20 September, 2010

Greetings, salutations, apologies and secrets.

Hello all...six followers who read my blog. I'm incredibly sorry that I have not been able to post more of my Whimsical Ramblings (self-endorsement...gotta love it), but I've been rather busy with homework, coursework, life, food etc. But no matter! We shall plough on relentlessly, and when we get bored, we shall turn to the humble custard cream once more. Anyway, I must stop getting so easily distracted by food. It is my weakness, especially biscuits. And no, I don't even know why either. For heaven's sake, I don't make ANY sense this evening. Terribly sorry; anyway, back to the matter which I hold in my hand. Right now. This very instant. Yes, now. I do mean now...3..2..1..NOW! Aha! Nearly got you. You thought I was going to stop my aimless digressing, did you not? HA! Fools...fools!!! Sorry, sorry...

I've just realised, after looking about my room in a decidedly perplexed manner for several minutes, that the jangling noise I'm hearing to my right is coming from my many bracelets, jiggling upon my Cornwall-tanned-but-faded arm. Oh dear, what am I like?! *camp hand gesture*. Good lord, I do believe I am wasting your time! Heavens to Mergatroid. So sorry!

YES, this matter which is now fighting to get out of my hand and leap up into the cyberworld of which my thoughts are slowly trickling, turning irridescent and sparkly as they float around in the ethreal world of t'Internet. Yes, this sorely neglected matter...secrets! Yay, secrets. I know we all love secrets; whetehr they're ours, or someone else's, there is always a certain sense of smugness that accompanies the holder of a secret, do you not agree? I've found a website (http://sixbillionsecrets.org) which is fantastic, if a little depressing. Go on to this website, and browse a few pages. Some (the glinting, precious jewels which have to be grabbed and clutched close to the heart) are wonderful tales of love, friendship and happiness. This really inspires hope in even te most cynical of readers. These secrets are the ones I covet, to remind myself that no matter how bad it gets, there is always going to be someone worse off than myself, even if I think I do see the end of the world looming on the horizon...sometimes, I don't even need secrets. I just console myself with the fact that if the world were really to end tomorrow, then Australia would've called and let us know. I mean, come on...GMT was not put in place for nothing. Common sense is required here. Anyway, I digress yet again (I could make a living out of this as well! So many pointless career opportunities, so little time...), the vast majority of secrets on this website (http://sixbillionsecrets.org in case you missed it the first time...but I suppoe you could just scroll up. Ah never mind, I'm on a roll here; if I stop, I will SHUT. DOWN.) are sad, sad stories of lonely individuals with nothing else to turn to, other than a website who can offer a brief shoulder to cry on. For the record, I would just like to say that if the user Amber-Michelle is reading this by some miracle, then your post really made me smile :) as long as you can see what's beautiful about yourself, there's no stopping you. Go for the world!

Remember everyone, that even though we can't predict the future, nor control it, Australia will always let us know what's round the corner...they find out a day before us, remember? I shall leave you with that sentiment, and bid you farewell. Good night, my lonesome followers, good night :)

04 September, 2010

Let's get scientifical...tifical...

I'm sat here (yet again; I could make a career out of this.) eating. Again. This time, it's bourbon biscuits, and as everyone knows, the only way to eat such a biscuit (this also goes for Oreos, Custard Creams and- for the most adventurous, Jammy/ie Dodgers) is to take the top of, put it to one side- because a plain old biscuit top merely inspires a sense of depression in the consumer- and lick the filling. No-one knows what this filling is, but it makes the eater happy. Very happy. In fact, when you're eating the filling (not the biscuit; the biscuit becomes obselete by this stage), a thought runs continuously through your head; mm, this is really rather nice. Not too nice, because the healthy part of my brain is talking to me, telling me that it is just sugar, which I know, but all the same does hinder the enjoyment OF said mystical filling, but even so; why don't they make it by the bucketful? Creamy-magical-biscuit-filling (CMBF) is in fact none of these things. It is a nice thing. And nice things make no sense, especially in food terms; for example...cookies? Meh, they're not too high on my list of food-related priorities, but whatever. Raw cookie dough? OMNOMNOMNOMNOM. Chocolate? of course. How you could even ponder such a thing is beyond me; melted chocolate? Oh...my resolve is being weakened by those two words somewhat, forcing me to give an unnessecary commentary on my emotions...YES, it IS better than normal chocolate! And the list goes on. It is scientifically proven that nice things are made better with (believe it or not) unorthodox methods. Whoever thought of melting the chocolate to make it nicer? Who, you ask, was the pioneer of cookie dough? Did they not, at some point during the pioneering process, fear for their lives? Was there at any point a risk of Salmonella? I don't know. Give the boy a bone; he did well. Things always taste better when you know that you aren't eating them thee way they were intended to be eaten. Strawberries dipped in chocolate? Madness! Tasty madness. And cream? Ahhh...cream. The best thing about this world contained in a single, pearlescent (depending on how long you stare at it for) orb of deliciousness. No, I'm not a cream fanatic. In case you didn't know, I'm lactose intolerant. No, I'm just kidding. I hope you got the sarcasm there; I'd hate to think that my time, effort, humour and inclination were being wasted on...*looks round nervously* chavs. Chavs do not get humour. Unless it resides on a lone, dank, probably potentially lethal service-station toilet wall in Clackett Lane Services on the way to Gatwick. I'm sorry, I'm leaping frenzedly from one subject to the other. But as I have often said in the past, never regret a good waste of time. G'night!

03 September, 2010

Is it really all about the confidence?

It's easy for me to sit here now, with my Chupa Chups Bubblegum (Tutti Frutti flavour, of course), and say to you that difference is good. Because it is! In theory...when you're by yourself with no-one around. It only gets harder when people start getting involved. Ah, people; you either love them or hate them. Like Marmite, but unfortunately, you can't spread them on your toast. People, especially people my age (were you really surprised?) can be really cruel! If there's soemthing about you that strays from the norm, they are all over it like bloodhounds; usually, yes, it is only insecure people that do it...this does NOT make it any easier to bare! For heaven's sake. I have new school shoes (mucho excitemundo). They're dark grey distressed leather brogues (I think) and I like them! The only problem is that when every other girl opts for the plain black pump for school, you tend to stick out. They may not be the most subtle shoe, but I do like them. However, getting mercilessly pounded for everything I'm ''doing wrong'' (a.k.a everything) does get boring. I wish I could blend in just enough to retain some of my originality. It wouldn't be being true if I said that I wanted to be like everyone else; truth be told, I could think of nothing worse really. But sometimes I wish I was more...ah...conspicuous! Yes, that's the word. I want to fuse into the hum-drum crowd of my peers enough to deflect all probing comments/bitchy looks/petty giggles (take your pick), but I want...nay, NEED, to keep my individuality to remind myself who I am. It's not enough to have the confidence to stride into school and embrace the onslaught of abuse with open arms anymore people. You need to take a stand, and instead of fighting against the stereotype, you need to make people see why you're being individual, why you're being different. Then maybe more people in the world will be like you. That would make things a lot easier, do you not agree? I will be honest here, I wish everyone had my point of view, as I am so utterly convinced that I AM right, all the time. You may not agree, but then again, you're all wrong.

02 September, 2010

Blog feedback and twiddling my mustache...

I started this blog at the end of July; because I had just remembered about my old one, which alas had to be discontinued because I forgot the password. I didn't really intend for it to be anything serious, or even anything consistent, but I've found that I'm going on almost everyday and posting things now. I like to get my thoughts out in the open, because it makes room in my head for other things, important things; such as tightrope walking, or impersonating a balloon, or other such activities. The feedback I have had so far (albeit from members of my family, yes, but still!) has been really quite nice. I've had encouragement, positivity and praise :) and considering one of my biggest fans (presumption in never the enemy) is a Writer (with a capital W), that, to me, suggests that I'm actually rather good at rambling inanely to my keyboard. Anyhow, I now have a Twitter account (WisdomOfBeth), so please Follow me, as I need to get more people to share my brain children (these posts). Thank you!
I've been thinking lately (because that's what I do) about how absurd we can behave. For instance, people can throw away good friendships to follow the herd. Yes, once again, we are back to the infuriating problem of the teenage populaion today. I feel I AM in such a position to allow me to comment, as I'm not really a teenager, apparently I'm secretly a 35-year-old woman. Hopefully that isn't true, I just have an extensive vocabulary which, fortunately (or heuresement, if you want to be all French about it), I can articulate. I do find it useful to empty your mind from time to time. I think of this blog rather like a Recycle Bin for my brain; you can get rid of everything you don't want, but from time to time you can go back and visit such discarded things, if only for sentimental reasons...
Sorry, I digressed again; my English teacher always said that if I wanted to achieve the grade I knew I could in my exams, controlled digression is the key; ironic how really, I'm not exercising controlled digression very well at the moment.
Yes, the abnormal teenagers that I share my school, and to further extents, my life with. I wish I could see what makes everyone else fit in. Admittedly, everyone fits in in different ways. In the group that I frequent, my boyfriend and friend just tend to act as they would if no-one was watching, which in turn contributes to the relaxed ambience about the group. In the popular crowd, swearing, dyed, greasy hair, loud, shrill voices and expressive accounts of...well, be imaginative here; these things are key to 'fitting in'. Really, I don't want to fit in. I'm happy being me. And at the moment, me is a tallish, blondeish 13-year-old girl, who likes school, and lives for fun. I'm not writing a Lonely Hearts ad here, but I do admit the temptation to add GSOH to the list is almost ovderwhelming; I think, in all honesty, I'm rather intelligent, witty, satirical and ironic; I'm just the right amount of self-depricating, but I don't compensate with arrogance. I have it all, don't you agree? Ahh. I amuse myself. Rather more than is necessary, some may say. But I don't care! To hell with all the cliques, and the groups, and the pointless rules and codes that you need to have a group of superficial friends. If people like me, they gravitate towards me; if not, I end up having abuse hurled at me from across the school Quad. I do shoot from one extremem to the next, but as long as I don't take myself seriously, I see no problem! Sorry for this rather over-expressive post; I'm probably just being exciteable. That's me!

A fresh start only exists in Hollywood.

Today is the first day back to school after a glorious six weeks of nothingness. Imagine my SHOCK and DISMAY when I found out that everyone was excactly the same! No, just kidding. Haha. I may be optimistic but I'm not stupid; the girls are still pathetically desperate for a crumb of popularity, the boys are *mostly* still disappointing, and, Dear God, the teachers are probably more of a danger to themselves then anyone else.
As you (hopefully) read in one of my previous posts (Popularity and other myths.), I have an extremely low opinion of silly little girls desperate for attention. And here is the part where you berate me; Come now, that's slightly unfair. I'm sure we were all like that at a certain age. NO! You weren't! None of us were! Normal, civilised people do NOT act like that. They do not bitch, and backstab, nor do they repeatedly wear you down until you crumble. Honestly, I am so sick and tired of all the excuses. There is no excuse for this downright bitchy behaviour. Hopefully someone will see through their pink sparkly armour and then we'll all be free.
Ahh, the teenage boy; a heaving mass of testosterone, energy and endless excitement. Also the home of the intellectually challenged. How many times can we throw ourselves against this wall before it cracks?! Er, probably not very many; even your numbskull would crack before that towering, unmoveable brick eyesore, affectionately known as 'Reception'. And of course, because most of my friendships (and by that, you understand, I mean 'all') reside with the boys, I am used to this behaviour. BUT it does get wearing. Thirteen (or fourteen in some cases) year-old boys behaving like five year olds, high on Milka lollies, does not an engaging friendship suggest.
I am already overwhelmingly dissatisfied with the teachers. It seems six weeks has not changed their attitude to the female teenage coven, the childish graffiti, and the incessant nagging, but merely strengthened their resolve against taking unauthorised sick leave. WHAT? WHY?! I don't know. Teachers are a law unto themselves, especially my tiresome tutor. She might be new to this whole 'tutoring' business (she's a PE teacher, bless, waaaaaaay out of her comfort zone), but she is still a) stuck in the 1960's (Forms...gymslips...stockings?!), and b) A USELESS tutor. Case in point, today, the resident ''badman'' (I say this with heavy, forced irony) of the class, was stood up, swearing, making obscene gestures and suggestions towards many an innocent member of the class; his punishment? Stand outside for five minutes. Five, I ask you. Sometimes, it's hard not to feel pity for these poor teachers, but then I remember that, being a 'rash, opinionated individual' as I was so described, I think differently from everyone else. I really think it's a shame; you always hear that being a teenager is a big emotional whirl of hormones, relationships and growing up. There are also the various tales of alienation of one individual from a peer group, and you always listen with feigned interest, all the while thinking 'Ha. That will never be me!'. But no-one ever knows they're wrong :) to be perfectly honest, I really do not care anymore. You cannot fathom the imensity of the damn I do not give. As I have just rambled to my 'Mothaaaaaaar', I got a warm enough welcome from the boys, did I not? I have my boyfriend, I have my Year Eleven superior friends to look out for me, I have the boys in my tutor group, all of them defiantly male. And I'm happy. I am genuinely happy to be who I am, with no girlfriends whatsoever. I have made sure of it; all this bitching really tires a person out, you know? At least with a boy, it's 'I don't like you. **punch** Yeah.' then they're over it. I am so fantastically elated to be able to say that, yes, my friends are all boys, and no, I don't think of them romantically; I have my boyfriend for that! I suppose it's always easier, when you're the odd one out, to make the best of it. I have wasted almost two years trying to work out why I'm so disliked over the majority of the female population of Year 9. I have WASTED those years, because it's only now that I realise I don't care. I have so much more to look forward to; a few dashed friendships is not going to hamper my enthusiasm. This year, it's all about work, work, work, and without the infamous catfights standing in my way, I know I can go above and beyond as never before.