26 October, 2010

Big City Dreams.

I went to London today! I actually went out and did something! It feels good; public transport ftw! Phew. But it made me think, as purely random and strange things often do. London is such a historical, thriving, alive kind of a place. I can understand why people love it, you never feel alone, and there's a constant hive of activity that no other city, certainly not in the UK to my knowledge, really possesses. The thing is, by stark contrast, Newbury is a glum, stick-in-the-mud-type town in the middle of nowhere and it gets tiring after a while because everyone knows everyone and ''they don't like trespassers''. (NB: That last sentence has to be said with a Somerset infliction. As does the word 'Somerset'). Newbury starts to gt on my nerves after a few minutes spent in it's centre, and god, the history teachers in my school? Every single lesson, they find some way to relate whatever the topic was to Newbury and its ever long history which just sucks all the life and fun out of History to be frank. Oh sorry, did I just said 'sucks all the life and fun out of History'? I must be mistaken. Sorry- it saps whatever minimal interest I may have possessed in the first place (debatable really) completely out of it. Sucked straight out of the window in a long stream, glittering with potential. For the love of Amsterdam, I now sound like a PSHE teacher; everyone has the power to be different, but some people choose *insert meaningful glance at poor, random student here* not to use that power.

Urgh. This post, I have just realised, probably like a lot of my other posts, (deja-vu), does not make any sense whatsoever. Never mind, have I told you how many page views I have?!

As I have probably mentioned, I went to London today, and once we (we being my Dad, my little Brother and I) had got off at Paddington, we took the tube to Oxford Street. Yes, the big street with the old-fashioned houses holding new-fashioned shops. It's amazing to be perfectly honest, the way it all just seems to fit. One thing I was paticularly transfixed by was, indeed, the Apple Store in Regent Street. Woohoo! I think we (the three of us) all knew as soon as we went in there what we had to do. I had to track down all the available MacBooks (and any variations upon the theme), and subtly and discreetly broadcast my Daddy's blog over all of them. If any of you want it, it is http://www.thepropertyspeculator.co.uk, and it's really rather good. My Dad, on the other hand, was men tally princing up an Apple Lifestyle, whilst my brother (blog= http://thepowerofthecrimp.blogspot.com in case you haven't already got it. Encourage him to continue with it! Please) hankered over the ridiculously expensive but admittedly very, very shiny laptops. I posted photos of the day on Twitter, and we went to some really brilliant places; The City (in which I aspire to work someday. Please, God, please!), St. Paul's Cathedral, Regent and Oxford Street, and not to mention Berkeley Square, which was beyond epic. I saw the Gherkin, and the Bank of England, as well as numerous shops and gorgeous, gorgeous townhouses.

I think London is, quite frankly, a wonderful and inspiring place, unlike Newbury and Thatcham which suck all of your life/ambition/hope/potential steadily. But I am too powerful to do that. I shall fight against the masses and become great, then someday I shall live in London. Ahhh, BigCityDreams.

24 October, 2010

Musikalisch.

Some people say I rely on music far too much. Don't be silly, I'd reply, Apple earphones in hand, ready to be used as nunchucks at any given moment. I do rely on music, and I'm not ashamed of that. To be perfectly honest, almost every song I love holds a memory for me, whether good or bad. Some of my favourite music (artists) include (and bear with me here, this could take a while)...

Blink-182, Foo Fighters, Angels and Airwaves, Wheatus, Go:Audio, Enter Shikari, Hey Monday, Kids in Glass Houses, Escape The Fate, +44, Tegan And Sara, New Found Glory, Paramore, Fall Out Boy, A Day To Remember, Bon Jovi, Plain White T's, Bowling For Soup, Simple Plan, My Morning Jacket, Faith No More, Guns'n'Roses, AC/DC, Velvet Revolver, Queens Of The Stone Age, Them Crooked Vultures, Kosheen, Paul Van Dyk, Paul Oakenfold, N.E.R.D, Pharrell Williams, Bjork, Linkin Park, Good Charlotte, Jay-Z, Chicane, Duffy, Paloma Faith, Underworld, The Prodigy, Princess Superstar, David Guetta, Led Zeppelin, Funkerman, Freefall, Gorillaz, Gnarls Barkley, Outwork, Fragma, The Friday Night Boys, Sophie Ellis-Bextor, The Freemasons, The Pretty Reckless, Splitting Hours, Beasie Boys, Smosh, The Lonely Island, Green Day, The Moulin Rouge Soundtrack, The Chicago Soundtrack, Cass Fox, Rui Da Silver,Yves La Rock, Brandon. M. Dennis, Chakra, The Chemical Brothers, The Italio Brothers, Chocolate Puma, Oasis, Delirium, Da Hool, Crowded House, Deadmau5, Kaskade, Swedish House Mafia, DHT, DJ Hose, DJ Delicious, DT8 Project, Lumidee, Electric Six, Energy 52, Faithless, Eric Prydz, The Feeling, Emma Bunton, Florence + The Machine, Pink Floyd, Ferry Corsten, Fatboy Slim, Fedde Le Grand, THe Gossip, Goldfrapp, Groove Armada, Gwen Stefani, Herve, Hi-Tack, Guru Josh Project, Jakatta, I Monster, Junior Jack and probably a lot, lot more but I can't think of any at this precise moment in time.

Some songs just mean the world to me because of what they make me think of, and I know that sounds misplaced coming from someone as solid and cynical as me (ooh! Alliteration!), but I think it holds true for everyone who likes music to be perfectly honest. What music do YOU (yes, you) like? Twitter it!!!!

I love you all. Today has been a busy day, what with five posts. I guess I'm just bored, making up for lost time. Have fun, my friends. Goodnight!

Freedom of speech.

As I sit here, pounding away at my keyboard like a monkey being told to write the full works of Shakespear in Mongolian on a typewriter, I can't help but think; why am I so brave on my blog? And on MSN? And MyFace, FriendFace, TwitFace, BookSpace etc. Is it because no-one can see my face? Because once the words are out there, hopefully their deep philosophical (ha. Not really, philosophy is overrated. You don't have to think to be clever...no, actually, that's a lie) messages will make whoever I'm insulting this time reconsider before twisting my face off at the ears? I don't know, but I wish I did. Actually, I wish I could conveniently loose the power of speech whenever it mattered, and instead have whiteboards for hands and marker pens for fingers. Hmm, that would actually be slightly strange. And also, I couldn't type then, could I? Ahh...silly Beth. Pah. But I wish I could be braver in real life, and say the things that I need to say. I'd feel so much better. On the downside, I couldn't continue with this blog really. Try to imagine yourself saying any of the things you really, powerfully wanted to to whoever you wanted to say it to...if that made any sense. I wish I could, it's just so much easier. I hate being so wary of what 'might/could/possibly/maybe' happen, I should practice as I preach and be able to (without the risk of sounding like a Northerner- oops, more racism? No. It isn't, because they aren't a different race. Technically, we're all human) ''speak as I find''. By that, I mean that if someone annoys me, or says something I strongly disagree with, I would like to find the courage to speak up and tell them so. I have a lot of principles, many of which (as I'm sure you've probably guessed) I feel very strongly about, and by not presenting them when challenged, it feels like a sell-out. I hate feeling like I'm selling out my beliefs. This bizarre, ludicrous, odd notion that people who are truly worth your time should be able to guess what you're thinking and go from there...well, it doesn't have much basis. I could have no fingers and still be able to count on them right now all of the people I know who know that I have something to say to them, or that I ever have. It annoys me when other people do this; it breaks me right down when I do it. I'm setting myself (and therefore you lot; I think of you as my brainchildren; you read the ramblings, you are One Of...well, I can't really say 'Us', can I? Grr. By reading this insane blog, you are One Of Me. Mwahahahaha...and so on, and so forth...) a challenge. If someone says something I disagree with, or says or does something that irritates me, I shall speak up and let them know so. Please, please follow suit. And besides, you've always got a back-up plan! If that person is tempted to shove an iron bar through your head, spearing both your temples cleanly through the middle, show them this blog. And then I can just deny, and run. Two of my hobbies nowadays. Good luck!

Apologies.

I do apologise for the slightly disjointed and rambling posts down there (again with the lack of the down arrow! I can't violate the V in that way. I know some things are better when used in odd ways but not a letter. Never in it's whole career as a letter has V ever even been considered to become a down arrow option. No, I can't do it.), but I thought that I'd treat you to a little bit of history of Me. It's a good subject, I can tell you almost everything you need to know. In fact, my next post shall be an ''All About Me'' post, slightly overdue. Oh well, never mind. Better late than never at all, and Never too late for something that matters and other such cliches. Ooh, I do love a good cliche, don't you? Right, three posts done. Off to see Despicable Me, may include a review later, if it's really bad. I love ripping into bad things, good tihngs are no fun. You can't comment on anything. Damn. FML. Goodbye!

Reasons why.

In my last post (down there-ish, somewhere. I don't know how to gesture it accurately! There's no DOWN arrow! There's an up (^) and there's a left and right (<> respectively) but there's no down. oh, I suppose there's a V. But it's just not the same!) I had said that I had had (woo! Double word!) to move schools from my ''best friend''. This is because when I was born, my Dad was in the RAF. Ikr! It's very exciting. For the better part of my life since then (if you halve almost fourteen I guess), I've been what is colloquially referred to as an 'RAF Kid'. I am not a goat...let me explain. For example, my boyfriend's Dad drives Lorries, and the family go to Truck fests. This make my boyfriend and his little brothers 'Truck Kids', I suppose. Oh, I don't know. BUT ANYWAY, moving on before I get a headache. Yeah, I was an RAF Kid, which meant I got to live wherever my Dad was posted. This happened more in the earlier years rather than more recently. I was born in the Midlands, in Shrewsbury, Shropshire. One month later, we moved to Wiltshire (Calne), and seven months after we moved to Benson in Oxfordshire. After that, we moved back to Wiltshire (Lyneham). Eight months later we moved to Burghfield for three years, and then onto Thatcham in Newbury, which is where I am now. All of these places aside from the last one were RAF Bases. RAF Benson, RAF Lyneham and the RAF Estate in Burghfield which I didn't mind. The houses were largely were nice, (with the notable exception of Lyneham. Google-Map it, it was traumatic) and the community was lovely as well. Me and me brother made friends with the children, my Mum made friends with the women (and men, as well. See?! Check on my PC-ness), my Dad made friends (usually whilst he was away) with the other guys in the RAF. It was nice. But then when we were in Burghfield, my Dad came out of the RAF and went into Property Surveying. This subsequently meant our move to a 'proper' house, where we are now. It was nice. But in all that time, I had been going to school obviously, and most of the children in the area we lived went to the same school as me, so of course we made friends. We moved to Thatcham, because it was the easiest way to get to school, because my parents really didn't want to uproot us again. I didn't mind the longer commute, but when the time came for me to move to 'Big School', I couldn't go on to the one in Burghfield, the one where everyone else was going. It was too difficult to get me there and back everyday, and we already relied largely on the Before-and-After school clubs provided. The Big School in Burghfield had no such provisions, to onto NewburySchool it was! We looked around St. Bart's, and Park House (I had a lucky escape) and ended up going for the better option, but that still meant I had to leave all my friends behind. This is a shame, and of course I have MSN and I can text them, but it isn't the same. A lot of them have lost interest now, especially HER. So onwards and upwards. Besides, the friends I have here are MUCH better.

Is stupidity an illness?

In Year 5 and 6, I had a best friend. No, really, I honestly did. Her name was (is??) Emily, and she lives in Burghfield. I'm resisting the temptation to broadcast her address to anyone who cares tbh, she deserves it. When we were in Year 6, Emily got diagnosed with an illness, because stuff in her body wasn't working right. Then, she was moved to the JR (John Radcliffe for those of you who are unaware) Hospital in Oxfordshire, and stayed there for a few weeks. Me and two other friends went up to visit her one evening after school, and it was nice, if very sad. I mean, it was lovely to see her but Emily was always the feisty one (ooh! Feisty one you are!) out of the two of us, and we were inseparable. We used to do a lot of things together, and when Emily finally made it back to school, she didn't go out at break times and lunchtimes very much. I think the transition Summer Holiday (as I like to call it), the big, worrying one between Junior and ''Big'' School, was quite a miserable one for Emily. Beforehand, she was asthmatic, and had a lot of eczema, and also she was quite small, not a big fan of sports. After, she just didn't like doing anything. During that time, I like to think I was quite a help; I mean, I stayed over there a lot so I could cheer her up, and I made sure she'd take her medicine every day (although she often refused; but I made her.), and I also tried to get her to drink enough so's her liver could get better again. But, (I can't rememer if I ever mentioned this on my blog), I had to go to a different Secondary School to all of my Junior and Primary School friends. This I will explain more in a later post, but anyway. After I changed schools to Emily, I still kept in touch with her a lot, we rang each other and texted, and had frequent sleepovers. But as the year went by, and the year after that, the friendship dwindled, which I also accept responsibility for. But sometimes, I regret letting it happen. If it hadn't happened, I'd still have my 'best friend'. But now I don't. No, the reason she didn't get in touch with me was because she'd found a new best friend. Someone, allegedly, with excactly the same illness as her (the chances of this being one in about 1000, but whatever), and so therefore could have a better 'understanding' of her illness. For God's sake! The thing that really kicks me is the fact that yes, I admit I could've got in touch with Emily. I was busy during the week OK, but I was normally free on the weekends, and it would've been so easy just to pick up the damn phoine. But she is quite happy to apportion all blame on me, because she doesn't need me anymore. So, as long as she's quite a safe distance away, and she has the added shelter of the 'new best friend', with all the 'understanding' she possesses, it's perfectly acceptable to burn her goddamned bridges. Well, that's just fantastic Emily, thank you. I spent my last year of Junior School mostly with you, checking that you were OK, that you had everything you needed and that you weren't being selfish enough to fake taking your medicine which you often did. I had to make sure you were trying to help yourself, like everyone was trying to help you; yeah, I minded a bit. Not much. But a bit. Because I was terrifeid that you'd relapse. You seemed so fragile to me, and I'm clearly no doctor but I was scared that one day you'd collapse again, and it would be ten times worse. When you were first diagnosed, you have no idea how scared I was. This seems very selfish, I know, but I was scared Emily. Ten/Eleven years old and told that your best friend was very ill but no-one knew for certain what was wrong with her is a SCARY THING. I hope you realise what I did for you. And I hope your new best friend is worth it.

22 October, 2010

The prettiest thing in the whole blue sea.

I am tired, my friends. Tired of having to try all the time, especially in school and with friends. That's a thing- surely if they were friends I wouldn't have to try? Don't get me wrong, I have friends who accept me, wierdness and all, but then again, I have what some people would refer to as ''fairweather friends'', who's minds and opinions change like the seasons. And therefore to keep my place as Flavour of the Month, so do I. I don't like feeling like I need to change, it makes me sad that people don't lke me for what I really am. It's so easy to brush it off and walk away, but day after day after everloving day, it just grates on me. Sometimes, it's not even worth it. This entire battle to be accepted or at least tolerated in the mindfield of adolescence is so beneath me. I just lack the time, the inclination and the effort. Who knows where I may be and what I amy think in, say, three years' time? I could be totally different- the most popular, pretty girl in the entire school. But- and here's the kick- I don't want to be. I love being different, but at the same time I stive, mostly unconsciously, for acceptance. Surely being different is all about not caring what other peple think? Oh god, I don't KNOW!! For god's sake, there's no manual to being a teenager. My schooldays are not scripted, I do not have appropriate comebacks texted to me every hour on the hour. I hate feeling like everything is so beyond my control that I'm expected to just forget about it and live with it. I don't want to live my teenage years (supposedly some of the best I'll ever have) worrying about other people's opinions. But that's the kind of person I am. I've never been beaten up. I have never had death threats, or entire school hate campaigns staged against me, and so I don't think that I have any cause to be as fed-up with my situation. I am a living, breathing, eating, walking and dancing contradiction. I want to be different, I want to be accepted. I feel fed-up with the whole lame situation, then feel guilty for feeling so. I am so totally over this whole thing.

20 October, 2010

Onwards and upwards...

My school (St. Bartholomew's, in Newbury. The BEST school in West Berkshire, at least), got given a government grant two years ago, for a new, purpose-built school just for us. This, for almost any other school (with the exception of possibly Douai (?) Abbey and St. Gabriel's) would be unquestionably a momentous occasion. I mean, It is a privilege to have been chosen to get this grant, and therefore an opportunity for a better school- but I don't like it. The new school, I mean. I know, I know, the process has not been stopped purely for my piece of mind, but there you go; life just is not fair. But anyway, I digress (should I rename this entire blog and theme my posts around something similar to this idea? Pah! I laugh, I joke. This is why I have no friends...). The new school, as it's rapidly becoming known now- it isn't St. Bart's (check out me and my colloquialisms), it's ''The New School''- looks, set among probably one of the only nice parts of Newbury, horribly out of place. Oh yes, of course it's very grand, but it's a horrendous glass and chrome structure with two massive white circus-tent domes for the inside ''hub space''. For goodness' sake, it's a learning environment, not NASA. The other, probably more crucial reason I harbour for disliking this monstrosity is that I have been going to this bizarre, contradictory school for over two years now. In that two years, I have met some stupid, idiotic people that blind me with their sheer ignorance. I have also met the brightest, kindest, funniest friends and one totally amazing boyfriend, none of whom I want to give up anytime soon. Obviously, just having a new school doesn't change any of these relationships, but I feel as if we're leaving a big part of whatever started it behind. If we're going to step forwards into the welcoming, probably silicone arms of ''The New School'' (if I don't say it with such heavy irony, I find that I may cry.) then what is to become of the much-loved Luker and Wormestall sites? At this point, I feel I should elaborate- Luker and Wormestall were originally separate school, the latter being erected earlier. Henry Wormestall, the headmaster of the boys' school, and Miss Luker (first name unknown...at least, by me anyway.) finally died (not at the same time; although that would be rather cool, in a sort of latter day Romeo-and-Juliet fashion, both hearts throbbing with unrequited and forbidden love. But then, hey, I'm a romantic.), and both schools (Newbury School for Boys and Newbury Girl's Grammar School) merged in 1979. Both buildings have seen tons of history over the years, and despite it only being forty years since the merger that made Newburian history (which, admittedly is not hard. I spoke ill of the town the other day, they're planning a martyred ceremony in which they plan to strap me to a post, much like Joan of Arc. No, just kidding- they're only taking away my library privileges. PHEW. I swear, it's going to make headlines for months), both sites now feel like they've been there forever. They feel so lived in, so utterly homely. It's so easy to slip into a routine, and the school does seem daunting at first, but what with it's resplendent staircase, enormous glass windows with rose-stained patterns and old, old tiles on the walls, you feel like you're inside a communal museum...albeit one of education...eeeeuuuurgh, as my brother would say. By moving into the new school, we loose all of this precious history, and all of the memories that accompany the school. With the new school, generations of memories are going to be wiped out in one fell swoop by the cold, merciless wrecking ball. This is a matter I didn't even know I felt so strongly about until the subject was broached. But I do; I'm actually an incredibly sentimental person...well, I like to think so...well, I don't really think so but hey. I don't abide by the saying ''out with the old, in with the new'' because we can't progress without the knowledge we have collected over the years. It's just a shame really. And tomorrow is my last ever day in the Luker site, which I do find rather sad. I'll post some pictures of it by and by, in all it's classic Newbury glory.

17 October, 2010

Useless things; mainly advertising.

Why do people invent, produce and then proceed to endorse such useless pieces of rubbish? For example, there I was, sitting quite contentedly with my CarcassInABun when all of a sudden, godawful Muzak (it wasn't even Music; I mean, come on!) started oozing through the speakers of the TV like a monstrous, noxious gas. It clouded my senses and made me think I was going to die somewhat; eventually, I recovered and turned my attention back to the ''advert'' on the television. There, I found a dancing, badly animated PIGEON. All of of God's creatures, the advertising company HAD to pick a PIGEON?! For the love of Amsterdam. to those of you who are blessedly unfamiliar with he concept of a dancing pigeon and Muzak, let me explain the purpose. This advert was for http://www.funkypigeon.com which is basically a cheap rip-off of Moon Pig, only with a rubbish name. The Muzak by now had lyrics, namely ''Funky Pigeon dot commmmm...'' until you could stand no more but to throw something, like your cat at the television (ha, see what I did there? Cats?? And pigeons?! No? Never mind.) before crying with a pillow taped to your nose. Yes, this is the effect the advert had on me. Never watch it, unless you do not cherish your brain in a such a manner as to not want to see it ooze out of your face in such a manner reminiscent of primeval slime. Anyway, moving on before I cry. The other nail-bitingly pointless examples include; that old favourite, Go Compare! with the fat, evil-looking Welshman singing in a cringeworthy opera voice; also, We Buy Any Car (dot com). Surely this advert must be banned on account of flashing images, unsavoury content and provoking of intent to kill? An advert that is exempt from this would be Compare The Market...none of my family can do the meerkat noise but we all love it, because it is funny and original. These two concepts are something that I fear the others have failed to consider, dare I say it, possibly overlooked completely. To digress slightly (woohoo!), did you know that the Geordie guy from Alan Partridge (character name: Michael) voices Aleksander? Oh how I want to be that meerket. And live in wonderful little meerkat land.

YES. Anyway, the point is that all who make these adverts must be shot. Dead.

10 October, 2010

People. And vegetarians.

Ugh. They're like vermin, aren't they? They come in all shapes and sizes, trundling at a murderous 30mph pace down the A4...bumping into you in the street, lacking common decency to apologise or excuse themselves...convincing themselves that of course they know best, and so rule your life, very much like what I assume to be ''The Man'' did, back in the day. But I'm not a freedom fighter. I wish I was; then I wouldn't have to wash and I could grow a beard, but hey. I'm not complaining, but it would be nice to have that option. Oh well, life goes on.
Yes! People. So, they've become somewhat of a hindrance in my daily life. I practically have to lock myself in the comfort of my own home to get away from them. Vegetarians and vegans! I respect you, I do; you have enough courage to say what you think is wrong and then actually do something about it, right? So, thank you. But please, please (and I cannot stress this enough) do NOT drag your beliefs, kicking and screaming into my routine. I'm perfectly happy with putting chopped up carcass into my mouth on pretty much a daily basis. I like meat, I'm partial to fish as well. The only thing I draw the line at is eating something with a face still attached to it, although I must concede I can rather see the appeal some days; you always win the staring competitions, you can eat the eyes first. This must look remarkably like a paragraph of expletives to any of the audience that it is directed at, I suppose. But the point I was trying to come to before I got distracted by eyes and faces and such was the fact that everywhere you go, there's always a protest, a guilt-inducing billboard or a sanctimonious advert, and I'm sick of it! For heaven's sake, what's wrong with everyone? If I want to enjoy my cow carcass in a bun, don't deny me that privilege! And as for all the brain-dead individuals that insist that EATING MEAT IS MURDER and that we should put ourselves into that situation, well no; because that's cannibalism, the practice of which IS illegal, so I wouldn't hold your breath. Fine, to any of you who disagree with my rather eloquent point of view, fine. But remember that I am always right, and that all of the animals you supposedly ''saved'' have just gone to America now, so you didn't really do very much but deny yourself the fundamental need of protein in a faintly martyred fashion, didn't you? Now go and have a shave.

06 October, 2010

Amateur dramatics. Pfft.

Crying is what teenage girls seem to do for a living. Extra-curricular activities? Sobbing. Hobbies? Wailing. Career preference? Manic depressive. I guarantee you that every day one girl in twelve (the number of girls in my tutor group of course, not just any old number that I happened to choose at random...due to how numbers ''make me feel''...) will come drifting into the tutor room, much like that of a ghost who is retained from drifting into the Afterlife by the sheer amount of foundation weighing her down. She will proceed to sling her (probably Primark, definitely tacky) bag onto the desk (heavily graffiti'd (?), despite the feeble warning, in the shape of a piece of grubby white paper tacked pathetically on the door, reminding us that as of February 2006, these desks have been extensively cleaned and anyone caught in the act of vandalism shall be severely punished. I mean, for heaven's sake, surely even these fails of teachers are forced to face the truth; a very out of date warning bears no MEANING. For God's sake), before sighing loudly, actively looking around as if to say, ''Why, oh why am I not being noticed?''. I mean, at this point, it's all I can do not to fling myself over their desk (avoiding the graffiti, mind you) and throw my hand to my fevered brow with a look of anguish stapled upon my face. But I don't. Because that would be instigating another fight. But again, I digress (cor, look at me, digressing all over the shop), because the point I am trying to make is that we Britons (did I get that right? Or am I now racist?) are not a nation open to subtlety and hints. We need information, and we need it now if we want to make any progress. Please, next time something is wrong, don't tell me! I don't care. But maybe you wouldn't mind printing it on the whiteboard in BLOCK CAPITALS LIKE THIS? Or perhaps producing a billboard with excactly what is wrong printed on it in swirly, girlish, faux-handwriting, like this? Either way, just stp with the pathetic whimpers and anorexic-model poses. PLEASE. It does not make you any more endearing to anyone you know, like or are trying to impress. On the contrary, it just makes you seem a little bit slow. And not in the attractive way, my dears, in the way that suggests your Mum dropped you on the head when you were a baby. For goodness' sake, have some self-respect. Men seldom make passes at girl who wear glasses adittedly, but they just bypass the writing mass of fake tan and mascara with a look of horror embedded on their faces.

05 October, 2010

There's nothing quite like a good cliche.

When you find out something totally momentous, totally and utterly life-changing, does it not make you slow down? And sometimes, even get a little bit freaked out? Like, when I heard everything about 9/11 for the very first time, or when the Haiti Earthquake Death Toll and Richter Scale measurements were released? It made me stop, and stare; not to sound like a song, but I'm sure you know what I mean. Everything gets momentarily shut off from my mind, and I realise that everything is so fragile. I love everything in my world, from the idiotic teachers to the blissfully unsuspecting slags :) I wouldn't change anything, because it wouldn't feel right. Everything happens for a reason, and I understand that I'm just spouting numerous cliches unashamedly for the world to read, and yet I can't help but see some truth in it. If you lived every moment as your last, you would be running around, saying daft, spur-of-the-moment, guilt-induced manic thoughts to everyone that you hate and Great Auntie Paula whom you haven't seen for sixteen years. THAT would be a waste of a good day! When you die, your life flashes before your eyes. Make sure that it's something worth watching. It's too late to go back and change anything that you regret, but surely these events have shaped your character just a little bit more? I understand that horrible, life-changing occurrences can swipe down from the blue and not just tilt, or even push, but kick, grab, pummel, break, and forcefully evict your world away from its axis; and yet, these things mean that whatever happens in the past is paltry and pathetic in comparison, making it easier to deal with. Surf through life, because it's the biggest, craziest, maddest, best(est) wave you'll ever catch.

There's a lot to be said for staying the same.

Hello again; I fear that my blog is becoming something of a stranger to me, which I really don't want to be happening because that would not fit in with my plans of world-domination through educating people. Oh well, one step at a time, starting with posting MORE things.

I was thinking earlier...because that's what I do...about how strange people can become as they get older. This is due to many things- getting older, as I just said, peer pressure (oh how I do detest that sentiment), or just the need to be different. I have begun to slide ever so gradually into the stereotype of a normal teenager- moody, insolent and antisocial. I promised myself it wouldn't happen, but it has. And I regret it. However, all hope is not lost! I have retained some elements from my childhood which keep me more-or-less grounded...the want to wear unnecessary amounts of jewellery at any one time, the habit of talking FAR too fast- which, Mothaaaaar and Fathaaaaar, I can't help! I have so many ideas whirling about my fevered, enthused brain that talking simply isn't sufficient. Be thankful, I'm encasing it all neatly within cyberspace- as well as the old idiosyncrasies of questioning everything put before me (literally and figuratively...oh yeah, check me out right?) and skipping. Oh how I love to skip- both an enjoyable act and an efficient method of travel. Could you possibly want for more?

But I digress. I regret not staying the same, for being too easily moulded into the average shape of a teenager. Wearing makeup, caring about what I wear, minding too much about what other people think? My personality does not, however, comply with that of the average teen, or so I am told. I am quiet, moody, thoughtful and introversial. I'm proud of these labels, they give me a sense of purpose. My goal is to be a girl who is excactly who she wants to be, and I think I'm halfway there. IF, for example, someone approached you in the road, and asked you to change, would you agree? Of course not...but at school, it's much more subtle. Someone does not directly ask you to change, you divulge that information from the hints that they drop. If someone comments falsely on an item of clothing, you know that it does not have their approval. If they laugh at your hair or makeup, then you know what to do next time; apply ONLY foundation to every part of your face, including your hairline, jawline and lips, with a spade.

Just to be absolutely clear, I do NOT condone this level of desperation to fit in. Who wants to be a sheep? I'd rather be a goat, thanks. But I fear I am starting to get white curly fur...no, not literally, use some sense! Metaphorically, for heaven's sake. Yes, I do not want to slip into the massed ranks of the unknown, the production-liners. This would be being dishonest to myself, and to everyone who loves me for me. Me is, as I am sure I have said before, a nice enough person. Honestly...