. She already told me that she wants to be there when I get trashed for the first time, and her friends have already offered to bring me to college parties with them in the past. I am now just… accepting the offer.

So far this is all I have, but for now I think this list of changes and additions will suffice. My goal is to live life how I want to live it, because the truth is, I haven’t been happy with my life for the past few years and am tired of it. I wanted to do something, so I am. I am NOT going to be one of those people who sit around going, “I hate my life, I hate my life, I’m fat and ugly and wish I could be someone different.” I am above that.

…Hopefully, though, the only difference my friends and family will see will be a happier person (I still plan to keep the friends I have now; I am just adding variety).

PEACE YO.

(Oh, and by the way, check out 3OH!3, James turned me onto them and they are AWESOME!)

Honestly, honesty and I have an honestly weird relationship.

2009-04-08T14:21:00.005-04:00

I know I'm behind by a few days, but I'll make it up. The delay was worth it... I've been working on this post for a while and I think it's finally ready to be published. Plus, I feel better! Wah-hoo!

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I like to think that in order to be a successful writer, you have to have a certain amount of observational ability. This can come in many forms, such as being aware of your surroundings, being able to describe a random tree in great detail, reading the emotions of people around you, or just simply knowing how to read yourself, know what is going on inside of YOU, and knowing YOUR emotions. After all, if you cannot do these things, then how are you going to be able to convey scenery and emotions to your readers? You need to understand something to be able to explain it and write about it.

One of the things that I pride myself on is my mental strength, and the fact that I can read myself extremely well. I always know what I am feeling and why, and even realize when the emotion I am feeling is irrational. I can notice the tiniest changes in my being- a twinge of fear that’s barely perceptible, a hint of embarrassment, a speck of guilt. Nothing is buried deep in my subconscious; I never get that feeling that other people do, that’s something is bothering them and they don’t know what, or they feel like their subconscious is trying to tell them something. My subconscious is open to me- it’s like a dungeon with unlocked doors.

With that being said, I am fully aware when I am doing something I shouldn’t be, or acting self destructive. I know when I’m taking something too far, or hurting somebody’s feelings. I realize the consequences of everything I do. The only problem is that while I am always attentive, I am not always responsive. A lot of the time I know what is going on and choose to ignore it. I ignore the red alerts my brain is sending me, the perceptive abilities I have, and the screams of, “NO! DON’T!” inside my head. I know the power something has, or what something can do, and just brush it aside. I am a rebel against my own being.

I know why I do this. I know why I take part in so many potentially destructive activities, and why I deliberately do things that I know will come back and bite me in the buttocks. It is because, and it pains me to admit this to the entire world, deep down I know I deserve everything that comes to me. I deserve to be hurt, mangled, shattered, destroyed, and shredded. I deserve to be damaged.

The truth, my adored readers, is that in all reality I am not a good person. If you looked up the phrase “good person,” in the dictionary, actually, my name would probably be listed as the acronym. I understand that to my friends and family (Hell, even to complete strangers) I come across a well mannered teenage girl that always says please and thank you, is polite to practically everybody, and tends to keep to herself around most people, but in all reality this is not the case; it is actually just an act (An extremely well played act that deserves a few golden globes in my opinion, at that). This girl, though, this polite girl that everyone seems to like, is not me.

The real Rosalie Bass is an intelligent, icy female who has a personality darker than cave darkness. She is absolutely, positively heartless, and has had the empathy beaten out of her with force at a young age. I like to believe that I’m like Sylar from the show Heroes, in a way- I feel little, but understand much. I’m not even joking, either, when I say that I have no empathy in me; my own grandfather died earlier this week and I laughed when I found out. When my friends try to have serious conversations with me, like how they feel suicidal and don’t want to live anymore, I feel the opposite of sympathy- I feel that they’re weak and melodramatic, even though I’m the most suicidal person anyone has ever met. When I cause bad things to happen in fights or arguments, I never, ever take responsibility- apologizing is something that I never honestly do (I may say it if I’m tired of arguing, but I doubt I’ve ever meant it, no matter who I said it to). My main response when I screw things up with somebody is, “They’ll get over it.” I once was joking around with my boyfriend, actually, and since my number one joking around choice is telling people to go kill themselves, I told him to go hang himself for not calling me the previous day and that he’s a big fat jerk. I didn’t know he actually tried to commit suicide once and was extremely sensitive about that topic. I also didn’t know that he was feeling depressed at the time and was actually considering killing himself. What did I chose to do? I told my friends, who knew what was going on, that he would get over it. I felt NOTHING upon realizing my own boyfriend has tried and was considering killing himself. NOTHING. What ended up happening was me faking some apology and telling him I love him repeatedly, then getting angry when he didn’t accept my apology and refusing to talk to him the rest of the day.

That’s right- I’m that cold.

I also have a wildly sadistic sense of humor and laugh at things most normal people would cringe at. I am also absolutely repulsed by people that cry and in most cases either stare in disgust or have to leave the area until the friend/family member in distress calms down. I hate children. I also hate being around mellow people that are always avoiding arguments and dodging drama, who never do a crazy, insane thing or participate in something stupid and risky just because. Most of the time I don’t have a filter on what I say and usually end up saying something insensitive, in which case I get annoyed with the person I offended for being so weak and susceptible.

My favorite quality about myself is that I am an expert liar- a pathological one, of course, but still an expert. I spent the majority of my time lying. I reckon the reason behind is that when I was younger I never wanted to tell people how much I was suffering because of Serena and my grandmother’s constant fighting and the hostile environment I was in, so I lied about how I was feeling, but whatever. My lies are just… awesome. I can get anybody to believe something that’s not true, and because I have no empathy and feel no remorse, I can get away with it. I lie to everybody, all the time, about the most random things. If I find myself in a pickle, I lie myself out of it. I can hold multiple lies at once, remember lies, and when I mess up, I lie myself out of the lie! The truth is redundant and overrated- lying takes skill and not everybody can do it. I think the trick to my ability is that when I lie, my lies are completely and utterly detailed, down to the shirt I was wearing or what I was feeling at the time. I speak normally when I lie, can look people directly in the eye when I lie, and I bet I could lie to the pope himself, in person, if I could. It’s wonderful… and probably a reason I’m such a good writer.

Anyway, though, back to the point of this entry: the real Rosalie Bass is a hostile, horrible person who deserves everything that comes to her. I’m heartless, soulless, and have ice where my emotions should be. I am a silent sufferer and lie myself out of everything. I may feel remorse or guilt every now and then, but it’s rare. Basically, on the inside, I am a demon. On the outside, however, I am likeable, polite person who listens to your problems and pretends to care about you.

The only problem in this lovely arrangement I have is that the demon part, the real, honest part, is dying to come out and play.

Sexual but funny video.

2009-04-03T22:02:00.001-04:00

After school, I went over a friend’s house and this was what was playing on their television. I heard of Bo Burnham before- people in class and the hallways occasionally talk about him- but I never realized how much of a comedic musical magician he really is. I haven’t listened to all the songs, but so far this one is my favorite. Really, who can’t love lovely lyrics like these:

Haters call me gay but that aien’t hatin’

‘Cause I’m not homophobic, my morals are straight and

If I’m in the closet then you are below me (Blow me)

Takin’ the b-a-t out of basement, homey (That’s semen)

I hope you all had/are having a good Friday! I’m sorry, again, for the really crap posts I’ve been giving you lovely people lately. I still can’t think straight… but when I feel better, I’ll give you a REALLY GOOD BLOG, promise. OH, and I guess I need a truth for this one… since that’s kind of the theme of Rosalie Bass… so…. sexual things are funny. We might not want to admit it, but it’s true. There. All is good now.

I’m Rosalie yo.

I’m rating little J.

2009-04-02T21:04:00.002-04:00

Since nothing extremely interesting happened today that’s worth blogging about, I decided to make my post today about the inspirational actress/model Taylor Momsen, who plays Jenny Humphrey on Gossip Girl. If any of you lovely readers watch the show, you will know that lately, our dear Taylor has been changing her look like we change our underwear. One day there’s no makeup, then the next day there’s heavy eyeliner, and so and so forth. Don’t get me wrong- no matter what she does that girl is always gorgeous (I am comfortable enough with being straight that I don’t mind pointing out the attractiveness of another girl)- but for blogging sake, I decided to gather a few pictures of this fifteen year old supergirl and rate the look she’s going for on a scale of one to ten.

TEN. I love Taylor with heavy eyeliner, and this outfit is absolutely divine, down to the necklace she’s wearing. It’s very chic.

SIX. I like the jacket, but the stockings are sort of funky and I dislike her hair color. It looks too yellow to me, and just… unattractive.

NINE. I love everything about this look! The jeans are amazing and match the boots so well, and shirt is just a brilliant combination of rocker/sexy! I just think she could have used some bracelets or something.

EIGHT POINT FIVE. Drool. I love the dress so much… it’s so great… but I think it would have looked better with a little less makeup. Perhaps if she used a little less eyeliner? I just think it would have made the look a bit softer.

NINE. This outfit is HOT and definitely something I would wear, but will thicker eyeliner and maybe painted nails?

FIVE. Not really my style, but… it looks alright on her.

I’m jealous that she can wear so many different types of styles and rock it all, and I would definitely talk more about her insane skillz in the fashion department (She picks out her own outfits- no stylist!), but I’m really tired and want to go to bed. I’m hoping that if I take enough medicine and get an outrageous amount of sleep, my illness will magically go away, my immune system will stop being uncooperative, the economy will fix itself, chocolate will not make you gain weight, and all will be right with the world.

…Perhaps I’m a bit delusional, but hey, we need GOALS to survive in this world, and HOPES, and DREAMS, and OPTOMISM.

xoxo.

….Oh, and by the way, which look is your favorite, my beloved readers?

The best quote ever, and immune system fail.

2009-04-01T10:42:00.003-04:00

"Sometimes, I feel like a 3-foot-tall, poverty-stricken, homosexual, handicapped, 50-year-old Muslim woman with AIDS."

This quote, apparently from Macaulay Culkin's book Junior, is the April 1st quote on the disposable calendar sitting next to me in fourth period study hall. I do believe it is the most inspirational, decriptive quote I have ever read, conveying an overwhelming amount of emotion and depth that beats out anything that Dr. Martin Luther King has ever uttered. I honestly, honestly, cannot think of a superior way of explaining one's feelings of inadequecy or pessimism. It is the ultimate way to tell someone that you're having a bad day.

Just reading this brightens my outlook on life and improves my mood, which, if you have been reading my Twitters from last night, is not good. I got sick again. AGAIN! I just had a throat thing that made me miss school for two days last week, and here I am now, sniffling with intense congestion, coughing, sneezing, and the whole nine yards. I'm very upset with my immune system; it's shit, and I want to divorce it.

DIVORCE!

Right now I'm actually feeling a bit lightheaded from all of the medicine I took this morning in preparation for the school day (Mother wouldn't let me stay home). I believe I took two maximum stength pain relievers/fever reducers, two Tylonol daytime, and one perscription pill from my sister's bottle of congestion medicine that the doctor gave her (She gets this virus thing all the time that makes her suuuuuper congested. The doctor gives her special medicine to take). I kind of feel like laying down and taking a century-long nap, but hey, at least I feel better! I can breath, kind of. A bit. At least it got me through my English presentation today, where I had to stand up in front of the class and lecture about emancipation.

I have lunch next, and I brought two maximum strengths and a perscription pill to take to get me through the second half of the day. I'm hoping that if I keep inhaling all of this medicine, it will kill whatever I have and leave me healthy and happy for Friday night and the rest of next week, which is SPRING VACATION!

WHOOT! WAAH! OOOH! YAAAY! WHOOP! HEYAAH! YEEESSSS!

The truth is, I need a vacation from school.

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NOTE: I'm sorry if my spelling is ghastly; I'm on the teacher's old computer and it does not have Word on it, or any spell checking program like that.

I am going to blog EVERYDAY in April!

2009-03-29T20:13:00.001-04:00

About ten minutes ago, while I was talking to my lovely friends on MSN Messenger and basking in my Rosalie glow, I was reading Maureen Johnson’s blog, which is hands down one of the best blogs out there in cyberspace. It’s written by an amazingly talented and absolutely hilarious Young Adult author. Like myself, she does not blog often, but when she does, it’s absolutely golden and well worth the ten to fifteen minutes it takes to read it (They are also LENGTHY blogs). All in all, I love her, and today she has posted something VERY EXCITING.

Next month, Maureen said, is going to be dubbed Blog Every Day April (BEDA for short) and is going to be a fabulous month where she blogs EVERY SINGLE DAY, even if it kills her. That is THIRTY BLOGS in ONE MONTH, people. Not one, not two, not five, THIRTY. Squee!

That is not all of it, either; she also announced that she wants us, her readers, to participate in BEDA, too! It will be a spectacular worldwide event, and I am happy to say that I have decided to be a part of it. Really, how could I not? I would not be able to call myself a devoted Maureenian if I passed this up, and just THINK about all the writing practice I can get from this! It will be magnificent. I’ll get so much experience from having to blog everyday, about anything and everything… and if I hit a writers block in the road ahead, I will just have to GET THROUGH IT and get CREATIVE. Start talking about bubble bath or something.

Or fire eating dragon mites.

THE MANiFESTO

I commit to this idea and am determined to create something EVERY DAY in April, including weekends. Every day, I will find something to say. I embrace the reality that there is always something to talk about, if you are willing to take the time to look for it.

I, Rosalie Bass, promise to blog every day in April.

There, it is official. I am now a BEDA member! I really think you guys should join it, too; we could be have this huge supportive BEDA community on blogger!

xoxo.

Soph Hop pictures.

2009-03-29T15:22:00.001-04:00

I believe that I promised on Twitter that I would share some of the pictures from the sophomore dance with you all. I’m about to go out so I don’t really have time to go in depth about the night, but I think you can get the jist of the mood from the pictures below! I captioned them because I love you.

A group of us got together to take pictures before the dance.

I didn’t really fit with the mardi gras theme, but oh well. Rosalie Bass does it her way.

I believe this was at the arrival? I guess so, since I had my jacket on.

Like, oh my EDWARD!

xoxo.

The funniest website known to man.

2009-03-17T23:01:00.005-04:00

We may deny it, but the truth is that deep down we all get the biggest kick out of hearing about other people's downfall. It's like watching America's Funniest Home Videos- you swear you'll never laugh at a person tripping and breaking their leg, but then there's that video if that multitasking mother in the kitchen tripping over her baby's raddle, and BOOM. Insane laughter.

With that being said, let me introduce you to the funniest website known to mankind that I found on Facebook tonight: fmylife.com. Yes, that is fuck my life dot com. You'll laugh, you'll cry, but mostly you'll laugh because all of those posts are so freaking hilarious!

It's hours of entertainment, and really raised my mood. If you think you have it bad, just spend a few minutes on there and you'll learn what the phrase "fucked up" really means.

LOVE YOU LOVES!

I am broken, and not the type of relationship guys strive for.

2009-03-17T18:22:00.002-04:00

I don’t want to live anymore.

I’ve been an extremely suicidal teenager for the past few years, but today it feels like all desires to become nonexistent have intensified tenfold. I have lost all motivation to live. I just… I want to die. So bad.

It’s not even like I have anything TO life for. My biological mother is an alcoholic, my biological father is an unfit parent. More than half of my relatives have disowned me. My sister drinks and does drugs like they’re candy, which I suppose it incredibly normal for a teenager around here, but still really hard for me to accept and shrug off as nothing. I haven’t seen my two step brothers in years. I’ve never met my half brother. My step mother hates me. My mother’s sister is a complete nutcase. I have no boyfriend. My friends annoy the living Hell out of me. My own cats seem to have been distant lately. My dog isn’t well. My family is poor. And I am just a really, really fucked up person.

It’s kind of ironic to think that when I woke up this morning, I was in relatively good mood. One would think I wouldn’t be, since I woke up to the sounds of Winifred sobbing in the kitchen at a volume so loud that it could have woken up the entire neighborhood, and my grandmother attempting with little success to calm her down, and eventually her storming out of the house with a slam of the door, but I was. Somehow.

I was even in such a good mood, in fact, that I mass texted a bunch of my friends saying, “Happy Saint Patrick’s Day, loves!” and didn’t even care that Serena and I left the house later than usual to school (I had a three hour delay today due to state testing, so she dropped me off on her way to work). I was practically ecstatic until I walked into third period English, my favorite class, and found out that a boy I care very deeply for is having his world crash down.

I feel kind of immature writing this. It’s like, really, Rosalie? You’re especially suicidal today because of a BOY that you have a CRUSH on? It’s so pathetic, but I can’t help it. I… I… can’t even explain it. I haven’t always liked him. We met at the beginning of this year and have been friends ever since. Talking to him is so easy. We have chemistry. It’s like Bella and Jacob Black… it’s just, talking to him is as easy as breathing air. And… I just… I didn’t even consider us as a couple until a few weeks ago, when my friend Catherine decided started accusing me of liking him just about every day. Then I started seeing him in a new light, if you will…. and… I realized that I was blind for not seeing it before. We would probably make a really good couple.

It kind of skyrocketed from there.

I quickly fell into complete… I hate this phrase… but crush mode, on him. Ugh. There. I said it. I have a crush on him. A stupid, immature, irrelevant little crush on a boy. But it’s not like elementary school/middle school crushes. I don’t giggle when I see him, and I don’t tell all my friends and pass, “Do you like me, check yes or no,” notes to him during class. I CARE for him. I care about his well being, what he’s thinking, what he’s feeling, how he reacts to things, what he likes, what he doesn’t like, his views, his believes, everything. I care for him on such a deeper level than the word “crush” implies.

With that being said, when I came into English and listened to him tell me that two of his friends tried to commit suicide yesterday and that he lost all motivation to do absolutely anything in life, I almost burst into tears in front of everybody. He said he hasn’t eaten for over twelve hours, hasn’t slept at all, and stared at his computer screen for two hours last night simply could not bring himself to write his English research paper. He told me that he cried, and he hasn’t cried since he was ten. He told me that his life is going to pieces, and he, the funny, optimistic guy, has lost all optimism and feels empty, drained.

You could tell just by looking at him how much pain he was in. Then he launched into a replay of his morning, talking about how he missed the bus because it came early, how his father was screaming at him all morning, and how his mother, who apparently has a broken back, had to drive him to school. He life was falling apart, and just from LISTENING to him confide in me, my life was falling apart, too.

When the teacher started class and everybody quieted down, I took the opportunity to rake my brain for something to say other than, “I’m so sorry.” The problem was, though, Rosalie Bass is the last person to come to for advice. I am completely abysmal at telling people how to deal with their problems, when my life is nothing more than a pile of broken glass either. But I had to say something. Had to. I couldn’t just sit here at my desk shaking, trying so hard to hold back tears and looking like an idiot. I finally decided to say this: “Look, I know this sounds really stupid, but I care about you a lot and if you ever need someone to talk to, I’m here.” Between Catherine accusing me of liking him right in front of him every day, and Aphrodite asking him to take me to the sophomore dance several times a week (To which he says, “I’m taking Zack,” not “I don’t want to,” or, “I’d rather not,” or not even saying anything. Just that he’s taking his friend that goes to another school), I figured that he already had a feeling I wanted to be more than friends so it wouldn’t do much damage telling him that I care about him. And plus, the whole thing sounded casual, right? Just an invitation to talk, nothing more. Just letting him know that I care and I’m there for him.

Yeah, I know. Coming from Rosalie, who avoids confrontation like it’s fatal and would rather die than talk about feelings, this “casual” thing is lot more gigantic and meaningful. However, to the OUTSIDE world, it should be casual. To normal people, it should sound casual.

So, at the end of class, when everybody else was shuffling to put their laptops away before the bell, I swallowed my pride, took a deep breath, tried to hide the fact that I was shaking with fear, and walked over to him.

“Come here,” I said, and gave him a hug. Something I never do. I always let the males hug me.

There was an unforeseen problem, though.

He didn’t hug back. He mumbled, “Yeah,” and stood there completely unresponsive, radiating disapproval. I froze. I choked. My heart felt like it was stabbed. He… disapproved of me hugging him?

He didn’t want me hugging him.

I stepped back quickly, trying to regain the composure that cracked for just a fraction of a second. “I’m really sorry,” I mumbled stupidly, and shoved my laptop back in the rack and got out of the classroom as quickly as I could, stabs of rejection practically crippling me.

I’m such a fucking idiot.

It’s obvious that he doesn’t like me. It’s so fucking obvious, and I was such a fucking prick not to realize it. He doesn’t like me like that. He just… he doesn’t. I should have known this!

I spent the rest of the day replaying all the interactions I’ve had with him back in the back of my head, looking for body language I misinterpreted or hints that I’ve blissfully ignored or overlooked. That text convo I had with him last weekend… he did sound a bit… distracted. Did he really want to talk to me? Probably not. And it’s common knowledge that he used to like another girl, but he told me weeks ago that he gave up on her. Does he still like her, though?

Apparent-fuckingly so. Or some other girl. Obviously. There hundreds of girls in this school, and a lot of them would make such better girlfriends than me. I mean, yeah, I’m kind of pretty, and yeah, guys tell me that I’m attractive a lot, but I would make a bad girlfriend because I’m so completely broken. I want to be relationship material, but that is not in my chemical composition.

So yeah, that’s how my jolly good mood that I woke up with this morning got ruined. By rejection.

The only thing left to do is self destruct.

------------------------------

I would also like to add that I have complete trust in the people that read this blog, and a certain viewer that I know in real life who reads Rosalie Bass, and that I expect them to remain as silent about this post as they do all the others. Also, specific viewer, don't expect me to talk about this with you, because I have no intention to. Sorry if that sounds bad, but honesty hurts. EDIT: Alright, I lied; there might be two. In that case, the same goes for BOTH of you.

I think about Winifred and I type, type, type, type.

2009-03-11T20:55:00.001-04:00

NOTE: This entire entry is basically a written mental breakdown. If this isn’t your cup of tea, kindly skip down to the post after this one, which is more cheerful and about Youtube videos!

“I don’t think she wants me here.”

“You’re fine.”

This is part of the conversation that Winifred and my grandmother are having in the kitchen. Winifred just woke up, having came here around two o’ clock in the afternoon to sleep because my alcoholic mother, whom she has been staying with ever since the fiasco at my house, will not let her sleep. Serena’s room was the place where she decided to crash. Serena is not happy with this. My grandmother, who naturally has a large pole stuck up her old ass, is not happy that Serena is using the new laptop, that Serena lives here, and that Serena exists. She is also not happy with my “attitude”. Winifred is not happy because Serena and I gave her the opposite of a warm welcome. I am not happy because this entire family never ceases to make my life difficult at best.

Ever since Winifred made her dramatic exit from the household, I have refused to maintain any type of relationship with her and have made it clear on several occasions to my grandmother that she is not welcome in the house. Serena, for her own personal reasons, feels the same way, but at a smaller level. My grandmother, on the other hand, has forgiven Winifred entirely, and feels that since she is her daughter, she is welcome in the house anytime she feels the need to grace us with her presence. If she wanted to take my room too, and force me out of the house to live on the streets, that would also be wonderful, because the world is always a better place when Rosalie isn’t around.

Even though my grandmother has told me repeatedly how unwelcome I am living in my own house, and how Winifred is liked so much more than me, I refuse to sway from my position that Winifred needs OUT and Rosalie should stay IN. I absolutely, positively, hate Winifred’s guts. She has failed me entirely too many times, and I have forgiven her entirely too many times. The drug episode a few weeks ago was the absolute last straw. And Winifred knows this.

See, Winifred is afraid of me. She has not underestimated my power and knows what I am capable of. As a result of this, she never comes to the house while I am there, and usually checks with my grandmother to see what my schedule is so she can avoid me easily. I have only seen her three times since she left in January, and during those three times, I have only said one word to her: Hello. I’m not kidding; that’s all I say. Twice she has spent hours here, and I have managed to stay in the house the entire time and get away with only saying that one word. A few times I have been in the same room and managed to ignore her completely.

Every time she comes while I am here, it always causes so much fucking drama in my house. My grandmother gets overly agitated with me because I never talk to her and say, “Hello,” with clear malice, and we always end up fighting, and she always ends up yelling at me and saying how much of a bad person I am, and I always get frustrated and have to refrain from hitting her, and she keeps telling me to move out and how I’m the essence of Satin, and I always end up thoroughly suicidal and sitting in the dark in my room while she goes to watch television. Then I feel bad because she’s getting up there in age and I could cause her to have a fatal heart attack, and end up talking to her the next morning like nothing has happened out of guilt.

When it comes to Serena, every time Winifred is here my grandmother and Serena always get into a horrible fight. They scream, they yell, they say treacherous things, and sometimes they get physical. Objects have gotten broken. Serena usually ends up crying and storming out of the house, probably to go drown her sorrows in drugs, alcohol, and food. Once her foot crosses the threshold in exit and the door slams shut, my grandmother comes and finds me, blames the entire episode on me, yells at me for no reason, and then we end up getting into a fight and the process stated above occurs again.

Winifred and my grandmother rarely fight. This is probably because my aunt is a manipulative backstabbing chameleon and can change her loyalty to someone like THAT. This is another reason why I don’t like her. She can be best friends with you one day, and then the next, your worst enemy. Or both- she could be a spy. I have witnessed it all.

As I lay here on top of my bed with my cat, isolated in my room, I have no idea where I am going with this blog. I believe I am just ranting, which probably isn’t the best reading material. How did I even get to this point? Oh, yeah. The quote. Well, maybe I should explain the quote and at least give this entry some meaning.

I already told you that this was part of the conversation between Winifred and my grandmother in the kitchen, but what I didn't say was what exactly they were talking about and why. They were actually chatting right after my sister stormed out of the house crying, after my grandmother tore her apart in another "I wish you didn't exist," battle. This has been brewing for a while, because my grandmother has been bitching about how she doesn't want Serena on the laptop because her and her vile will tear the thing apart (Lie) for a few days now. They also fought about Winifred, because, well, if a person you hated was asleep in your bed, and going to crash in there all night without your permission, how would you react? You'd probably complain. Which is what Serena did.

Yell yell yell, blah blah blah, you know what happened. It ended with Serena storming out of the house crying, as I said, and my grandmother going to yell at me, which could be guessed. After she finished with me she went into the kitchen, where seconds later my aunt went into and stated, "I don't think she wants me here."

NO. FUCKING. SHIT. SHERLOCK.

"You're fine."

No, no, you're not. You are SO not fine. You need to go toss yourself off a bridge. Shoot yourself, maybe. Eat a poisonous rat? Overdose on drugs again (She did a few years ago). Just, something. SOMETHING.

And while you're at it, stop blaming my fucking sister, who was home a total of ninety seconds before all Hell broke loose, and COME AT ME. I am the one who refuses to talk to you and walks past you in the house without saying a word. I am the one who hates you more than anyone else. I am one who wants to beat you to death with a club. I am the one that tried to be a martyr and move out of the house a few weeks ago and was fucking shoved against the wall by my fucking grandmother, had my posters ripped to shreds by her, and cried for the first time in years because of YOU.

Do you not get it? Do you not understand that I would happily have a row with you? That I would fight you? That I would do just about anything to get you out of my life? If I thought it would help, I would go outside right now and slash your tires, or put a bottle full of crushed Tylenol in a drink and offer it to you as a peace offering. I would take my laptop and hit you over the head with it. I would walk around my town naked with the words, "I HATE WINIFRED," painted on my bare back. I would become a prostitute to raise money to buy you a ticket to Hanover to get you away from me.

I am Rosalie fucking Bass, and I can accomplish anything. I'm pretty, I have more mental strength than you could ever comprehend, I'm stubborn, and I have connections. I'm intelligent, I think ahead, and I know how to hitchhike. I have balls. I'm fearless. I'm heartless. I'm ruthless. I can act. I know how to get the blades out of the razor blades you shave with and I know which veins to hit to kill you. I can be stealthy. I can BE the darkness. I AM the darkness. I am with you, always, waiting to strike.

I would probably make a good mass murderer.

Mereana Mordegard Glesgorv

2009-03-11T17:10:00.009-04:00

Creepypasta:

"There is a video on YouTube named Mereana Mordegard Glesgorv. If you search this, you will find nothing. The few times you find something, all you will see is a 20 second video of a man staring intently at you, expressionless, then grinning for the last 2 seconds. The background is undefined. This is only part of the actual video.

The full video lasts 2 minutes, and was removed by YouTube after 153 people who viewed the video gouged out their eyes and mailed them to YouTube’s main office in San Bruno. Said people had also committed suicide in various ways. It is not yet known how they managed to mail their eyes after gouging them out. And the cryptic inscription they carve on their forearms has not yet been deciphered.

YouTube will periodically put up the first 20 seconds of the video to quell suspicions, so that people will not go look for the real thing and upload it. The video itself was only viewed by one YouTube staff member, who started screaming after 45 seconds. This man is under constant sedatives and is apparently unable to recall what he saw. The other people who were in the same room as him while he viewed it and turned off the video for him say that all they could hear was a high pitched drilling sound. None of them dared look at the screen.

The person who uploaded the video was never found, the IP address being non-existent. And the man on the video has never been identified."

You could say I have a death wish, but after reading this article that a girl in my Geometry class told me about, I hunted down the video and watched it. I couldn't help it- I was morbidly curious. I didn't care if I ended up committing suicide in some creative yet unique way, like taking a dirty silver fork from the kitchen and using it to guage my eyes out in a painful, messy scene of blood and flesh. I just had to see the video, not matter what the consequences were. HAD TO!

I was filled with anticipation as I put my headphones on, plugged them into my new laptop*, and clicked play on the video. The feeling did not go away, either, when the infamous Youtube blackness faded to reveal a strange Arab man sitting in chair in an empty room, doing nothing but staring at the camera with a blank expression. My eyes bore into his. I stared at him for around a minute and a half, occasionally scrolling down to peer at the video comments, until --

BAM.

My ears were suddenly filled with an abrupt sound from the video that was at least ten times louder than it should have been. I jumped, I admit it. Who wouldn't at least cringe after sitting in silence for over a minute with an murderous Arab man staring at you relentlessly? For a minute, it felt like my eardrums exploded, honestly.

The sound slowly turned into a tune, which was of course a subliminal message designed to flow into my brain and give it the instruction of death. I waited expectantly. I believe my foot bopped a bit to the tune, too.

This went on for about thirty seconds, until it stopped as suddenly as it came. Then, the Arab did something unexpected- he MADE A FACIAL EXPRESSION. A smile, to be precise. An all-knowing, murderous, proud, I-Just-Made-You-Kill-Yourself smile.

The thing is, though, I didn't die. The video ended, and I was still alive, eyes in their sockets, silver fork safely in the kitchen sink awaiting soap and water. Somehow, I evaded death. The powerful force that takes trillions did not effect me. Death, more or less, did not conquer me.

This has forced me to come to a conclusion: I, Rosalie Bass, am invicible.

-----------------------------------------------------------

*I got a new laptop, and I am under the firm belief that it was because all of my viewers sent "Rosalie Should Get A New Laptop" vibes out all at the same time. I'll blog about this more later, though!

...Oh, and by the way, I got a laptop. I'll post about that later though.

What am I up to, you ask?

2009-02-21T18:39:00.004-05:00

Instead of making another blog filled with complaints and rants about my ever-growing irritations with humanity, I thought that I would go in a different direction for once and talk about something more… cheerful. Not that reading about Rosalie Bass is always joyful experience, though! I know that you are all automatically filled with feelings of warmth and content as soon as you type in my URL at the address bar, bombarded by the sudden onslaught to go frolic in the meadow, kiss your neighbor, and dance around Times Square in a bright pink Christopher Kane dress with ten-inch black leather boots that are insanely hard to walk in but look oh-so sexy.

Right? RIGHT?

Anyway, though, I decided to make today’s blog about the things that I am currently engrossed in. What am I currently reading? What music am I listening to? What movies have I seen with my friends lately, and have I liked them? I’m going to cover every last square inch. Isn’t this great? It will make it so much easier for you all to imitate me, because I know you go to bed every night wishing you would wake up as Rosalie Bass the next day.

So, sit back, relax, put down that iPhone and let the games begin!

Literature

City of Bones by Cassandra Claire: I finished this book a few weeks ago, and it is by far one of the best books I have read in a while. Sexy and mysterious (Or at least that’s how the review on the front cover described it), it is a wonderful, wonderful book about a girl in New York City that realizes at a dance club that she can see things that normal people cannot… like demons. The entire book is one exciting roller coaster, and the ending is just… inexpressible. I ordered the sequel at Barnes and Noble, and the wait for it is absolutely excruciating!

Peeps by Scott Westerfeld: I’ve wanted to read this for a while, and when I went to Borders a few weeks ago, hoping to find City of Ashes (The sequel to City of Bones, and this was before I went to Barnes and Noble looking for it, again to no avail, and decided to just order it) and found a copy of Peeps standing on the bookshelf instead, I decided to just go for it. Scott Westerfeld is one of my favorite YA authors, and believe me, he does not disappoint in Peeps. However, if you are not a science person, don’t read it- the entire plotline basically revolves around biology… and VAMPIRES!

Tithe by Holly Black: I’m reading this for school, and I’m only about two pages into it. It’s in the fantasy genre, and supposed to be about faeries. Jasmine said that it wasn’t that bad, so hopefully I won’t die of boredom while reading this.

Before I Die by Jenny Downham: Again for school, and I don’t like it. It’s about a terminally ill teenager in Great Britain who has a list of things to do before she dies…. it’s just… kind of boring, I guess. I’ll try to prevail however.

Movies

A Walk to Remember: I found this on ABC Family while channel surfing last weekend, and decided to watch it because the main actor, Shane West, is completely gorgeous and the character he plays is totally my type. I’M SO GLAD I DECIDED TO WATCH IT! It made me cry so many times, and it’s definitely one of my favorite movies of all time now.

Push: I’m seeing this tonight with a few friends. I’ll update afterward and tell you how it went!

Music

My Life Would Suck Without You – Kelly Clarkson
Piece of Me – Britney Spears
Poker Face – Lady GaGa
Right Round – Flo Rida
Bad Girl – Danity Kane

Misery Business – Paramore
Decode – Paramore
Hemorrhage – Fuel
Monsters – Matchbook Romance
Bring Me to Life – Evanescence

Untouched – Veronicas
Stockholm Syndrome – Muse
Butterflies and Hurricanes – Muse
Suppermassive Black Hole – Muse
Teenagers – My Chemical Romance

Can’t Take My Eyes Off You – Muse
Full Moon – Black Ghosts
Live Your Life – TI and Rihanna
Sober – Pink

Playlists on Pandora: Evanescence. All of the songs on it are wonderful- Nickleback, Flyleaf, Within Temptation.... definitely my all time favorite playlist.

Clothes

Lately, I have been rocking skirts and mini dresses to school with tights in various colors. I never used to dress so girly preppy girly girl, but… something has come over me, and now I cannot resist the urge to break out the mini skirts and sweaters. I usually wear black boots with these outfits, because the only other things I have are slippers, white sneakers, ballet flats that don’t fit and sandals. When I’m not dressing sluttily, I usually wear jeans and a nice shirt, or if it’s absolutely freezing outside, a hoodie. It’s still a bit too frigid to wear blouses and most short sleeve things. How I miss thee, warm weather!

My budget does not exactly fit the prices of designer stores like Barneys, so I do most of my shopping at Kohls, JC Penny, and Deb. Kohls is my favorite store- they have a lot of really nice clothes for low prices. Their Hayden Panettiere line, Candies, is to die for! Most of their stuff is short sleeved, though, and again, it is negative one hundred here, so when the weather warms up I will definitely dive into her line.

Makeup, Etc

I’m not huge on the whole “makeup” thing. I do not wear blush and concealer and cover up and lip liner and lipstick and everything else that women pay thousands of dollars to wear for a few hours and then take off. Instead, I wear eyeliner with the occasional lip gloss and eye shadow. I’m not going to lie- I wear my eyeliner thick and black. Some people don’t like the heavy eyeliner look, but I do. REBEL!

I own about five thousand sticks of eyeliner in varying types- liquid, pencil, etc. I am absolutely horrid at putting on liquid eyeliner (Every time I try it I end up with my entire EYEBALL BLACK), so I try to refrain from that. Wet N Wild and Avon have some wonderful eyeliners. Avon is Serena’s favorite, favorite place to get makeup.

Websites:

Facebook: I am your typical Facebook addictee. I’m on it at least three times a day, sometimes five, sometimes ten. I only got it about a month or two ago, but gee, I’m hooked. I do not do Myspace, though- Facebook is so much better.

Maureen Johnson’s blog: She is an absolutely hilarious YA author, and she doesn’t blog often, but when she does it will seriously have you falling off your chair and dying of laughter. I aspire to be as funny as her one day.

Scott Westerfeld’s blog: As I mentioned before, he is a YA author, and very cool indeed. I want to meet him someday. He doesn’t post a lot either, but when he does it is honestly engrossing and some of the science/technology things he finds are so interesting! He turned me on the boingboing.com, too.

Stephenie Meyer’s official site: I liked Twilight BEFORE the movie came out, in the summer of 2008. Needless to say I know the books by heart, and they’re my number two series (Harry Potter is number one), so I check her site at least once every few days to see what’s happening. I check it mainly to see if she started working on Morning Sun again, though… ugh.

Robertpattinson.org: What can I say? I love the guy and want to every detail about his life.

Diffindo.net: A few years ago, I used to be one this site everyday for twelve hours at a time on the weekends. During the summer, I would be on for twelve hours or more. Nowadays, I check in once every two weeks. It’s a Harry Potter role play site, and it replaced Dissendium.com, my old obsession (It shut down. That site literally changed my life).

That’s about it. I used to be one a few role play sites, but the ones I loved, like Dissendium, shut down! THE DRAMA.

Cell Phone

My much loved and adored lime green Chocolate LG broke two weeks ago, and I have been WITHOUT A PHONE ever since. Next Friday, I will hopefully be getting the LG Voyager. That is, if I am sane enough to use it by then. It is a very, very iffy situation.

Cell phone withdrawal makes the best of them go insane.

Television Shows

House, M.D.: I love this show. It’s hilarious, intellectual, and sexual. What can get better than that?

Heroes: Jasmine turned me on to Heroes last year, and let me tell you, Heroes is WHERE IT’S AT. I love, love, love, love, love it! Seriously. It’s one of the best shows on television. If you care about me at all, you would watch this show on NBC, Mondays at nine.

NCIS: My entire family watches this show. It is simply one of the greatest crime scene shows on television! Wait, no: THE greatest. Law and Order and the other CSI ‘s have nothing on it.

John and Kate Plus 8: How I adore those children! And John, and Kate. The entire show is just golden. It’s so completely interesting, too! I can’t even imagine having so many kids!

Gossip Girl: I haven’t watched it the last few weeks because it’s on the same time as Heroes, but I will get the reruns somehow. The show is a little slow at times , but oh-so sexy and seriously jaw-dropping. Just when you think you know what’s going to happen, WHAM. They throw in something that makes you FREEZE MID STEP. Chuck Bas and Blair are my favorite. Chuck is just … so … gorgeous. And his voice is sexy. “I am Chuck Bass.”

Hair Products

BED HEAD: I got it for Christmas at Ulta, which is an expensive beauty store in Delaware. The bottles reflect the price: they’re huge, and you don’t pour it out: THERE’S A TAP. Yes, A TAP. The product itself is good also.

Andis Tourmaline Nanoceramic: It’s Serena’s straightener, and she got it at the mall for fifty dollars. It’s red. I straighten my hair with it everyday.

Perfume

Surreal and Goddess, both bought from Avon. I got it from Serena for Christmas. Surreal is my favorite- it smells very sweet. Goddess is more tart and bitter.

My best friends are annoying the crap out of me.

2009-02-19T21:35:00.004-05:00

Headdesk.

Urban Dictionary defines the word, “best friend,” as an individual that you are very close to and know exceptionally well, or at least better than most people. You spend a lot of your free time in their company, talk to them on the phone regardless of whether it’s to complain or to vent about the absurdities of life, and try to cheer them up whenever they are feeling down. You’re always there to listen to their problems and give heartfelt advice, stand up for them when they cannot, and be their personal cheerleader for whatever they do, always accepting the crazy shenanigans that, face it, they are prone to.

Knowing all of this, my much loved bloggers, I would like to pose a question to you: is there such a thing as being too much of a best friend? Is it possible that you can know somebody too well, to the point where you are more sure about their morals, ethics, and beliefs than your own? Is it a bad thing if their thought process is as second nature to you as breathing, and sometimes you know what they think before they even have to tell you?

Personally, no, I don’t think that it is necessarily a bad thing. It is a potentially problematic situation though, because if you know a person to the point where you could have an entire conversation with them without even speaking, chances are that the relationship is going to get boring quickly. There’s no surprises anymore. The thrill of getting to know a new person is gone. You’ve already talked about everything in the world worth talking about, and there’s not even the option of having the, “So, how is your life?” conversation because you already know exactly how their life is, and then some.

I seem to have reached this point with Jasmine.

Actually, I lied. Not only have I reached this point with Jasmine, but I have reached it with the majority of my inner circle of friends. I know all of them too well, as much as I hate to say it. Not only do I know them too well, though, but I’ve even reached the point with some of my closest, best friends where their presence physically annoys me! Out of the blue, I cannot stand to be around them. I avoid them. When they talk to me, I try to be polite and sincere about listening what they have to say, but at the same time my replies to their queries and statements are shorter than the iPod Nano I’m itching to get away. My blood is boiling at their voice. Just get, get, get, get away from me!

The obvious answer to this predicament is to give my dearest, most loved friends a rest and try to socialize with new people for a while. The problem is, though, I’ve been doing this for the past few months. Since winter season started, to be precise. Just about every person on the swim team I have become friends with this year, and some of them, extremely good friends. All these weeks I’ve been hanging out with them after practice and miscellaneous swimming events, being crazy teenagers and experiencing new ways of life that have been foreign to me before now.

It may be hard to believe, but just in one season I think I have fallen in love with these people.

The problem is, though, that last week the season ended, and suddenly the people that I have been spending hours with everyday are people that I occasionally see in the hallway and talk to on Facebook. It’s killing me. I love them so much, and they’re still so new to me, and all the sudden it’s like they’ve been taken away! And it’s only been a week. Not even a week, actually. Six days. Six lousy days.

I’m going insane.

I cannot bear to hang out with the people I’ve been spending my time with five to six days a week since eighth grade. What else am I supposed to do, though? Join another sport? I’m dreadful at everything except swimming! Plus, I’ve already MADE new friends that I actually LIKE and ENJOY being around. I am simply not adjusting to the fact that I am not seeing them for a few hours everyday very well.

Okay, “not adjusting very well,” is a bit of an understatement. Oh well.

Ugh. I’m so upset over this that I cannot even think straight. I just… I don’t know what to do. It hung out with them all Friday, at the end of the season, and it’s only Thursday night. I don’t want to seem like a complete stalker and send somebody a Facebook message (My cell phone broke last week, so no texting/calling for me*), and ask them to spend another one of t heir Fridays with dear Rosalie, even if it is with a group. Fuck. I know that there is a rule about this somewhere. How long do you wait to call somebody?

Maybe I just need a complete change of scenery. Maybe I need to move to New York City, where you never see the same person twice. That way people would always be new to me, and I’d never get tired of them. Ever. Like, everyday, new person. New. New. New. New. New.

The thrill. Of getting to know. A new person. Is like. Heroine.

I probably sound like a stalker-in-the-making right now.

(Am I?)

So I should probably sign off before my freaking out gets any worse.

(And go freak out privately.)

And learn to quit acting like such a melodramatic bitch.

(Like that is going to happen.)

---------------------------------------------

* Which is probably contributing to my paranoia?

From now on, I will aspire to be taxi driver Mohinder, not scientist Mohinder.

2009-02-04T23:07:00.002-05:00

I wish that I could take the remote control to my plasma television, hit the rewind button, and suddenly be eleven years old again. That way I would be innocent and still have overflowing self confidence in my ability as a person, as a writer, and as a prospective college student. No longer would I have the feeling that I am a simple gnat in the world; instead, I would feel like I could conquer anything. President, top doctor, award winning author, dictator of the universe… I could be it all. No task would be too daunting, and every challenge would be tackled with both creativeness and a hunger for success.

However, and as much as want it to be so, the only thing my remote controller is compatible with is the plasma and the cable box. It is quite unfortunate. In this age of technology and inventions one would expect that a device such as this would be possible, but I guess that is not the case. Perhaps in a few centuries time travel will be possible.

These past few months I have slowly been being crushed with the harsh realization that I am a failure. When I was eleven I might have thought that this kind of thinking was impossible for me because my ego would simply not allow it, but obviously my ego has shrunken as my age progressed. Either that, or my view of the world has simply sharpened, thus swelling my logic to a size that surpasses my sense of self confidence and self worth.

There is absolutely no way that I am going to get into a good university when the time comes for me to graduate high school. My grades might have been good from fifth grade through ninth grade, but this year they have been absolutely dreadful and I hear that tenth grade is one of the most important years that colleges look at. I could not even manage to get honor roll last marking period, and don’t get me started on my midterms- they would make unemployed hobos living on the sides of highways cringe.

(First marking period, second marking period, midterm. Final grade for first semester.)

Biology: 93, 97, 94. 95
French III: 96, 85, 70. 86
World Literature: 97, 96, 91. 95
Health: 97, 97, no midterm. 97
Gym: 99, 94, no midterm. 97
Computer Applications II: 99, 101, 94. 99
Geometry: 87, 84, 77. 84
Western Civilizations: 84, 84, 70. 81

Perhaps the part about hobos cringing about my marks is a little too melodramatic, but still, I am not doing so well in my classes this year. My final grades, which are italicized, contain merely five A’s, when they usually contain six or seven. I have two B’s, and tragically, one C. It is pure luck that I got a B in Geometry in the first place; I think the only thing that held me on it was the fact that I did not do as horrid in the first marking period as the second and midterm. When it comes to Western Civilizations, it is honestly by the grace of God that I even got a C. I believe I had a D up until the week before the marking period ended, and the teacher put in an essay that he graded weirdly and that I somehow got a 94 on. The angels were watching over me that day.

If I do not manage to pull my grades up to 90 and above in the second semester in school, I fear that the only college I will be able to get into after my senior year will be the community college, which I am under the firm belief is for the slackers in school that barely passed or had to repeat years in high school. I will not achieve my goals in life by attending community college. I was just talking to my English teacher today about my plans to become an English teacher, actually, and she said that if I wanted the odds of getting a job to be in my favor, or if I wanted a really good education, I would have to get into my state university at least (Which is a good educational school, I might add).

At the rate I am going, this will not happen. At the rate I am going, I will fail Western Civilizations and end up going to summer school, get insufficient marks in all of my classes, and will accomplish nothing in life. The only income I will have will be from my taxi driving job in some big city, where I live in a run-down apartment in the ghetto part of town with quadruple locks and gun fire interrupting my REM sleep every night (No offense if you live there. I hear they are very nice). I will probably have six children, four husbands (Three of them ex, one of them a loveless marriage), be an alcoholic, and have a severe addiction to crack cocaine and marijuana.

At the same time, however, a massive part of me (Perhaps the logic part that I was talking about before) does not mind this catastrophic fate, and actually wants me to accept it because it knows that this will actually happen in the future, and wants to prepare me for it now so I will not be so shell shocked when it comes. This part of me is suppressing any desire to put an effort into my schoolwork, to study at night, and to do homework. It is making a thick, dense fog cover my memory so I forget vital information about my classes, and is making it inexpressibly difficult for me to wake up in the morning to go school. It doesn’t like that I prefer to dress preppy for school on most occasions, thus ordering me to deck out in sweat pants and hoodies, most of which do not fit me properly. It is making me daydream all through lectures, draw a complete blank of tests, and procrastinate work to the point no return. It loves to constantly remind me about my horrendous writing skills, and loves to murder my inspiration for all things creative before I am even aware I have the inspiration.

Right before I fall asleep at night and surrender myself all too willingly to the depths of my subconscious, it also likes to whisper into my ear that being the author of a far-from-optimistic blog is a worthless effort and that nobody enjoys reading endless rants about the dark sides of life told from eyes of an attention seeking sophomore, even if it does contain some true themes.

I think I will name this part of me Arnold.

Parties always make your house messy.

2009-02-01T16:41:00.002-05:00

My house resembles the aftermath of a year long war. Clothes, plastic cups, empty bottles of alcohol, random pieces of clothing from unknown people, mismatched socks, and remnants of food from days ago are strewn everywhere in the living room. Thrown across couches and chairs are blankets, quilts, and a thousand pillows. Propped up against the wall is the largest air mattress known to man, and believe me, the room smells like dead corpses and pot.

My room, which is a usually immaculately clean, is a disaster zone. My bed is unmade, old clothes are laying in various places around me, and there’s a bunch of plastic cups and empty water bottles laying around the computer desk from nights spent in here in isolation, away from Serena’s friends that wander day and night. It’s also quite cold, but that’s probably because my window is open all the time to suck out the smell of marijuana that drifts in from Serena’s room.

My faithful, lovely readers, you may be wondering right now why my usually obsessively clean house is in shambles right now. It’s because my single parent has le ft the state, without me and Serena, to visit family in Florida, actually. She left us last Saturday, left with a simple set of instructions: feed animals, take dog out periodically, buy food that Rosalie can’t set fire to when the fridge becomes empty, and clean the house as if you were an OCD maid getting paid more money than you’ve ever dreamed of. Simple, right? Easy to follow, right? Right.

Wait… this is making little sense. If you know what to do, and understand what to do, then, um, why aren’t you doing it?

Laziness. Pure unadulterated laziness. At least, that’s why Serena isn’t doing anything. When it comes to me, I am doing little simple because I have los t hope in my efforts. I tried, I really did, but Serena has been throwing parties almost every night. People come over during the day, at night, sleep over… and then get drunk and high, and ohmywinifred, it is impossible to stay ahead of the game. Every time I clean something, it becomes dirty again before I even turn around. I’m starting to think the house has it out for me.

I am doing some things, though. Feeding the animals. Taking the dog out periodically. Scooping the litter box. Sometimes, if it gets really really disgusting, I even sweep and mop the floor. That’s it however. The living room, bathroom, Serena’s room, my room, the overflowing laundry bin… it can all go screw itself. I am not responsible for everything. Serena should be doing something every once and a while, or even, you know, the people that apparently LIVE HERE now. It’s only fair.

….Serena just came into my room while I was writing that last paragraph. At four o’ clock in the afternoon, she has just woken up from being awake all night. She looks like bloody Hell. Her hair is all messed up, there are bags under her eyes (Not so purple now that she’s gotten some shut eye), and she’s wearing her bumming clothes. Her boyfriend, C, is in the room with her, having been sleeping with her all day also. …Sleeping with her. Hm. I hope it was just sleeping.

The conversation was pretty dry, and went something like this:

Serena: Oh my Goooood…. [Lays down on my bed]
Me: You’re awake now?
Serena: Yeah. What do you want for dinner?
Me: I don’t know. What do you want?
Serena: I don’t know.

Silence.

Me: We could go to John Smith’s. [The local diner]. I haven’t been there in a while. They’re cheap, and the food’s good.
Serena: [groan, roll over] We’re getting take out either way.

Silence.

Me: Are we going food shopping today?
Serena: Uggghh, I don’t know.
Me: The kitchen is completely empty. I need something to bring for lunch this week for school.
Serena: [sigh]
Me: I need my fifteen dollars for swimming tomorrow, too.
Serena: UGH.
Me: Sorry.

If you haven’t guessed, we’re out of food. The kitchen is empty, and surpriseeeee, one of my sister’s friends stole the last bit of food money a few nights ago. He’s in jail now, though- crashed his friends car. I’m kind of glad. He’s good looking and all, but is naturally intimidating. I thought he was going to hit me when I spilled beer on his jacket the other night… (He tried to feed alcohol to one of my cats. I freaked out and poured his cup of beer on him).

I’m not that hungry, though. I am one of those people that can go a while without eating, and I did have breakfast. I would make a very good anorexic if I wanted to become one. Perhaps after swim season, when I am not forced to eat a sufficient amount of carbohydrates everyday.

Anyway, though, back to the point of this blog: I am tired of living like this. I don’t mind Serena throwing parties, and I don’t mind having people constantly blowing in and out of the place because her guy friends are absolutely gorgeous and when else do I get a chance to dress so slutty and flirt with older guys? I just mind the state of the house, the mess, the smell. We need a housekeeper.

We need our parent to come back. The bitter truth: You don't know how useful someone is until you don't have them around anymore.

Fourth photo and threat of doom.

2009-02-01T15:09:00.008-05:00

A few weeks ago I was tagged to do a fourth-photo-from-folder thing by eC from thumbsupsmile. For those who do not know her, she is a lovely blogger from the United States that is absolutely hilarious and writes about the most random things that goes on in her life. I love her; she was the first blog that I started to follow, and the role model for my own when I was still trying to get used to the whole blogging ordeal. I found her on Google. Can you believe it?

Anyway, though, the photo. This was the fourth picture in my fourth folder, as requested. Feel free to bask in its Rosalie glow.

According to my computer, this picture was uploaded on December 30th, 2008- in other words, during Christmas break. This was the holiday where I got my super cool new digital camera, so respectively, all through break I was randomly snapping pictures of myself and experimenting with its functions. Coincidentally, most of the things that I am wearing in this picture are new- the hat, eyeliner, the long shirt/short dress thing (I haven't really decided what it is yet... those things are so confusing). During this particular photo shoot I was jamming to my iPod while posing in different styles, so that's why there's a mysterious white cord that snakes from the bottom of the picture to behind my hair.

On another note, I would like to share that I am going to viciously tear every single wire from my computer with my bare hands until I end up getting so many scratches and gashes that I be able to soak the fucking piece of shit technology in my OWN BLOOD. Then I will go to Home Depot and buy an axe, chop the blood stained computer with said axe until I have tiny miniture computer pieces that babies could choke on, then put them in a basket. After every single damn one is in the basket, I will take a bus to New York City, climb some skyscrapper, and throw each piece precariously into the oncoming traffic below. Once that is done, I will pull a container of oil out of my pocket and haul it over the skyscapper's edge, quickly followed by a few lit matches. The entire city will burst into flames, and I will just stand there, on the skyscrapper, watching it, grinning maliciously. People will die. I will laugh. The entire city will be burned to the ground. I will laugh some more.

Billions will die and it's all my stupid, fucking, slow ass computer's fault. I need a new one. A laptop. I cannot bare to use this seven year old modem ANY LONGER.

Oh, sweet laptop, how I drool for thee. Once I get a job, trust me, oh dear one, you will be mine. MINE. MWUAHAHAHHAHAHA!

The wicked witch is... gone?

2009-01-19T17:33:00.001-05:00

I’m not usually coherent when I first wake up in the morning. Honestly, I don’t really think anybody is (Except, of course, those assassins on television that always sleep with one eye open and a loaded gun in their hand… but that’s irrelevant). Personally, I usually spend the first few minutes of consciousness utterly confused about something, not knowing where I am, who I am, or why I’m awake. It’s like a haze of mist is around me, inside of me, twirling my insides around like cotton candy*, turning my thoughts into melted butter. The median time it usually takes me to think thoughts other than, “Noooo, the word is on zero, I can’t think about it when it’s in a circle, don’t you know that?” is around five to ten minutes.

With that being said, last night I had the misfortune of being roused from sleep around two thirty in the morning by Aunt Winifred, who apparently had a rough night at her friend’s house and decided to come home incredibly fucked up on painkillers and alcohol. She was shrieking obscene curse words in the room across the hallway to my grandmother, who apparently highly offended her by asking her to be considerate to the rest of the town and stop shouting on the phone at the top of her voice, which she had apparently been doing for the past hour.

(Does no one think of the poor phone is this situation? I mean, that innocent device is the one who is getting shouted at, spit on, and thrown into the receiver all the time . Ugh. People these days.)

Respectively, I was stirred awake when the shrieking started, which is actually a pity because I believe I was in my REM sleep at the time. My first thought was something along the lines of, “Will you please just eat the cheese and get on with it already?”. When the high pitched screaming continued, however, I decided to take things up with my good friend, Karma.

“Karma,” I whispered into the darkness, rolling over in my bed. “I deserve this, don’t I? I did something wrong.”

“Of course you deserve this,” Karma whispered in a liquid smooth voice inside of my head. The way he spoke it was not of harsh accusation, but pure fact. “You’re a horrible person. You lie, you have a 73 in Western Civilizations, you can’t wait until your grandmother leaves for Florida next week so you can party with your sister and her friends, you don’t go to Church, you haven’t prayed in a few days, you threaten God when things go awry, and you’ve been a bitch to your friends and family on several occasions these last few months.”

“I went to Church last week,” I protested.

“One week out of what, seven, eight, nine years? And you were making fun of it inside your head practically the entire time, laughing with Jasmine. Don’t try to deny it; I’m Karma; I know everything.”

“Oh. Yeah. I get your point. Guess I do deserve this then.” I clung tighter to my blankets, then yawned, “Well, alright, that’s it. You can go now.”

Then Karma left.

For a good five minutes I just stretched out in my bed while the shouting continued, mauling over the realization that I deserve to be woken up and forced to endure this agony. I tried to ignore it at first, drown it out. It worked for a little… but came to an abrupt halt when the shrieking went up a few octaves (If that were possible), got louder (Again, if that were possible), and more vulgar (Is that possible?).

Aunt Winifred seemed to have finally reached the peak of her drug and alcohol induced temper tantrum and started to verbally attack my grandmother with the force of a ravenous cougar. She called her out on everything she could think of and struck below the belt to the point where if my grandmother had balls they would have been ripped out, stomped on, eaten, thrown up, and flushed down the toilet. I hate to admit it, but somewhere deep down inside me, perhaps on the toenail of soul, I was terrified. What was worse was that this suppressed fright made me shake uncontrollably from head to foot, too.

As my aunt continued with the verbal attack, now running around the house, slamming doors, and throwing a few things, I scrambled around my room, using my iPod for a light source, frantically searching for my cell phone to call Serena despite the fact that I could barely walk through the convulsions ripping through me. I was used to the difficulty walking, though- it happened every time Serena lost it, back during her dark days.

I practically disembodied my room within two minutes, but to no avail- the cell phone was nowhere to be seen. I didn’t know what to do now. Winifred was getting violent, and I had to do something before she stopped taking out her drunken tirade on the furniture and switched to my grandmother. I minutely thought of the house phone, but this was an impossible option because the phone was the CAUSE of this mess and was probably being clutched by somebody at this point, somebody who was not going to let go.

The chaos moved into the kitchen, which was on the other side of the house. I simply stood in my room, blank. Helpless. I didn’t have my contacts in, so I wouldn’t be of any use if went and tried to, um, throw Winifred through the window or something (I would probably break my neck tripping over something before I even reached the kitchen). I was practically blind. There was nothing I could do. Nothing.

For a good ten to fifteen minutes, I just sat on the bed in my room and listened to the chaos, cursing myself for not keeping my contacts in my room, cursing myself for not being able to quit shaking, and cursing myself for leaving my grandmother out to dry. Oh, and cursing myself for not knowing where my phone was, too. Ugh. Karma was right- I am a horrible, useless piece of jello.

Wiggle wiggle.

Eventually, Aunt Winifred stormed out of the house after listening to her mother yell, “GET. OUT.” repeatedly with horrible venom, breaking the door on the way out and screaming “YOU’RE A FUCKING CUNT, FUCKING CUNT CUNT CUNT CUNT UGH I HATE YOU I’LL SLEEP IN MY CAR ALL NIGHT I DON’T CARE ANYTHING TO GET AWAY FROM YOU FUCKING CUNT!” at the top of her lungs until she got in her car and left (What a show for the neighbors, eh?). My grandmother was left in pieces. She stayed in the kitchen for a minute or two to gather herself after the bitch left, whereas I took the time to hunt down the house phone and use it call my cell phone (It was under a pillow on the couch in the living room). I didn’t approach her- I knew that she needed some time alone. When she was ready, she met me in the hallway and said “Can you BELIEVE that?” I told her not to believe anything that Winifred said and that the bitch was never to be let in the house again. She shook her head and replied with, “It’s late. Go to bed and try to get some sleep… like that’s going to happen.”

I went back into my room and sent Serena three text messages, telling her to come home immediately. She called back an hour later to say that she was at a frat party that she couldn’t come home yet because everybody was drinking, to which I replied with not to bother and to come home in the morning.

The shaking stopped around three. I fell to sleep around four. The next day, around mid-afternoon, Winifred called from my mother’s house to apologize. I hung up on her twice and told her to never show her face around here again. A half hour later, my mother insisted on having the phone, and after a short conversation with Winifred to which she sobbed and gave some bull shit explanation that it was an accident and that she was slipped something funky at her friends house, my grandmother forgave her. Serena, who came home early that afternoon, stayed strong until SHE talked to Winifred, and then melted like a snowman on a sunny day.

I remained stoic, and Winifred knows that. My grandmother told me today, a day after the melting, that Winifred is afraid to come back to the house because of me. Apparently, I terrify her.
We have been having min arguments all day over the issue of Winifred coming back. My grandmother still feels a mother-daughter obligation to protect Winifred and give the 37 year old hag a place to stay, whereas I am under the strict belief that we have given family enough chances around here and the only way that things have a chance of running smoothly is if we eliminate those who complicate things.

The last argument ended with thus: “She’s going to end up coming back, and if you don’t like it, you can leave. Start packing your things.”

She should know that I am enough of a stubborn, hardcore badass to do such a thing.

---------------------------

* Who actually likes cotton candy, btw? Ew.

Aunt Winifred inspires entire rants.

2009-01-12T23:07:00.006-05:00

Recently, my quaint family of three has acquired a new charity case that goes by the name of Aunt Winifred. Around the age of forty and holding no form of higher education beyond high school, my Aunt Winifred has always moved from job to job, looking for the infamous dream career that will fulfill her heart’s desires and give her everything she wants in life. For the past year this “dream job” has been in the form of an environmental thing which is sort of like the Peace Core, where she travels to areas hit by disaster and helps repair the damage (Be it by testing water, collecting toxic substances, etc). Thankfully, for the past six months or so this has had her stationed in sunny California, far, far away from my East Cost residence.

To be blunt, I don’t really like aunt Winifred. As a kid I adored her, always referring to her as the “cool aunt” around my friends, because she always acted like a teenager and seemed to understand everything about me. When I grew up, however, I started to realize that not only does she act like a teenager- she is one. Flimsy, emotional, and a magnet for mistakes, aunt Winifred has never really done anything that could be classified as a “mature” thing in her entire life. She never went to college; she did poorly in school; she cannot hold onto a job for the life of her; she has the worst taste in boyfriends, always picking the abusive ones that do nothing for her. She claims to hate drama but thrives in it at the same time; she takes everything personally; she can change her personality on the drop of a hat to conform to those around her; she wants everybody to like her; she has trouble letting go.

Let’s emphasize on that last part: letting go. That woman cannot seem to let go of anything. She still cares for her ex-husband and still bothers him even though he is immersed in a new life now, with a new girlfriend and family. She still feels the need to look out for her sister (My mother), even though it is obvious that the alcoholic is not worth it and it always ends up with my aunt coming home/calling home sobbing, the Mississippi River taking form in her eyes. Then, most importantly, she can’t seem to let go of me. I’ve tried my hardest to subtly distance us these past few years, be it in busying myself in educational and social affairs every time she visits, to neglecting her phone calls and having extremely short, monotonous conversations with her on the phone, and sometimes, just being a brat around her. I think she just assumes that I’m depressed- that I’M the basket case and that somehow my only cure is to have her cling to me like super glue.

Oh. I forgot to mention the number one reason that I dislike her- she is bloody UNRELIABLE (You could probably guess that from the job flimsiness, though. Ah well). All throughout my childhood she has promised me things that magically never seemed to happen. For instance, she would promise to take me to the beach for the day, but when that day arrived, she would stand me up (For these circumstances I would usually wake up at the crack of dawn for a promised ‘hit the road early’, too, so that made it even worse). She would swear to take me places- concerts, movies, amusement parks. Last summer, when she was in California, she even told me that she wanted me to visit her over the summer, and that we would hit all these restaurants, go to the beach and experience the West Coast ocean, go shopping. Never happened. I always got my hopes up on these things, and most of the time they never happened. I would be ready, and she would never show up. Disappointment always came in shameful waves, the shameful part being that I knew I should have KNOWN better than to get my hopes up.

It was kind of a destructive cycle, always ending with me feeling like crap.

Back to the point, though, dearest aunt Winifred is back again and I am practically imploding out of irritation, not to mention bubbling with anger that nobody seems to realize that WE CANNOT AFFORD A FOURTH BODY IN THE HOUSEHOLD. We are extremely low on money, dammit. My grandmother got laid off last year because her company went into bankruptcy, and all we are living on right now are lousy Unemployment checks from the government and a measly 200 dollar child support check every month from lovely, adorable daddy. We can barely afford to pay the bills. I can’t go out with my friends as much as I used to because most things cost money, the freaking gas prices have been a rollercoaster, and the car keeps breaking. We have ISSUES already. Why do we need to add to them?

But hey, this is just me being logical. No need to listen to Rosalie… it would make much more sense to just continue with our own personal chosen path, the gist of which is acting out of EMOTION. My grandmother feels obligated to help because my aunt is her daughter, and technically is higher up on the social hierarchy and should come first. Serena and I are just the grand daughters. Woe is us. We take up space.

I least I shut the door when I go to the bathroom, though. Unlike some *coughauntwinifredcough* people. At least I don’t interrupt TWO new episodes of HIGHLY IMPORTANT TELEVISION SERIES three-fourths into the hours at the KEY plot points just because I’m BORED and want SOCIAL INTERACTION. Everybody knows not to interrupt me when I’m watching my favorite shows. They know that talking during movies/television is my BIGGEST PET PEEVE. They KNOW that when they are talking during any Chuck Bass/ Blair Waldorf scene I will KILL THEM, or during a pivotal moment with Latnok on Kyle XY.

Except her, obviously.

I wanted to sentence her to death. TREASON! HERESY! INFIDELITY! Hang thee until dead!

I can’t wait until she leaves. I can’t wait until I can shower without fretting over whether or not she used my shampoo, going to the bathroom at night without worrying if she’s going to walk in on me, doing one of my OCD-ish rituals and having her catch me and question my sanity. I want to be able to blast my iPod and dance around the living room in the pitch black darkness knowing that my sister isn’t home yet and my grandmother is in deep sleep. I want to be able to be myself, instead of being an alien polite girl who always cares about what you have to say. And, most of all, I don’t want to listen to her and Serena talk in code about drugs, and about how apparently my sister is going to hook her up with her dealer or something.

I am
sorry family, I know
you like her, but she
is like an earthquake.
It is in her
nature to destroy.
And like all good
earthquakes, there will be

aftershocks.

Hey, the truth hurts.

Is it really worth it?

2008-12-20T23:03:00.007-05:00

For about two hours today, I was at the mall with Serena (My eighteen year old sister), her twenty two year old friend, Antoinette, and her friend’s fourteen year old little sister, Ashley. I don’t normally do things with my sister, but since my mother refused to take me Christmas shopping and all of them also procrastinated, we decided that the most logical thing to do would be to go together. I knew it would be interesting at best; it always is when I do things with Serena, because she lives her life in such a different manner than I do and sees things in such a different perspective. However, I did not foresee that it was going to be so thought provoking.

It all started when I was in the car with them and one of the first things that Ashley did was pull out a box of cigarettes. Immediately, an alarm went off in my head: “Smoking. Bad. Bad for your health, bad your respiratory system, causes Lung Cancer. Don’t smoke,” and I couldn’t help but judge the freshman girl that I barely knew based on the fact that she inhaled smoke illegally and willingly knocked ten years off her life expectancy. I blame my school district for this snap reaction; over the course of ten years it has done nothing but drill facts and statistics about smoking into the heads of the student body, brain washing us into thinking that people that smoke are horrendous individuals that we should never, ever hang out with unless we want to flunk out of school and die a horrible, slow death.

With that being said, while Ashley smoked and Serena and Antoinette quickly joined her (Filling the car with gray smoke and a disgusting smell*), I couldn’t help but wonder about what it would be like to smoke. Obviously, it has some positive effect about it- it has to, if people are smoking at such a young age. I came to the conclusion that it is a fashion statement, simply a part of the gangsta badass image. Do you agree?

Then, while we were all walking through the mall, I couldn’t stop my self conscious from plummeting a few hundred meters at the sight of the three of them walking through the mall. All dressed respectively in tight monochrome clothes that looked like a second pair of skin, with dark hair and a full makeup job, they looked very attractive in a gangsta sort of way. I, on the other hand, looked blatantly out of place and completely ugly, wearing an orange short sleeved shirt, slightly baggy jeans, athletic sneakers, light brown hair, and almost no makeup except for black eyeliner that has long since faded. I felt so out of place. All the guys were staring at them, and they looked so gorgeous, yet at the same time their outfits looked effortless. Is it really worth it being preppy, when everybody else dresses almost ghetto and gets all of the stares from guys?

The way that they acted was so strange, too. They carried themselves with such a graceful air, easing swiftly in and out of the crowd, laughing, joking, having a blast… it looked like they were straight out of a painting. Again, them: goddesses. Me: tall, thin, lanky, and a klutz. There were never awkward silences, unlike when I’m with people and often run out of things to say almost instantly.

Then, of course, the entire time I was with them they were talking about their lifestyle, which included alcohol, sex, and pot. I’ve always known that my sister did drugs and drank- Hell, more than half the population drinks and does drugs! It did bother me a little bit when Ashley was talking about sleeping with her boyfriend, though. It was that comparison again- fourteen year old freshman having sex with her boyfriend, versus fifteen year old sophomore with no boyfriend who hasn’t even had her first kiss yet. It’s so pathetic.

The major drawback to their life, though, is that they did not take school seriously, had horrible attendance, and did not get good grades. They weren’t in the honors classes at school, they rarely got awards, and they didn’t score advanced on their state tests. Academically, they were shit. They still loved their life, though- they loved partying all of the time, they loved have sex, they loved going on routes, they loved staying up until four o’ clock in the morning getting completely wasted. Which begs the question, if they don’t really mind not being a great success, not having a high paying job, not getting that mansion of a house… is it really that bad of a thing? Could you really call them a failure?

On top of that, what if I don’t end up getting into a good college? What if my grades just aren’t that good enough, and my extra curricular activities aren’t that impressive, and my college application doesn’t stand out? What if I don’t end up getting a good job, like an OBG/YN, Pediatrician, or Veterinarian? What if I can’t get into medical school? If the only goals I manage to accomplish in life are living above the influence, am I considered a failure?

The harsh truth: Yes. I will be considered a failure, while they will live life to its fullest and not be bothered by labels. Some of them, though, might actually end up going to college, get a good job, a nice house, and support a good family, while still living their lifestyle. Whether that be true or not, I present you the question:

Is it worth it staying away from all of the stereotypically “bad” things when you could still end up becoming a failure in life either way? Is it worth it to work so hard at something you might not even achieve, when you could be using your youth to act crazy and be free?

I encourage you to comment with your thoughts.

--------------------------------

* I bet you all the money in the world that this is something that Michael hates.

gossip column edition one

2008-12-19T18:27:00.005-05:00

'Tis the season! The much anticipated winter break is creeping its way around the corner, and everybody seems to be coping with the sudden onslaught of free time in different ways...

T has decided to embrace Solipsism and is convinced that the entire universe is part of his imagination. This has sparked quite the discussion about philosophy between us, and right now I am at the point where I'm not completely sure where my own breakfast came from.

D wore yet another pair of new shoes to school this week. This makes what, three new pairs in less than a month? My dearest D, I am sure you have better things to spend your money on- like an Xbox 360 to match your Wii, Playstation, Nintendo DS, Ipod Touch and Guitar Hero set.

I've always had the opinion that M and S are very pure, innocent people that would not harm a fly. However, as of late I am not entirely sure, because they revealed a new side to me that is filled with ugly, blunt racism.

Now now, S and M, did we not learn to not judge others by the color of their skin in, um, kindergarten? Perhaps we shoud take a field trip to the elementary school and take a refresher course.

B has been particularly doom and gloom this week, but that's probably because her life is in the gutter. Her hamster died, her ex boyfriend knocked up some other chick who is keeping the baby even though the babbeh daddeh has a DIFFERENT girlfriend, and, hey, her sister is making her life stressful, with the whole recovering-eating-disorder-almost-commited-suicide-got-married-at-eighteen-cheated-on-husband-numerous-times-got-cheated-on-herself-now-wants-divorce-months-into-marriage thing.

I personally think it would be oodles more dramatic if SHE was the one that got pregnant and wanted to keep the baby, and SHE married at sixteen only to get a divorce months later and have the entire population of the district talking about her. But hey, that's just me.

Edition two, taken away March 12, 2009:

'Tis the season! The massively dreaded midterm examinations are following the students of high school like a bad case of acne, and everybody is dealing with the stress of pass/fail in their own ways...

Today: O, my high school's very own hardcore vegetarian Christian and all around nice person, has decided to deal with the mid-tenth grade crisis by dumping her band geek boyfriend and hooking up a smoker and rumored drug dealer instead. I'm wondering... is this true love, or a charity case for God?

Edition Three, taken away July 18th, 2009:

'Tis the season! The 2008-2009 school year is more than halfway over, and now is the time of the year to look at one's grades, attitude, habits, and motivations, and ask ourselves the vital question: are we preforming efficiently? Are we passing our classes? Will we finish the year in honors, or with barely passing grades? Is there a seat reserved for us in summer school?

How are our personal lives doing, unaccademically? Love, sex, drugs, and alcohol, shall we experience one or experience them all?

You'd be surprised to see what those close to you pick.

Today: L, a very good friend of mine and infamous slut of the tenth grade, is in denial that she is in an abusive relationship. I understand fully... I mean, if my boyfriend sprained my arm, I would be torn trying to decide!

L, hun, he's not even that attractive. Please get over yourself and stop giving blow jobs to this conceited, abusive asshole before he starts breaking bones instead of spraining them. We don't need another Rihanna!

Speaking of sluts, I should mention that L isn't the only one in the grade; there's acutally quite a few skimpy dressing, sex addicted, male obsessed teenagers out there in the ocean of sophomore year. Take V, for instance- a rather popular slut, she has slept with at least a quarter of the males at my school, cheated on her long-term boyfriend numerous times until they split, and quite recently had sex with a guy who wasn't her boyfriend in a hot tub on a church retreat.

Oh, kinky.

Edition Four, taken away August 13, 2009:

B, my lovely "special friend", has decided that he needs to start being more loyal to his girlfriend and thus has stopped hanging out with me out of fear that something might happen if we're alone together. Oh dear B, have you finally developed a conscience?

In an attempt to reclaim her spot as V's best friend, F has developed an EDNOS (like V and I have), and has been flaunting her sudden weight loss around town, acting as if she is a model... and the sad part is, she could be. That girl is gorgeous. I hate it when that happens.

In addition, V has been freaking out lately because her boyfriend, M, has suddenly went from hating F to thinking she is "not too bad". Translation? He's falling for her beautiful blue eyes, absolutely gorgeous body, and Gossip Girl personality. Just like B did when he went out with V. Is history about to repeat itself? Is about V to lose another boyfriend to F?