Rocky Horror

I don't know why it took me eighteen years to finally go see a midnight showing of The Rocky Horror Picture Show, but tonight's event will not be the last of its kind. I dressed up as Magenta-- fishnet stockings, high boots, excessive makeup and all. I went with the friend I talked about the other day and this other girl, Alyssa. We were fairly casual friends before, from a shared gym class, West Side Story and Into the Woods, but after driving around harmonizing to the Anastasia soundtrack, falling into fits of giggles, and making each other up like freaks, I think I'll be seeing a lot more of her. Haha. Oh, hold on; I seriously need to wash some of this gunk off my face.

Okay, I'm back. As a disclaimer of sorts, I must mention that it's 5:10 AM-- not like getting up early, but like never going to bed-- and no one should be expected to make any sense at an hour like this one. For example, I'm lying the wrong way on my bed, with my feet at the headboard and my pillow at the end, just to be a jackass. My stomach is daring to growl when I fed it excessively all day. My eyelids are daring to retain bits of the eyeliner in which I earlier smothered them, even after various attempts with cotton balls and makeup remover. My feet are still complaining from tonight's stiletto trek, but I'm sort of on their side this time; I'd rebel, too. The blister on my left baby toe is forgivable, after all I put those guys through this evening.

It just occurred to me that you, blog readers, are equally as important as my left baby toe, and if it deserves a massage and a Band-Aid, you guys deserve something interesting to read. Keep in mind that, just as I can't cure a blister, I can't promise you'll care about any of this stuff. But you're here, so I'll try.

I spent the morning at my sister's inlaws' house again, gleefully bobbing around the above-ground pool with my twelve-year-old cousin, two sisters, and one of my sisters' friends. I drank delicious beverages, scarfed about six slices of cheese pizza, obnoxiously changed the lyrics of pop songs to include my company's names, and read a bit of The Spell Book of Listen Taylor. So far, it's really different from Jaclyn Moriarty's other novels. I'm not yet sure who the main character is, if one exists, and it has a little girl named Cassie, who outrageously appears (unless it's some twisted backstory I haven't yet learned) to not be Cassie Aganovic. But despite adjusting to a JM book that has--gasp!-- a real, third-person narrative, in twenty pages, it's already quirky, funny, and poignant. I'm so excited.

Shortly after returning home from the pool, I stopped by the town's other sex shop (on quite the roll this week!) for thigh-high fishnet hose for my Rocky Horror costume. "Tonight's the night/ let's live it up," I sang to myself while driving, in the style of my favorite new song, the Black Eyed Peas' "I Gotta Feeling." As soon as the syllables left my lips, that song started on the radio. A pleasant omen. I smiled when I got out of the car, and kept the song running through my mind as I handed over my debit card. "Tonight's gonna be a good, good night," Fergie sang in my head. And she was right.

***

It's 4:20 in the afternoon now. I finally got to sleep at about six, with my hair still teased to the point of being perpendicular. In fact, there's something about waking up after McDonald's closes its breakfast menu that makes showers seem like less of a pressing need. Yes. It's dinner time, and I'm in pajamas with my hair curled and crimped into a rat's nest. Judge me.

Anyway, last night was amazing. I'm finally starting to close in on my new year's resolution to learn how to have fun. And before you start, I mean real fun. Not, like, clever-skype-call fun, or reading-PostSecret-alone-at-the-library fun. I'm talking waiting-in-line-with-scantily-clad-young-people-for-a-movie-I-have-at-home fun. Getting-waggled-eyebrows-and-a-hand-flap-wave-from-a-transvestite fun. While my family thinks I'm careless and lazy (because my parents are so uptight they make Hillary Clinton look like a pothead), I'm really sort of a nervous person, so I know I'm making progress when driving somewhere new in the middle of the night is laid-back and pleasant. I laughed so hard I could feel it in my feet when the Rocky Horror enthusiast down the aisle shouted out every single audience participation line. I followed tradition and put a Plain Dealer over my head to block squirt gun blows. I knew which word to shout after "Brad Majors" and when to chuck my rice. I'm still beaming just from thinking about it.

All right, I just finished off the brinner my sister made me, so I think it's time to finish off my Carrot Top hairdo. I shall now proceed to shower and hopefully slip back into the state of mind in which I can blog again in a manner that makes sense.

Sexy: This hilarious Lizzie McGuire fanfiction written by my friend Leah (professorspork) when she was thirteen. She's an astoundingly talented writer nowadays, so I'm grateful to the internet for preserving fossils of when she didn't know how to punctuate within quotation marks... and when she thought Shakespeare was Old English.

Unsexy: Alyssa and I in this photo from last night.

Chipotle burritos this year: 25

S'mores this summer: 6

Subscribers: 18,859

Bye, guys! Hopefully I'll see you tomorrow. <3