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This is a full frontal, grovelling but genuine apology in the best way I know how… a blog post. I am feeling like utter shit right now. And deservedly so, because I have offended somebody I really care about. I’ve never been known to think before I speak and this is one of the occasions where I’ve actually hurt a person’s feelings as a consequence. I guess this has to happen at some point to teach me that I need to learn from my not-thinking-before-speaking ways. But I wish it had happened with someone else, because I do not want to ruin a friendship that is so, so important to me.
So, this is another dedicated post to another of the people on my ‘People I Love’ list. It’s not a long list, I’m not anti-social, I just don’t get close to many people and that’s what makes it so important to me that everyone on my list stays on it. I shall call the person in question Hurting Girl, because I guess she is. Well, I hope she’s not because it’s been 8 days since I offended her and as I’ve remained blissfully unaware of my blinding thoughtlessness, I’d hate to think that I’d upset her for a whole week. Because, fuck, that is bad.
I’m upset that I’ve hurt Hurting Girl. It’s not the first time I’ve done it either. Because I don’t get too close to that many people, I don’t really get into situations of confrontation or arguments with friends. I’m not use to how this feels – my head is burning, I feel nervous and guilty and ashamed of myself. I HATE this feeling, this feeling is why I try my best to remain unemotionally connected to people. It’s self preservation.
But if I could choose feeling like this over never having a close friend like Hurting Girl then I’d (un)happily stay upset. Because Hurting Girl has brought so much to my life. She has opened my eyes to the world, to different experiences of growing up, to how sad but beautiful it is to watch somebody love their family from afar – she has taught me to love my own family more openly. She makes me want to be a more honest person – I’m hurting right now because she’s hurting, because she’s told me I’ve offended her. I don’t tell people when they upset me, I just let it go, because that’s easier for me. Cowardly, but easier. Hurting Girl doesn’t shy away from calling a spade a spade and I wish I had her tenacity.
Hurting Girl is an incredible friend to have – she sticks up for the people she loves (another trait which I can’t seem to muster in myself – for fear of confrontation), she opens my eyes to the other side of the coin when I’m being closed-minded about situations, she’s in touch with people’s emotions – really in touch, because she thinks and feels a lot. I spend so much time closing myself off from emotions that I have no idea how to deal with people who are angry or sad – I am emotionally inept and that often accounts for my not thinking enough about how what I say might be offensive.
Hurting Girl, from the bottom of my sad and sorry heart, I’m so, so very sorry. I miss you, I think about you and your little growing family and you are a MASSIVE reason why I cannot wait to get to New Zealand. When that little girl baby arrives I want to be there to learn more from you about unconditional motherly love and to help you out amongst the nappies, bottles and burping. You are the first person to have me feeling emotional over a pregnancy – it’s the first time I’ve felt genuine excitement and happy-tears. Because I care about you, so much. I’d be truly gutted if this is anything more than temporary falling out. Let this be a lesson to me.
Oh yes I will! I am entering the NaNoWriMo challenge. The National Novel Writing Month in which participants must write a 50,000 word novel in 30 days! The 30 days of November, to be exact. It is not only Hallow’s Eve, it is also NaNoWriMo’s Eve and so I am eagerly jotting down ideas, plots and plans ready for the first chapter to begin… Actually, that’s a lie. I have decided that since I am my favourite subject (if you hadn’t noticed, you’ve not been reading my blog very carefully), I am going to write a biography of sorts, which means I don’t need plans, I just need memories – 50,000 words of memories. This is my novel title and synopsis, as described on my NaNoWriMo website profile:
Memoirs of an Ugly Duckling
A biography of me, myself and I. From the growing pains of an awkward ugly duckling to the love interests of an average looking duck, and the Kiwi that took me under his…erm…wing?
So, that’s it in a nutshell. Now to stop procrastinating and to get started. I already have a headache from my glaringly bright computer screen against the dingy lighting in my lounge, so I think I might just start this off with good old fashioned paper and pen. It adds to the excitement of it all for me though – I love handwriting, it’s underrated as typing has become second nature these days. I found out recently I can actually touch type and I don’t even realise I’m doing it, typing is my life at the moment. I’d like writing to be my life. I’ve always said I’d like to write a book, it’s one of those things that’s nice to dream about. This 30 day challenge will get me past thinking and into doing and by the end of November I’ll be able to call myself a novelist.
Tonight feels like Halloween should feel – sinister and looming. Walking home from work in the dark, the air felt icy and wet and there was a distinct scent of sweet burning wood. Fireworks, a dog barking and the screams and shouts of over excitable kiddies in fancy dress could be heard in the distance. Sat at home, alone, every knock at the door startles me – even though I feel expectant of being harassed by chancers otherwise known as ‘trick or treaters’. I’ve got the television on as background noise and music on in the foreground. I’ve also got my laptop, mobile phone and house phone, because more than one communications tool makes me feel that little bit safer. Three makes me feel invincible (almost). Lastly, a bottle of cheap red wine is accompanying me on my lonely night in and I feel that by the bottom of it I will be completely oblivious to any ghoulies or ghosties, as after a glass of wine or three nothing will wake me up, not even the living dead.
I’m feeling a little like the Ebinezer Scrooge of Hallow’s Eve, as I’ve been ignoring the children in all their varied bewitching attire. When they arrive a’knocking on the door, I remain in my little sofa-duvet cocoon. All the lights are on, they know somebody’s at home, plus they can probably hear the tv-come-music combination through the single glazed front room window, which is also contributing to a cold breeze and my fingers slowly chilling to the bone. No, that’s not the presence of something spiritlike in the room – it’s simply a case of bad home insulation. I’m ignoring the trick or treaters for a number of reasons – One: we don’t celebrate Halloween in this country, it’s been glamourised by American horror movies and should stay in the USA along with Cheerleaders, a history of questionable political choices and other American ‘traditions’. Two: children don’t want sweets anymore – Halloween, if it has to be tolerated, should be about apple-bobbing, plastic bats on elastic strings, scary stories and candy – these days it’s just an excuse for pre-teens to raise cash for recreational drugs and alcopops. And three: simply because I am mean-spirited. Send me the ghosts of Halloween past, present and future if you must, but until I’m given reason to learn the error of my ways, as far as I’m concerned Halloween can get stuffed. Bah Humbats!(on elastic).
Items in my inbox:
Happy Hallows Eve!
All this talk of my lovely friends has got me feeling melancholy… *chin wibble*… I’ll leave Mariah Carey to express the rest for me… *sobs*.
(*EDIT – I can’t seem to embed the video, so click here.)
Items on my mind:
Minced pies and mulled wine… It’s icing up to the season where nothing will warm you except a good hot drink and food of the sweet spiced variety. I’m looking forward to Bonfire night next week, for which I’ll be joining my extra specially special girl friends for fireworks in Gateshead’s beautiful Saltwell Park, followed by mulled wine and snacks back at one of my specially special girl friend’s house. This is the third year in which we’ll spend fireworks night together and it’s sad to think that this is a new tradition which, although will no doubt carry on without me, have prematurely come to an end for me.
We’ll simply have to adapt somehow – if my extra special girl friends come to stay in New Zealand for a few weeks each year, we can create 3 weeks worth of annual traditions. It’s something to think on anyhow…
Last night at The Cluny was filled with a lot of rhythm, dancing, jumping, gyrating and reggae reggae, African rumba fun.
Before The Black Seeds came African roots band Karibu Musica International. Their sound combined traditional African rumba, popular in the Congo, performed on electrical instruments with heavy reggae rhythm. I haven’t been able to find a video of Karibu personally, so the above YouTube clip was the next best thing as an example of their style.
The all-male members of the band were dressed to the max in their best pimp daddy attire – one with Gucci branded jeans, vest top revealing well honed biceps, sunglasses (in a darkened room) and plenty of bling jewels; another in white and black animal print trousers, waist coat, orange tie and further bling to add to the sparkle glinting off the stage lights.
Although the music itself was full of rhythm and beats that would inspire even the stiffest hips to start swaying, it was the band’s own dance moves that got everybody on the dance floor gyrating and jumping like they had only recently discovered they owned loins or legs and were testing them out for thrustability. I had never seen synchronised gyration until last night, and I’d also never experienced body popping so focused on the hip-genital-bum area. These men had moves.
Although I enjoyed The Black Seeds too, it felt to me like Karibu Musica International were the climax of the night, and The Black Seeds following their act were an anti-climax when they should have been the warm-up. Their sound is more chilled out, my dance moves weren’t quite as erratic (or should that be erotic-considering the sheer amount of thrusting) or enjoyable.
I can’t remember the last time I had as much fun moving my body around a dance floor as I did last night and as Karibu are putting down roots on Tyneside, I recommend anyone in Newcastle look out for their next gig. I’ll be sorry to miss out since I’ll probably be on the other side of the world by then.
I told my best friend about my blog and having read parts of it, she feels there’s something very important missing… Her. She has a point, I do have a category dedicated to ‘the people I love’, and she is very much one of them.
Ally’s not just a best friend, she’s my ’sister from another mister’. I’ve known her since we were in nappies, we lived in the same street and I saw her day in, day out until she left for university in Durham. We grew up together, her Mum and Dad are my substitute parents should I ever need any and Ally was the other half of the reason I ended up in Newcastle, to be close by (Neil being the first half).
she’d try to advise me on what not to wear, although I still managed to always get it very wrong
A school year older than me, Ally was my life mentor. We were like chalk and cheese, I was younger, geekier, chubbier, less sporty, less popular. Ally was fashionable, cool, athletic and popular. She’d teach me how to be ‘cool’, how to apply makeup, how to wear my hair. We’d shop together and she’d try to advise me on what not to wear, although I still managed to always get it very wrong. On my first day of senior school, looking like a typical target for mockery in my new uniform – starched blazer, knee long skirt, thigh long tie, knee high socks and shirt tucked in, I walked to the bus stop via Ally’s house. By the time I left Ally’s house for the bus my shirt was un-tucked, my tie as short as physically possible, my socks were slouched down and my skirt was rolled up around my arse. I can thank Ally for instant access into the ‘cool clique’ at school, where judgements are made on first impressions and the length of your tie can class you as a geek for all eternity. Unfortunately (and another blog post will explain all) I didn’t last long amongst the elite clique, but that was my own fault.
However different we were, I don’t remember us ever, ever having an argument. Many years ago Ally found an old diary of hers, at nine years old, which testifies one incident in which I upset her – my school friend Susan dropped one of Ally’s hair ’scrunchies’ down a drain, so she didn’t much like Susan hanging around with us. I was blissfully unaware of any hard feelings which upset Ally even more. I was a terribly insensitive friend, but I think we’re past it now… So, excluding any incidents with Susan, I only have millions of good memories – they aren’t particularly exciting memories, but they are the most treasured memories I have of my life, and I truly mean that.
sometimes you just have to jump in, feet first, and worry about it later
My favourite memories include spending most nights sat on Ally’s sofa watching Eastenders, because my mum and dad didn’t like it being on TV at home. Ally is a very talented pianist and another memory is me making her play A Whole New World (Aladdin) to the death, so I could sing along. I’d have done anything (and still would) to have actually sounded like Princess Jasmine. Every Christmas Eve Ally’s parents would have a gathering of all the neighbours at their house, these are the memories of times I miss the most – drinking Ally’s dad’s homemade mulled wine, eating her mum’s homemade buffet spread and spending time with Ally, all wrapped up in the warmth of the festive season. The running theme of all my memories is the sense of pride in our friendship. I was so proud to be her friend, I really looked up to her and wanted so much to be like her when I grew up.
These days I’m still proud to be Ally’s friend, but when I did grow up I realised that I don’t want to be like her. We are still chalk and cheese – from the material – we don’t dress alike, like the same music, enjoy the same hobbies or have the same taste in men; to the fundamental – we have opposing values, ambitions and measures of success for our lives. But our friendship hasn’t been affected by our differences, if anything it is enriched. We can provide the other perspective for one another – she reminds me to keep my feet on the ground and my head out the clouds, for daydreaming and spontaneous decisions are risky. And I hope that I remind her that not everything in life should come with a guarantee – sometimes you just have to jump in, feet first, and worry about it later…
…The Black Seeds. Well, actually I’ll be listening to Fat Freddy’s Drop who I love much more (favourite song in video above – particularly love the hot [with a capital H-O-T] lead singer Joe Dukie), but tonight I have tickets to see New Zealand-bred band The Black Seeds, at The Cluny in Newcastle. I also have tickets for both Big Day Out 09 in Auckland and Homegrown 09 in Wellington, where they will be playing too. But to see them here I believe will be better, for The Cluny is a more intimate venue with the added bonus of real ale.
The chillaxed rhythm of Fat Freddy’s and Black Seeds makes me think of warm sands and blue seas – more specifically of me on warm sands with my toes dipped in blue seas… Not long now…
Items in my mug: my mug isn’t made of the strongest stuff as it cracked the first time boiling water hit it and so it is now sat on my desk masquerading as a desk tidy. It’s a Pantone mug, in my favourite colour – 239 C. It contains three pens, none of which work; two blunt pencils; one stapleless mini stapler; button badges that say ‘I’m an Angel too’, left over from the Angel of the North’s 10th Birthday campaign; too many paperclips – I hate paperclips, I have an aversion to them, they serve no purpose except to breed and end up at the bottom of desk tidies, unwanted; and finally, two conkers, picked up on the walk home from work. I’d love to have collected more than two but I was brought up to leave plenty for the other kids…
Come to think of it, do they have conkers in New Zealand? I love them, they are so shiny – it’s unreal that nature makes them that way, and they capture the essence of Autumn in their browny, auburn skins. In fact, they capture the essence of my other favourite brown and shiny rounded type item of loveliness – Maltesers…
He said, then she said...