Usa's Letters to the Editor

For this summer's convention I'm attending---ANIME EXPO!!---I've decided to cosplay Sakura, but since I've already done a timeskip version of her I came up with an idea of a summer festival version of her. And while I was coming up with kimono ideas, I figured I wanted to make it a partner cosplay, with a summer festival version Naruto to walk around with me.

Let me explain since you're probably wondering why I'm telling you all of this. My Naruto search is harder than I thought it would be. I've already posted on three forums: cosplay.com, the convention's forums, and a separate anime forum.

SO HAY LIVEJOURNAL PEOPLE.

Here is the fourth place I'm posting on.
If you're attending ANIME EXPO 2008.
And would be interested in being my partner Naruto.
PLEASE LET ME KNOW.

<3333thanks.

After recent events I decided to write a blog to end all blogs that I've ever written about a boy and for everyone to see just why I have the outlook I do. By beginning to read this little piece of journal you've consented to hear me out on my moans and groans about the opposite sex and my adventures with them. If you're looking to judge, turn back now. Certain parts and names will be omitted just because...there are some things you should keep to yourself.
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I haven't been what the mass majority would call "skinny" since 7th grade. Hoodies were a favorite article of clothing during that period, I was more one of the boys than one of the girls, and being attracted to a boy never went past the attraction phase. My first major crush was Michael Carter. I went out with him for one week, but no one was allowed to know we were going out--this works wonders on a girl's self esteem. Of course I agreed to these terms, and eventually he broke up with me through his sister who happened to be one of my friends. Preteen boys are idiots.

After seventh grade ended I moved to a new city and was forced to start the process every kid hates when they move: making new friends at a new school. Making new friends is no problem for me, I've always been a people person, and I'm easy going enough to get along with every one. I became best friends with a boy we'll call Andy. Andy was hated and loved by a lot of kids at school, but I stuck up for him at all costs and I became closer than a guy friend would have been--on a side note I developed an unhealthy hatred towards his girlfriend, which we'll call Mary.

Months into this newfound guy as my best friend relationship, it became clear that my second oldest brother's worries were confirmed; the majority of the time a girl and a guy cannot be best friends. This fact was proven after a short night of playing cards over pizza with Andy at my apartment. I proceeded to walk with him back to his own abode since he only lived a few units away from me. It was eerily quiet on our stroll and when Andy finally stopped in the middle of the alleyway, his question caught me off guard.

"So, I've been nice to you for a really long time Krissy. What do I get out of it?"

I stared at his face in the dark, clueless as to what he wanted me to say. Like an idiot I replied, "What do you want me to do?"

This is where I get propositioned for a blow job at the mere age of fourteen. I thought it over for no more than a second before retorting, "I'll make out with you, but nothing else." He seemed fine with that offer and after a 10 minute snog fest with a side of second base, Andy made me promise not to tell anyone. Deja vu, anybody? I digress.

Skipping through freshman year summer because I don't count the boy I made out with due to my high level of desperation at the time, we shall move this along to fall of sophmore year. If anyone reading this didn't know, I was in band all four years of my high school career--I know you're busy cracking "This one time, at band camp..."--and if you've never been in band, you wouldn't realize just how tight knit the group is. It is so tight that it's like spending everyday with a family, and not the people you like in your family, I mean the members you loathe, like crazy Uncle Larry and the cousin that tried to make a move on you that one time. Where was I going with this?

At this point I was in need of a date for homecoming, an excuse to not go with a gal pal. I set my sights on Greg*, and only because I wanted to prove that I could have him before another girl could. Yea, it was a cunt move, shut your mouth. Greg and I would chat daily on AIM and he eventually asked me to homecoming a week before the dance only because his butt buddy Ian was going. I didn't care, I had a date. Armed with a killer up-do, a fantastical dress, and a just about perfect make up job, I giggled like a loon as I pinned on his boutonnière and grinned like an idiot when he opened to passenger side door of his mom's Volvo. Is this beginning to sound like an after school special to anyone?

Over dinner I confessed my nervousness since I'd never had a date before and Greg merely nodded his head in a bobbing sort of way. This is when I learned that some boys just didn't want to hear about your feelings. Personally I don't give a shit, you could at least not be some insensitive jerk. Before I go off on a rant, the food came and went--the food part of the dinner was probably the least awkward and most delicious--and was we waited for his parents to come back to get us for the dance, we made out behind the restaurant against a strangers car. Completely romantic.

The dance was fine. Then again, the dance usually always went great, since I happen to be a dancing fool. It probably would have been better if my date hadn't abandoned me to find his lame friend but I can only hope for so much. After an awkward slow dance--how can someone NOT know how to slow dance? Christ.--and an even more awkward slow dance ending kiss, Greg and I waited in silence for my mom to come pick us up and take us home.

Now I could go on about how this "relationship" went for an amazing record of 2 or 3 weeks--I honestly don't remember, since it was an embarrassingly short time period either way--or how he was more interested with my current best friend of the time during a double date to Knott's Scary Farm or I could just tell you about how he was all over some girl at a group Halloween party that left me to leave early in tears or I could finish by saying I broke up with him over AIM and never spoke to him again. I think Greg has had enough screen time.

Where are we now? Junior year? Nothing of interest. Oh, how soon I forget! Let us rewind to spring of Sophmore year. I had recently joined the junior varsity softball team and realized I had an amazingly unhealthy crush on a male named Jeremy*. Currently he was dating a girl of the bulldog variety, which in translation--to me, anyway--meant that looks weren't exactly high on his list. This boy became the reason I smiled everyday he came to class, even though I knew nothing would ever come of it. I held onto this crush for over two years and it was heartbreaking to watch him leave the last day of class; he happened to be a year ahead of me.

Senior year began with a newfound attraction to a boy nearly 3 years my junior--don't start with your robbing the cradle jokes. This chapter of high school happens to be the most dramatic, at least on my side, since it involved a lot of growth of personal maturity and coming to terms with the people I believed to mean something meant nothing at all. This story deserves a blog of its own, not only due to its lengthiness, but because a few paragraphs would not do it any justice. We're skipping ahead to May of senior year, try and keep up.

Early May was when Jeremy came back into contact with me** and I would be lying if I said it didn't send me flying into ultra school girl crush mode.  He had a side job working at the school and he invited me to hang out during a shift to catch up. I played it cool bananas the entire session and he ended up giving me a lift home, which I ruined by acting like a complete loon when I hopped out of the car. Let's not try and act as if we don't all have our spaz out moments. Anyhoo, over AIM--goddamn you internet messaging programs--we flirted with the idea of the friends with benefits option in our relationship. At the end of the conversation I chickened out of it but for some reason weeks after my 18th birthday bonfire*** I found myself invited to his house to play video games; riiight.

Jeremy was the first boy to coax me out of my clothes but not out of my innocence, although he came dangerously close in the heat of a moment; I'm happy to say he never did. Every couple of weeks throughout that summer we would "hang out". At one point it was enjoyable, but it became repetitive, a boring routine that I was beginning to loathe but continued with out of boredom or hope that he'd turn back into the Jeremy I used to like.

After that summer we would talk on and off, a get together once in a blue moon, and then it would fizzle away and we would go on with our lives as if we never knew each other. Weeks before the blog "f.u.c.k." was posted I made the mistake of coming over to his house one last time; the night was completely different from all the others.

He in his boxers and I in my rumpled clothes lay entwined on his bed and he talked about the struggle with his father and his new girlfriend, unable to accept that his divorced parents lives were going on whether he liked it or not. These things he whispered to me in the dark of his room were his private thoughts, things he'd never shared before, feelings we would laugh and groan about in a sudden comfortable closeness that fucked with my mind more than I could admit. The closeness eased into another hook up, one that was tender and careful with his arms around me and our fingers tangled. This was not how it was supposed to be. People in meaningful relationships touched like this, not us, we were rushed, awkward and shy.

With my nails grazing his scalp in slow strokes he mumbled incoherently, a lazy sleep claiming his mind until he jolted himself awake; he need to use the bathroom. Untangling himself from me he disappeared for a few minutes and came back to the room with a whole new face on. He did not lay next to me, he sat on the edge of the bed. He kept his distance and barely kept up our now business-like conversation. Let me say that this next moment is probably the worst I've ever shared with a boy.

"So, I kind of have to get up early."

I kept my eyes on the ceiling, my jaw rigid.

"If you want me to leave just say so. You don't have to sugar coat things with me."

The room fell to silence and I got off the bed to begin picking up my scattered articles of clothing.

"I don't want to seem like an asshole."

I paused mid-pick up of my shirt resisting the urge to scream from frustration.

"I'm a big girl, Jeremy. I can handle you being an asshole, I wouldn't be here if I couldn't."

I finished getting dressed, grabbed my purse from the floor and strode down the hallway to the front door with Jeremy following apathetically. He reminded me to be quiet on my way out since he didn't want to wake the neighbors.

With all windows down, bass up to 5, speakers blasting, I peeled out of that street like the star of a Fast and the Furious flick. And yes, behaving like an immature brat did make my night a little less shittier than it had turned out to be.

So there it is, my few interactions with the opposite sex. They reveal that sometimes a girl is never good enough to be the girlfriend but decent enough for a secret engagement. I have reasons for my cynical outlook on dating and attraction, only because the times I've messed with that area have all come up the same. Now that this paragraph has turned into a whinefest, I'll draw it to close--it will only get worse with the more I write.
__________

*Changed names for good reasons. I have enough drama in my life.

**At the time I had been on a 7 month diet, I'd lost over 40 pounds, done a complete make over, and then he came a knockin'. Need I say more?

***Yea, the birthday bonfire. I got drunk and made an ass of myself in front of him. Go me.

When I get the nerve I'll write about that other boy, sometime soon.

"Why do I always get so sad when I have to see someone off?  I know they're just a phone call away, but...I get the feeling I've been left behind. How long am I supposed to watch them go? How long to I have to stand there, smiling, and waving?"

When I watch someone walk away, it's as if they've abandoned a kitten, left to a cardboard box in the rain.

I blame my emotional distance on my upbringing. It's a cop-out, I know, but I have not found any other answer to the question of "Why?". My Dad is the only one who constantly says 'I love you'. My Mom only says it on heavy emotional moments, after a huge fight, or if I have a breakdown. I only get hugs and kisses from my father, and I usually shy away if my mom tries to give me affection. I don't know why...probably because it's out of the ordinary and it just creeps me out. I can't say what I feel because then I start to cry and I have too much pride to do that in front of others.

I want love for all the wrong reasons. A substitute for my father, since I'm far too old to continue being coddled. I want someone to hold my hand and tell me everything will be alright, I'm right here, I believe in you, I've got your back if you fall. I want to be the reason behind someone's smiles. I want someone to kiss me until I can't breathe, someone to fall asleep with, to play with, to laugh with.

After over a month of silence, I hung out with my Dad. We had been fighting about something stupid and were both too stubborn to talk it out and get it over with. We got lunch, saw a movie, and walked around the outside shops. After the activity we stood beside my car for what seemed like forever until an awkward silence fell over us; time to go home.

"So, what're you going to do now?" He asked me with mild interest.

I looked down at my toes, wiggling them as I pondered his question. "I don't know. Nothing, I guess."

"Call up your girlfriends?" I supposed he assumed I had some busy social life outside of school and work. The truth is I don't do much of anything, despite my numerous amount of friends.

"They're all working." I answered simply.

"You should go do something for yourself then." He urged me with a smile, bumping my arm.

I looked back down at my toes. "I may get a pedicure."

"You should then! Take care of yourself, it's always nice if you spoil yourself every now and again."

I didn't meet his eyes, staring at my car with a faraway gaze.

"Well, I've got to get going Kristina...there's going to be a lot of traffic."

I nodded and he turned to walk to his own car before throwing, "I love you," over his shoulder.

"I love you too." I said.

I got into my car and sat there, cooling off in the air conditioning as I watched his car drive out of the parking lot.

The truth of it all is, you can love someone so desperately and every time you watch them go, you end up feeling emptier than before.

A boy will surprise you.

I have a love/hate relationship with men. Then again what girl doesn't? My father is  the man who's given me the majority of compliments my entire life. That's because before you're old enough to have your own boyfriend to fill your head with sweet nothings that will most likely not mean anything in a few months--you can blame this outlook on my cynical nature--"daddy" is supposed to make sure his princess knows that no girl is more beautiful than his own. My father has met these expectations more than enough, but I am afraid if he didn't continue to tell me how amazing I am, I wouldn't be able to take it seriously when someone else told me the exact same thing. This isn't me being vain, conceited, or full of myself. This is me, Kristina, being so unsure of herself that she needs to be reminded that she has least one redeeming quality. All of that can be chalked up to the romantic parts during my 19 years of life; every person with a dick has been a dick.

Then one boy comes and just wants to fuck with you a bit; not in every sense of the word. He walks up, grabs both sides of your head and just shakes you around until what he's done finally makes sense; then he's gone and when the world stops spinning you're left more confused than before.

"Hey, do you wear contacts?"
"No way! These are my real eyes!...Haha, just kidding, yea I wear contacts."
"Oh, I thought so, it's really rare to have that kind of color."
"Yeaaa...I don't have natural, nice-looking eyes, like yours."

My only response was to cock my head to the side and smile like an idiot...and not a smile with my teeth, one of those, closed-mouth smiles that you usually use when you fake the expression but this confusosity was sincere; he still had a hold on my head and I was still being shook like a loon.

Don't get this conversation wrong, I don't like this guy--well, I like the guy, but not like-like, you know?--it's not everyday that a girl can receive a thoughtful comment like this without it being of the I'm-saying-this-because-I-want-to-get-in-your-pants variety. The last time any boy said how lovely my eyes are was my freshman year of high school...and we were making out at the time. (See? Boys will be boys). The absence of that kind of compliment has led me to believe that plenty of girls have "nice" eyes, and mine just weren't that amazing anymore. So your friends are there to tell you your gorgeous, but no offense to my friends, it's nice to hear it because it's you being nice or whatever...but I'm not a lesbian, so, it's not filling the gap.

Am I asking too much? It's not like I read too much into words, they're just words, I'm not going to fall in love with you just because you say nice things. It's just nice to hear them once in awhile.

.usagi.

ps. laptop is still broken, going shopping for a new one today.
AND NOT AT BEST BUY.