My First Music Review: I would just like to point out

IMG_1345that the last time Drake dropped a mix tape, I had just seen “Fifty Shades of Grey” “in theaters” with Tiff and Duncan. I fucked up the conversation very badly before we went to bed, but before that everyone was pleased with each other. We agreed that the movie was very boring, and I talked about my thesis (more of a thesette- 25 pgs) and we laid on three separate pieces of furniture and denied the approaching work day and stayed up very late until we all could hear “Legend” at the very same time, in what was then our living room.

It hit me the hardest. Eventually I came to love all of the songs on “If You’re Reading This It’s Too Late,” but I respect deeply the decision (maybe yours, my dear? maybe 40’s?) to start the sequence of tracks with something so physical and so boldly fabricated.

What girl from the South?

What Honda trucks?

Didn’t you say all your lyrics would always be totally true?

I was wholly disarmed. I wish we hadn’t kept talking, but by “Know Yourself” I was careless and chagrined, and crawled to bed to send a facebook message with “so sorry” in it twice. We recovered.

But it took me a long time to get over “Legend,” maybe forever! We were supposed to go out the next night, but I spent a whole hour listening to the song on repeat and straightening my hair until I was too relaxed to do anything but sleep. It’s rarely dipped out of my Top 25 Most Played Songs since February.

Tonight I have once again stayed up too late– about two hours earlier than two late was in winter. We’re so elastic! I don’t want to listen to the first track of “What a Time to Be Alive.” I just want to listen to “Legend.” I’m going to listen to neither. Tomorrow starts a very big week. I’m just saying, I don’t really want another mix tape. I want “Views from the 6,” and if I can’t have it, I’m going to bed.


Beautiful Pictures of Crying Gurls

I hope you won’t interpret this as threatening, but you just straight up do not want to say goodbye to me before taking an absence of indefinite duration. If there’s anyway you can avoid saying a major goodbye to me, I’d recommend it. It might be worth it to make an Irish exit and forgo nice farewells with an entire room full of reasonable loved ones, just to evade contact with the wet explosive mess that is a Left Behind Rosalyn Sternberg.  If you absolutely have to do it, trust me that it will be unpleasant and it will not be your fault.

A best friend visited two weekends ago and we said goodbye at my house in the middle of the night. They were leaving the next day at like 11 AM but I was leaving for work at like 6 AM and didn’t want to do the goodbye with an asleep person. Looking forward, I may reevaluate the viability of a goodbye with an asleep person. As it was, I cascaded into my usual histrionics, crying very bitterly, losing-it-for-good. It wasn’t even close to our worst goodbye, but by the time I rolled off the couch to wash the snot off my entire body, I was deeply disappointed that I hadn’t held it together a little better. It felt like a needlessly miserable end to a really nice vacation together. 

Then I had a super good idea, which was to leave the snot all over my face and ask my friend to take a picture of me.

Screen Shot 2015-04-22 at 11.29.56 PM

I really like this picture, which is both full of elegant contours and a good reminder of the way gross habits caused by the worst parts of personality can be transformed into Art.

The issue is that I’m so into the fact that I have a picture of myself post-imminent separation breakdown, that there’s very little incentive to behave differently in the future. Predictably, I want some more. Gifted with the new project of cultivating an extensive collection of Horrible Tearful Goodbye portraits, I’m eager for the next opportunity to totally lose it for the camera (and for love).

In conclusion: if taking a picture of me falling apart over you sounds like a fun thing to do, you are in luck! This is your moment! Otherwise, my best advice is to just always stay near to me. People have choices. For the most part, we have a lot of say in how we act.

All Best Wishes to myself today.

I forgot that Tuesdays are my Late Day and I could have slept another hour. I also forgot to replenish our milk supply.

This blog stresses me out so, so much.

I will just post this post as it is, as an act of reassurance to myself that this blog is not a big deal. It really could not be less of a big deal.


Madness; Focus

Today is both the


For some reason the text in this draft pad is really light! Like I can barely read what I’m typing so I apologize in advance for any typographical errors. Goodness. Who has done this? What force has made this so?


Anyway. We soldier on. Today is both the last day to send me your completed brackets to participate in Roz’s First Annual March Madness Pool 2015, it is also the first day I ever watched Focus starring Will Smith and Margot Robbie. You will have more fun participating in my March Madness Pool than I had watching Will Smith and Margot Robbie in Focus. It was OK, but extremely silly. I’m not a stickler for realism in film media (I mean my favorite show is The Bachelor), but at one point a supporting character bites into an orange without peeling it, and I think correcting this before moving on to the next take would have been a quick and easy fix. My March Madness pool will be very substantial and the only unrealistic thing about it so far is my insistence that I’m down to hand-score at least 10 NCAA brackets every night from now until the final.

I don’t want you to think I had a bad time seeing Focus. I didn’t, because I saw it with Quinn, who is here visiting. Right now he’s taking a nap, which gave me plenty of time to transcribe Heather’s bracket from 4 iPhone pictures she sent me this afternoon onto a hard copy on my kitchen table before I wake Quinn up to go see the Warriors shatter the Hawks. Folks, this is what we call a perfect day off of work. With the exception of the headache I’ve developed from squinting through the production of this blog post. Lord Almighty. WordPress, if you’re reading this: opacity. Let’s get on it.

“You Already Know What It Is”

(^^^I just LOVE IT when rap songs begin with this way. I’m not even joking that shit gets me AMPED UP. I’m sure you will feel the same way reading it as a blog post title.Stick around! I will not disappoint!)


Despite spending winter break promising to everyone I know ESPECIALLY myself that I’d abstain from watching Cycle 19 of ABC’s The Bachelor, I caved almost immediately and got totally caught up last weekend. And maybe it’s just the pleasure of indulging something you swore you’d deny yourself, but I have to tell you that I don’t regret my decision AT ALL I am having the TIME of my life watching Iowan farmer Chris Soules wife these ladies up and down.

In all seriousness, this is a very strong season, in no small part due to 21 year-old single mom and dental assistant Mackenzie from Maple Valley, WA who’s really gone hard in that pool party paint calling out the insidious cult of virginity enforced by every aspect of ABC’s totally salacious series.

Notes On Your Girl, for those viewers who haven’t noticed how dope she is yet: At first glance, Mackenzie is every nervous, earnest, slightly-too-young Bachelor contestant ever to tear up over a group date rose. But after watching episode 3 I can assure you that Mackenzie is HELLA quirky and SO MUCH real talk. I went to high school with this girl a few times over and I just love her. To wit:

  • Unlike every other mom who’s ever been on The Bachelor, Kenz doesn’t wanna talk about the baby ALL THAT MUCH. Like Lana Del Rey, she is more interested in aliens.
  • She probably smokes weed because one of her favorite movies is “Pineapple Express” and her hair looks pretty good without being anything to write home about.
  • Mackenzie’s online profile lists the things she couldn’t live without as “My family, my dog, friends, food/water.” In other words totally defiant of the whole bogus concept of a questionnaire///Girl HELL yes don’t you let them waste your time.

Most importantly, last week featured a totally gross and groundbreaking conversation between Mackenzie and the unfortunately named “Ashley I.” about the latter’s intact hymen.

“Holy [censored],” Mackenzie said. “You’re beautiful AND a virgin?! I am so jealous of you right now.”

Ashley I. kinda shrugged, the way, you know, you might or might not do. (FYI– Any person’s reason to not have had vaginal sex before is as valid as the next, but Ash doesn’t seem that attached to her hymen- I think its destruction just hasn’t happened to happen yet. Anyway–)

The other women wasted no time with their breathy contributions of nasty ass off-topic bullshit about how Chris would be “definitely a gentleman” and probably “really respect you for respecting yourself.”


Shit was really getting hairy with that noise until Mackenzie’s refocused us with more bleeped-out expletives and some clutch explanations like, “Are you kidding? He’s going to LOVE that! Guys love that guys love to TAKE your virginity!” and “GUH that is so unfair! Like obviously I have a kid so I, like, can’t use that. But I would if I could that’s SO good!”

You might wonder if I’m being ironic or making fun of Mackenzie, and I want to assure you that I’m REALLY not. If any of the beautifulsensitivebrilliantcompassionate straight men with whom I spend time articulated a legitimate interest in deflowering virgins, we all know that I would most likely

  • throw up
  • feel so sorry for them, and
  • probz cry about how I could never be friends with them again.

Because that’s a hideous thing to want. But shout out to Mackenzie for calling a spade a spade here: Chris would never hang out with me anyway and The Bachelor is all the fuck ABOUT THAT LIFE. From Clare’s post-skinny-dip-undoing in Cycle 18 to the rose-rewarded valorization of Becca’s refusal to make out last Monday, the show sets the ladies up to feel like shit about sex they’ve had at every opportunity.

It’s refreshing to see the competition explicitly described in its own unspoken terms: the winner is always the woman who’s successfully convinced The Nation that she’d give it all up, wipe her Middle American slate clean, rise above base degradation,  date a man dating 24+ other women just to be our television Cinderella bride. The victor always must have saved it for us, because she’s willing to forsake her job and friends and small-town, camera-free private life forever to enter a contractually binding relationship with a television channel for longer than her reality show engagement could possibly last. Big ups to the Big Kenz for tellin it like it is: for all intents and purposes, hell yeah, Guys Love That Shit. Plus, like. I dunno. She just cracks me up. Endearing, you know? No frills.

Locked Texts: A really fun blog post with something for everyone!

Good news: I got an iPhone for Christmas. In every way, this is good news. I’m not trying to be boastful, but I want everyone to know that I understand that it’s such a lucky thing to get an iPhone for Christmas. I have had a REALLY stupid phone for a long time.

Some people like owning stupid phones even though they could own nice phones, in the same way that they like choosing to not own televisions or building things that would be easier and cheaper to buy in a store. A resolution for 2015 is to be less judgmental of these people. Regardless, I am not among them.

The reason iPhone do not have a “lock text” function is because every text sent and received by an iPhone is saved forever and, as it were, locked. On my old phone I had to lock the special ones. Not having access to Bejeweled, Tinder or SnapChat, I read them all one million times, cycling through with the “Up” button every time I found myself on BART without a book. They’re so good.

Enclosed is a curated list of those texts, exempting a couple of texts that are just addresses addresses, several whose author is too easily incriminated by their content, and a few that say such nice things about me it would be totally gauche to post them. As follows:

Texts from the Lock Box

  • You really take after me. Knock it off.
  • Stoned at [redacted]. Thinkin bout you o na na
  • Holy fuck Claire just had a baby
  • i love you i love [redacted] you.
  • so the car got towed
  • Some hipster band is doing a mariachi version of a milli and I’m coming home on Tuesday.
  • I’ve been meaning to text you since I saw a couple at work yesterday: I loved our lived and political opposition to gender policing, but also our sustained resentment of men who are just wasting the time of the beautiful women they’re with! Like, get with it! Ps is Leah Samuel actually coming to town with you?
  • Also when I told my mom who was coming over she said what?! not Roz?! she was outraged
  • duty falls on us/to babysit when son of/CEO is here
  • Had a too real dream about us going to see guys and dolls and there was a dog in the seat behind us that was part of the play! The play was also just tv! Whew what a ride!
  • y u stressin girl
  • @SethRogen has favorited your tweet

Y’all it has been SERIOUSLY REAL. Please keep texting me perfect things. Also follow me on Instagram at DailyRos. And also if anyone wants a really bad phone, like. I dunno. Might have one I’d be willing to part with but I’ll need to give it some serious thought first.