Rants about everything, anything and yet nothing at all.

I regret everything I’ve done so far, When the pillars of love are blown apart, I stumble through the rubble and decay

I haven’t disappeared, I’ve just had… a really long, rough week. It’s funny how troubles in certain aspects of one’s life – when they either arise or, more appropriately, are finally blown to the surface – can completely halt your life or suspend it in limbo. I’ve labelled the “elephant in the room” as the “pink elephant in the room” this past week because things have been far too tense and unbearable at home for the most part. Now it’s been downgraded to like… the grocery trip you need to buy and have written a list for, but haven’t attended to for fear of a declined credit card or something. Insert some better metaphor because I haven’t got the brainpower right now.

My one achievement of today was cooking dinner. Okay, so not all of it. The pasta/sauce and veges were largely a joint effort from mum and the sister, but I roasted the chicken drumsticks and wings. Sort of just made up a recipe based on some of my favourite ingredients that I deemed relevant to each other enough. I ended up seasoning them in a concoction of mustard seeds, sun-dried tomatoes, pesto, basil, butter, chicken stock, paprika and lemons. It tasted pretty darn good:

Also, seeing as I’ve been getting some feedback on how people are “always looking for new music”, etc, here’s a few more tracks. Plus, what better therapy is there than sharing and blabbering on about music I love? Seeing as I can’t/won’t discuss the inner, private details of my currently more-turbulent-than-usual life. I haven’t had time to make a proper “playlist” like I usually do, but it’s music I dig, nonetheless:

1. Recharge & Revolt – The Raveonettes
One of my top tracks by one of my top bands. The title of this post comes from this song. It’s also one of my favourites off their latest album, Raven in the Grave, and is truly everything that I love this band for – noise, nostalgia, atmosphere, whispery and surprisingly-close-to-heart lyrics. Heart-melt by them, as always. I’ve finally got the boy to listen to this album as well… he also loves The Raveonettes, but its taken him ages to get around to this album.

2. I Can See Through You – The Horrors
Their newest album was just released last month (I think…?) so I’ve posted a live version. However, there’s a horribly mislabeled album version of it on Youtube here. It kind of feels like The Horrors are aiming closer and closer towards people’s comfort zones and further from obscurity, with each progressing album of theirs. I haven’t had time to pay too much attention to the second half of the album yet, but this song has been my stand-out right from the start. Still sounds like “The Horrors”y in my head, but is catchier than their older stuff, I guess.

3. Here Sometimes – Blonde Redhead
Love them. Love to them. Cry to them. This is another example why.

4. Shadows – Warpaint
Pretty girls with pretty girls with words like pearls. It’s just a lovely, lovely song.

5. Lover I Don’t Have To Love – Bright Eyes
I wrote half a song whilst speeding home from uni listening to this, the week before last. When I got home, the first thing I did was sit down with my notebook and scribbled down as much as I could of the lyrics before I forgot it all. My family thought I was nuts, but I appreciate mum for understanding my frantic ways and doesn’t take my “WAIT! I’m writing something, come back and talk to me later, out, OUT!” personally. I guess she’s used to it. Anyway, I haven’t listened to Bright Eyes for a few years now, but had a sudden urge to, recently… This is just instrumented and written so well, I get hooked on the spiral of it and want the song to never end. I guess that’s why they call it a “hook”, huh? Funny story about that term, my sister accidentally called it “whatdyoucallits, a whip of a song? Whip?!“, to which I burst out laughing and said, “noo Liv, it’s called a hook! Oh my god… whip…”.

6. Late Nineties Bedroom Rock for Missionaries – Broken Social Scene
Turns out this was a particularly nice track for the background music of the boy’s suffering. By that, I mean subjecting him to dinner with my parents and then a few hours worth of my competitiveness in a card game that we’ve played for years and years. I hope he enjoyed it more than mum and I thought he did though. That aside, it’s a pretty sparse song, especially next to the likes of “Almost Crimes” from the same album. Which, actually, I think would be my favourite song by them, not this one. Ah well.

7. Can I – J Mascis
Could only find it off a Youtube playlist, so I hope it comes up with the right track. To be honest, it’s a bloody depressing song, but there’s some kind of weird beauty in the sadness of songs. In fact, I think the most cheerful song on this entire list was by The Horrors, which is saying a lot – especially if anyone listens to their older stuff. Anyway, I just like the twang of guitar and how blatantly sad this song is. I’m usually not into stuff like this so much, stylistically.

Quote of the past week, from a book I greatly want to read because of this excerpt:

“That was a memorable day to me, for it made great changes in me. But, it is the same with any life. Imagine one selected day struck out of it and think how different its course would have been. Pause, you who read this, and think for a long moment of the long chain of iron of gold, of thorns or flowers, that would never have bound you, but for the formation of the first link on that memorable day.”

– Charles Dickens, Great Expectations

… something you want becomes something you need

So this is like an angsty-teen type of blog post. Even though I’m not a teenager anymore, bummer.

Tell me – if I gave someone too much credit and held expectations too high and then they fuck up and let me down… is it entirely their fault for fucking up? Or is it also partially my fault for now feeling like utter shit because my expectations were too high to begin with? I’ve mentioned at some point on this blog that I never hold high expectations anymore because I’ve become such a pessimist that I don’t want to be let down – so I definitely didn’t think my expectations were too high. Until they were crushed.

I actually have no idea why I still feel like I’ve been torn inside out, stomped all over and constantly on the verge of breaking down when there is nothing imminently wrong. But I just can’t seem do dislodge this huge accumulated load of crap that is stuck, stuck on my mind! I always feel it’s ten times worse for an intelligent person to do or say something dumb compared to if a dumb person did. And I forgive but forgetting is so much harder to do. Especially when I’m now in constant defensive mode thinking, bracing myself, wondering when I’m about to be let down again. Because lately it just feels like I’m constantly having to deal with emotional barriers, getting over things that hurt me, healing and trusting all over… just to have it carelessly thrown back in my face.

I’ve been taking such care as to not hurt people as of late. Why couldn’t the same be done to me? When I was younger I was much more impatient and selfish, and I never invested in anyone else – never trusted people enough to invest in them, expect anything of them. People thought I was ice cold, heartless, self-centred, un-trusting. So now that I’ve reversed all of the above, why do I actually feel a lot worse than when I was supposedly a worse person?

Is it really that hard to expect someone to say and do what they DO mean and feel, and expect them to not say and not do what they DON’T mean and feel? I’m so strung out from trying to disregard things said and done that weren’t meant, and trying to invent words and actions that are meant but never said for me to hear. It’s like that Radiohead song, “just because you feel it, doesn’t mean it’s there”. But I know it’s there. Fucking tell me it’s there. Tell me how you do fucking feel, not how you don’t. And show me it’s there instead of accidentally making me doubt first, and then trying to win my confidence back. Whatever happened to my confidence? In anything.

Okay, I feel marginally better now. Maaaarginally. It’s definitely time for me to resume writing, instead of attempting to finish tidying my room.

a mess

the tired boy, post-party

painting bathroom

more bathroom painting. today I got some paint on my hair, urgh

And funnily enough, I think this picture best describes the decision which confronts any boy that’s ever been interested in me:

… I sure as hell ain’t emotionally stable.

One last thing: I’ve fallen for Autolux, especially their song “Supertoy”. There’s like a nice mix of My Bloody Valentine, Radiohead, good lyrics and a moving bass line to keep me interested. Oh, and their bass player sings, so:

If you believe I’ll deceive and common sense says you are the thief, Let me take you down the corridors

I just did something extremely cringe-worthy: I went back and read some unfinished blog posts that are still saved under “drafts”, as well as some posts from 2006 that I’ve long ago made “private”. 2006!!! It’s so scary to think how fast five years have flown, and how much yet little of me has changed. Ahh. I dare not dwell on it.

It’s late and my mind is boggled, but before I let myself ramble off in tangents – there are two main points to this blog post. Firstly, I’d have to say that as far as birthday presents go, the boy’s done pretty well for himself . He’s given me a huge stack of books, The Fountainhead being the first that I decided to tackle. Reading Ayn Rand’s novel has not only preoccupied me enough to leave him alone to study for exams, but it also made me cry, laugh, and re-read paragraphs pensively on many, many occasions. It’s such an amazing book that I almost put off finishing it, instead mucking around with the last hundred pages the other night, and finally allowing myself to finish it and sleep at 6am. Which resulted in me being terribly late for a meeting with the head of jazz, but that’s a different story. I had a discussion with the boy about the book yesterday, but I don’t think I’ve quite tidied up my thoughts enough to blog about it. Actually, I don’t know if I will ever collect my thoughts enough to write a coherent post about it, but all I can say is just read it!

Secondly, people don’t read enough these days. Or should I say, people my age don’t read enough these days. I was tweet-chatting to Rob the other night and finally decided to blog about this. It seems that most people who complain about “kids these days not reading” are older adults, so it was interesting to really step back and think about how I feel in regards to this topic – as I’m supposedly part of this “generation of non-readers”.

I’ve loved reading for as long as I can remember. When I was still very young and lived in Taipei, I remember my family’s in-car entertainment would be “can Amanda read all the signs?” – because, as you know, the streets in Asia are overwhelmed with signs, of stores, ads, you name it. Later on I progressed to proper books in Chinese, and when we moved here when I was six, I learnt English mostly by being virtually the only Asian kid at my primary school, and by – you guessed it – reading. Never mind not understanding all the words in a book at the time, the actual reading itself, absorbing ideas, characters, gaining entertainment from reading was the biggest thing for me. And then when the Harry Potter phenomenon exploded all over the world, I used the series as my escape from reality. I always had a niggling feeling though, that many of my peers didn’t enjoy reading. But I never thought twice about it since even the kids who “hated reading” seemed to all have read Harry Potter as well… until…

…One day, someone in my class snapped at me, “don’t tell me what happens, I’m waiting for the movie”. That’s the day I really did a double take and thought, what?! you’d rather wait a couple of years for a bad film interpretation of the best children’s series of our generation, rather than read it?! I was shocked. But sadly, at the same time, not that surprised at all. It was a kind of disillusion, almost. And whilst I will note that the technology age has impacted a lot on the declining number of youth that read, I’m not going to sit here and blame television, the internet or various other sources of entertainment that have replaced books. Instead, I’m more concerned with what those things cannot replace. Too many people are too preoccupied with plots. And getting fast, instant results. That’s why TV is so addictive – you get fed a half-hour storyline with a cliffhanger, as opposed to spending perhaps two hours reading to gain the same amount of “plot development”. That’s why many people have seen movies based on books, but have no interest in touching the book whatsoever. Some people have told me that it’s “more convenient”, or “saves time” in terms of digesting the “classics” in the form of movies rather than books – but none of these people will have truly experienced what made that book a “classic” in the first place.

Personally, I know I get too tied up in the analysis of the writing itself – choice of diction, dialogue, how the plot is structured, how characters are portrayed and the contrasts between them in terms of writing styles employed, on and on… That sounds like a total exaggeration but I kid you not – I involuntarily do all this subconsciously, peeling things to pieces and re-reading phrases or entire paragraphs just to re-absorb the text in a new light (all my favourite English teachers should be proud!) – but I’m not saying that other people should or could do this, I just think that they should read so that their brains are offered a chance to even do so. I’m not slagging films or anything (I love them!), but I truly think that books are irreplaceable and I repeat – people get too caught up with the plot, and wanting to “find out what happens”. Although many books are judged by how much of a “page turner” they are, I think that with the best books out there, less emphasis is on “what happens next”, rather, “how it happens” and “why it happens”  is far more important – and that’s what non-readers are missing out on. They’re missing out on the gaps between time spent reading, where their brains absorbs what they have just read, and allows mind space for their own judgements, analysis and ideas to be formed. Don’t forget now, books and imagination are hugely connected, so youths who don’t read are often missing out on chances to explore their creative boundaries.

I’m sure most people have experienced (perhaps, once again with the recurring Harry Potter example) an occasion where they’ve seen a film based on a book and have either had their imagined settings or character appearances completely recreated onscreen, or have completely disagreed with the visual depiction they’re offered. And therein lies the beauty of reading – you’re not confined to any visual elements and are free to interpret the setting and descriptions in any way you wish. That’s where your imagination gets a workout! I remember when I read Twilight out of curiosity (the entire series, no less, I am thoroughly ashamed to say!!! – instead of studying for my 6th form AS exams), and I had pictured Edward as… well let’s just say that I don’t think Robert Pattinson does my mental version of Edward any justice whatsoever. But in stark comparison, I’d have to say Harry Potter (once again) was very well cast, and was a case of where I thought the core cast members were precisely as I had pictured them when I first read the books.

Also, when I say that people should read more, I’m not being a literature elitist here and trying to shove “classics” or anything down anyone’s throats. I just think that, yes, some books are more worthy of your time than others, but people aren’t reading enough for me to even begin to comment on what they do read.  I vastly enjoy the odd crime/thriller/action novel, but I also like to feed my mind with other books in which the plot is only the undercurrent to character development. I think a lot of people don’t realise how valuable these things are – how reading books with complex characters with different backgrounds and motives actually gets osmosed into daily life and how you view or analyse the actions of those around you. Ever wondered what the life of a struggling artist is like? Go read about it. Ever thought thank god I’m not the kid picked on at school? Go read about some poor kid. Ever wonder what might drive the ulterior motives of conniving people? Go read about it. There is so much eye-opening to be done through shelves and shelves of black ink, more so than people even realise. Reading isn’t just about “what’s going to happen next?” or “does the good guy win?” – it truly is about how it happens – and the conclusions we’ve drawn along the way, as well as perhaps some philosophies that deeper books may offer us.

I know I’d said I wasn’t going to rave about it, but I can’t ignore using it as an example: The Fountainhead for me felt really personal, on so many levels that I can’t even begin to describe coherently. But the underlying theme here is the fact that, through her highly contrasting cast of characters, Ayn Rand’s writing has put into words for me, so many conclusions, judgements and philosophies that I’d already drawn up throughout my life, but had never attempted to vocalise and summarise. The different “types” of people that I’ve spent hours of my life trying to decipher, to understand, to overcome difficulties with; how I feel towards them, and they towards me, why I love or hate the way I do… my illiterate scrawls in notebooks and hours spent theorising with my therapist – all these tangents of life compacted into a beautifully crafted novel.

To view this whole “young people don’t read enough these days” issue in a different light, I have to say that too many people struggle with English Lit at high school. Asides from tutoring my sister to pass AS English Lit in half a year (so that she could qualify early for a college scholarship in America), I’ve also helped out various people throughout high school, plus I now tutor a kid on a weekly basis. And I’m disturbed by the main causes of why I think they needed help in the first place: how the teachers are teaching (or not teaching); and how these kids never read except when they are forced to do so for class. Therefore, they don’t know how to read “effectively”, how to process what they’re reading, how to analyse and absorb things, what they’re looking for – which results in their inability to scratch beyond superficial meanings, let alone concoct an in-depth analytical essay in an hour-exam! What these people have in common is the fact that they don’t read by choice as a pleasurable pastime: when they’re faced with trying to get through behemoths such as Jane Eyre or Cat’s Eye for school, they simply struggle through the books, and are reading “up to Chapter X” by certain deadlines merely because they have to! I’ve discovered that an astonishing amount of people don’t even know basic things like what a semicolon or em dash is – I had to write up sentence examples and point them out in a book to my student who is 17!

I could go on and on about this, but I’d better not and get to bed instead. I will, however, freely admit that I’ve been guilty of neglecting books in recent years, but I feel that at least I make up for it when I have some time – such as now. So that, ladies and gentlemen, is how I feel about this issue, at age 20. Maybe when I’m older I’ll look back and be one of those old grumpy adults still bitching about the same thing. Ha.

Baby says, if ever you see skin as fair, Or eyes as deep and as black as mine, I know you’re lying

One assessment down. Eight to go. I think. Maybe I left something out when I counted…

I thought I’d post a photo from one of the longest and happiest days of my life (San Francisco, November 9th 2010), seeing as I’m trying to be optimistic about everything at the moment.

In the next month I will become so sleep deprived, stressed out and high strung that ferry rides will be my bedtime and my fingers will bleed. Welcome to assessment month hell at jazz school – a.k.a. the last month of semester. My face will start breaking out in pimples, emulating aethestically what will be the chaos of my life. Generally, I never ever get pimples, except when I am SUPER stressed out. I don’t mean to brag (I count myself lucky and thank my mother’s genes, to be honest), but I have such nice skin that one pimple is a cataclysmic event, let alone during assessment time when I get up to three. This is too much gross detail, but with me, pimples generally never form or “ripen”, as some people like to call it. They just stay under the surface and hurt like a bitch.

Basically, life is extremely stressful at the moment, and I really really need to step it up and average out my general performance standards at a higher level. It’s so ironic in many ways that I’ve stopped caring about my grades since I got to university. I used to be the sort of person that will get B’s for not trying, and A’s for pretending to give a shit, or the classes that I enjoy, and that was perfectly fine with me. More than fine, it was bloody swell. I always felt like I always got at least 10% more than I deserved, considering I had never done any actual “studying” in my life, to be perfectly honest. But jazz school is a completely different ball game. It’s not academic in any such way, so none of this being “naturally bright” business bullshit comes into play. To a large extent, it is down to commitment, and time spent, but really, it’s about a whole lot of heart.

I finally received my feedback for the jazz combo recital from the end of last term, and the identical raw mark from both assessors on the panel that night had no bearing on my feelings at all. However, I was thoroughly pleased with the fact that their comments precisely reflected my thoughts on how I played that night. The things they thought I did well, and the things they pointed out that needs improvement were all in agreement with how I felt, so that’s really the biggest thing for me. I no longer care about the ABC’s and care mostly about my growth not just as a musician, but as a person. I mean, for gods sake I got something below a B for the first time in my life when I got to university! Nerves, freezing up and mind blanking have been some of my top enemies, and it all comes down to confidence, so I’m trying to work on that.

It’s funny thinking back on all the employers I’ve spoken to in the past who have said that they would happily employ a music graduate for a non music-related job. I remember most distinctly a barrister I had met, with whom I was discussing how I had gone about the most painful decision of my life – choosing jazz school over law school. After chatting for a good half hour, he told me that he thought I would have made an excellent lawyer had I chosen to pursue it; but also that he can see why I didn’t, and the fact that I hold the possibilities of so much more. And I think it’s this obsession with there is something more, there’s got to be more to life, there’s got to be more to me, more to be discovered, more to be devoured, more to be enjoyed, more to be read, seen, photographed, written, learnt, heard, felt, touched, loved – MORE! that ultimately drives me in the supposedly “unconventional” and “creative” realms that I enjoy so much to delve in. I don’t think it’s enough for me to simply aim for a decent paying job, end up with a nice husband, bright children and then repeat the cycle. No. Yes, I want all that, but I also want so much MORE. Having said that, it is terribly hard for me to let go of the “black-clad powerhouse woman of a lawyer with a disposable income, too little time and the world at her fingertips”-type image that I’d spent a large majority of the past decade aiming for. But also having said that, at the same time, I also harboured dreams of being a performer. I still haven’t figured out quite yet the precise sort of perfomer I’d like to be, but I think that there is merit in all forms. And in a larger, more abstract sense of the word, I also don’t think that you have to be physically doing something like playing music, dancing or acting to be “performing” – I like to think that there are such things as literary performances, which is the accumulation of those dashing, inspired moments transcribed into text on paper, rather than in the form of something you sit down to watch or listen to… which ultimately is what a musical/theatrical/dance performace also is: an “accumulation of those dashing, inspired moments”, except executed in a single setting, so to speak.

Anyway, before I ran off on a tangent, the point I was leading to about employers was the list of “qualities” that music graduates supposedly have, or will have achieved. These include all sorts of cheesy, typical-sounding adjectives which you can think of. And I admit, I’d always thought it a little over-repeated for the sake of encouraging young people to pursue a wide range of Bachelor degrees other than the “normal”, “conventional” or “money making” ones that usually come to mind; but funnily enough, these days I think I’m really starting to “get it”. I’m suffering such a bad case of low motivation and general difficulty with “getting on with it”, and I think that’s because in many ways, this music degree is actually indirectly designed to make me a better person – and that is what I’m struggling with. It’s not the actual coursework that I’m struggling with as such (although yes, it’s intense, and yes it’s difficult), but what it takes to do well in this course. You have to be so internally motivated, fight through intellectual, creative, physical and personal barriers just to get through your workload, let alone get good at it. It’s much easier for me to curl up in bed with a text book to cram for a test with, than it is for me to want to stand for hours on end and play until my blistering fingertips really can’t handle anymore bass playing. You have to want to and then make yourself go the extra mile all the time. Also, seeing as I’m self-professed not very obsessed with jazz – yes, I love it, but sometimes I just can’t conjure up the mental capacity for it, even to listen to it – it’s doubly hard for me to want to sit back, and spend hours listening to jazz recordings. By that, I don’t mean put it on and chill out, but I mean to sit there and fully pay attention to it. Over and over. Listening to all the different parts. Not just the chords, but the chord voicings, then the voicings over the particular note choices in the bass line, and the voicings used by another chordal instrument, what the soloist is playing, how they’re playing, their rhythm, time, placement, note choices, chords they outline, chords they imply, time they imply, feel, the groove of the swing… Oh by now my head just wants to burst!

My so-last-minute-I-should-get-shot transcription assessment went well today. Transcribed 64 bars of Hank Mobley’s solo on Someday My Prince Will Come and had to perform to the recording. Apparently my written transcription was pretty accurate, which surprised me. It was so hard to write out something when he plays so darn behind the beat.

Here’s a super lovely track by an amazingly sweet and talent vocalise, Rosa Passos with the legendary Ron Carter:

Call your office on the phone, You can say you won’t be coming home – You’re dancing vacations on

I know that lots of people who know me IRL read/browse through my blog, but I obviously don’t care who reads this. Yes, I’m airing dirty laundry online, but at least my clothes are all intact. I’m not going to become one of those facade-bloggers that only blog about the bright and cheery stuff in my life as if I’m living in utopia even though in reality, everything is hectic, fucked up, stressful, and makes no logical sense. I think… really, this blog post is about how apparently I have to constantly lose things that are important to me(?!!) In order to truly appreciate what I still retain, things and people that tend to slip under the radar but whom I wouldn’t be the same without.

In my last post I had said that something wasn’t right and was hoping that it would work out. Well it didn’t. Long story short, my “best friend” came over to my house and broke up with me as a friend. Complete with a bag full of my stuff. As if she were breaking up with some guy. Who the hell does that?! This is someone who I had held in tremendous regard, who was my closest confidant for the past year or two, and we did and shared everything with one another. I guess not anymore.

I thought it was a given that when people cease being friends that they either have some kind of huge falling out, or they end up drifting apart. No one I know of has ever heard of someone ending a friendship like how you would break up with a lover.

I guess I was wrong, and once again placed trust and faith in people who ultimately let me down. Before anyone even tries to say “maybe she’ll come around” – no, she won’t. She’s too proud and stubborn for that shit, and I’m too dead-set on my own life now to waste precious time and energy hoping. Come on – who gets over a friend just like that?! And what’s wrong with becoming more casual friends that occasionally hang out and usually don’t speak at all? Rather than completely annihilating the whole friendship as if it was a complete dream based on bullshit. It’s not the fact that it’s happened that bugged me most, its the way it happened, and the stupid series of events that led up to it. And yes, it’s a long story, but I’m not leaving anything important out – there was no great life-changing catalyst that caused this. None that warrants this emotionally-immature of a response anyway. The motto I tend to live by is that if something’s wrong, you try and fix it. And if you can’t fix it, then you live with it, hopefully in lesser doses. I’d always been envious of the way how she’s been so (relatively) sheltered both physically and emotionally, and she’s even said in the past how she can’t imagine having gone through and having to deal with half the things I have, and I’m not even 20 yet. I was envious because sometimes I would think, wouldn’t it be so great if I were a little more ignorant, suffered less pain, and a whole lot more innocent because of it? People have said that all those things have made me who I am today, and I wouldn’t change the things I’ve learnt, but now I’m not envious of being sheltered anymore. I’ve been through worse fights, yell-fests, public shaming and humiliations due to arguments/conflict/friction with friends before… but the most important people that I’m closest to have stuck by me through thick and thin regardless of the wrongs we had done, and the things we said in voices too loud, out of spite or the spur of the angry moment. I just kind of feel sorry for both of us now – her for being cruel and cold and her inability to care; and me for caring, wondering who will have to throw her “surprise 21st birthday party” in six months’ time, for giving a shit, and all the hurt and pain that comes with it…

All of the frustration, hurt and anger aside though, it’s just a pity really – all the things we have in common and both enjoy are still there. The things we agree and disagree on are just the same. I don’t know why it had to be so melodramatic. It feels like, “boo hoo Amanda, tough shit that you care and I don’t give two shits”. She said she knows it’s cruel, but my response to that was “don’t you dare try to pretend that you know how inhumane this is”. Don’t get me wrong, she was an amazing friend while it lasted. But honestly, how do you purge yourself of a former best friend? Am I supposed to rip a few things off my wall now, because they were from or relating to her? I mean, WHAT THE FUCK.

Irrelevantly, I’m suddenly really glad (don’t take this the wrong way) that I’m completely heterosexual, with no chance of ever striking up a same-sex relationship. I can’t imagine how badly female lovers would treat each other! As I was saying to the boy earlier tonight, the dumb questions that females ask because they need reassurance, urgh. Anyway, I’ve fucking had it with losing best friends. Up until this broke the record, what with being 2011, I’ve lost one every other year of my life since 2002 (04, 06, 08, ’10). Just as I was getting my hopes up that for once that someone who hates so much the “atrocious things girls do to each other”, wouldn’t be the same – well apparently she is capable of the exact same, if not worse crime.

On a compleeetely different note, aren’t these the cutest things to receive for Easter? “Charlie the Easter Chick” was from the boy, and the delightfully cute mini eggs are from his mum. I’m pleasantly surprised and proud of myself for having managed to savour them over a week, rather than devouring them all in one sitting.

Last night the boy and I went to his friend’s house for a bit of a gathering as three of his friends had returned from studying out of town and abroad. Whilst most of us were having fun chucking down junk food and beers with the (unneeded) aid of drinking games, two of them decided to be a bit on the anti-social side, and watched the royal wedding instead. A bit surprising, really. I don’t hold much interest otherwise, but I’m glad that Middleton’s dress was by McQueen. It was executed magnificently.

As a side note, it was interesting to see how people responded to the “quote” at the end of my last blog post. Interesting, because just as I had predicted, people took what it was saying far more seriously and thought about it a bit more, because I had quoted it rather than just put it as a paragraph in my post. Basically, I quoted myself. I know the first line sounds a bit “off”, but it’s all a bit out of context and things relating to it were taken out, so that’s why.

“Strength is Happiness. Strength is itself victory. In weakness and cowardice there is no happiness. When you wage a struggle, you might win or you might lose. But regardless of the short-term outcome, the very fact of your continuing to struggle is proof of your victory as a human being.” – Daisaku Ikeda

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