How to lose friends and alienate people

You know what one of the worst feelings in the world is? That moment of truth when you realize that someone that you once respected is in fact completely undeserving of that respect.

Six months ago I would never have guessed that my life would get flip-turned upside down into an episode of Gossip (Gothip?) Girl. Six months ago, I would have laughed in your face if you'd even suggested such a thing. But I know better now.

It would appear that certain people just can't seem to keep their tools in their sheaths, so to speak. Lust can drive even the strongest man down a dark path. Just look at that Samson bloke, meets a pretty face and lets her cut off all his hair. But anyway, I digress.

Point is, there are some things that you just don't do to your friends. Hell, it'd probably be a pretty scummy thing to do to a complete stranger. Date a friend's ex two weeks after they break up? Check. Withhold this from everyone due to fear of being found out? Check. Continue comforting said friend even while dating his ex? Check. Decide to hold a "meeting" to talk about "feelings" because word finally leaked out? MOTHERFUCKING CHECK, IT'S ALL ABOARD THE SCUMBAG TRAIN AND THERE'S NO HOLDING BACK.

Now, I have been accused in the past of having a somewhat narrow view on matters such as these (including my parents, I might add; they're awfully libertarian about this sort of thing for a middle-aged Chinese couple). The Bro Code is my Bible, and every night before I sleep I pray to our Heavenly Bro to endow all of his bro-children with Bro-telligence. I've also been accused of investing too much emotion into friends' squabbles. "Your problem," my friend would say, "is that you empathize too much." Better too much than too little, I would say. If Iago had several slivers of empathy, Othello would still be a-moorin'.

All in all, this weekend has turned into somewhat of a...bro-tastrophe, one could say (and goddammit Rebecca Black, this Friday fucking sucked). Lucky for me, I have my friends Molson and Labatt to keep me company.

And as one friend commented on this whole debacle, "it's like Yoko Ono meets the Beatles all over again!" And you know what, he's right. Even the ethnicity is about 50% correct. And hell, if that makes me Ringo Starr...well. That's okay in my books.

LOVE IS IN THE AIR, NOT IN YOUR PANTS, MORON: part 2

You know shit just got serious when I return to blogging after a five month hiatus.

While this lingering feeling of malaise is certainly not new, certain recent events could be interpreted as the straw that broke the camel's back, or so the saying goes. For those who know me well, I am not one who speaks frankly of my true feelings often. Using humour to disengage from an uncomfortable situation is my forté. This talent, I find, has allowed me to navigate through most of my high school and young adult life without much drama.

Thus, it is with much regret and yearning for halcyon days that I now proceed.

The astute reader may have deduced from the title of my post that this post has something to relationships. Or, shall I say, "relationshits". It astounds me how so many people feel that they are somehow...incomplete, as a person, if they do not have a (temporary) companion to share their life with (indeed, some almost feel entitled to one, but more on that later). Invariably, I will be inundated with the laments of my less fortunate friends, usually around mid February.

Shit, son, maybe you ought to take a long hard look at yourself before you start criticizing the fairer sex. It is my sincere belief that if you are not able to be happy alone, then you have no right (nor capacity) to be in a relationship.

Quite frankly, I normally could not care less about other peoples' relationship woes. I will dispense advice if asked but as a rule, I keep my hands clean. Life is easier that way. If you decide to make a fool of yourself in your pursuit of happiness I will consider you a temporary amusement, but will largely refrain from criticism of your actions. It is when, through your ham-fisted attempts at courtship that you create ripples through our group's dynamics that I take offence.

If someone were to ask me, hypothetically, about any deal-breakers I may have in terms of friendship or relationships, they would be as follows:

Selfishness. It may be true that when push comes to shove, we are all selfish people acting in our own self-interest. However, when the cost of reaching your goal comes at the cost of someone else's happiness, that's when I draw the line. I do appreciate the irony when the goal and that someone else are coincidentally the same, but that's a story for another time.

Lack of self-respect. I find it difficult to respect someone who does not respect themself. After all, isn't respect the foundation of any lasting relationship? The only feeling I can conjure up for anyone with no self-respect is pity, a feeling which also applies to gingers and homeless people.

Disloyalty. You really don't need a PhD in Brolosophy to grasp the meaning of loyalty. Don't backstab your friend. Say what you mean, and mean what you say. Don't make empty promises. This trait, if anything, is the kryptonite of any successful relationship. If socializing with your friends feels like socializing with the Medicis, there's something very wrong.

Now before someone accuses me of stirring up the hornet's nest, that I'm making things more complicated, that I am behaving mawkishly, that I am in fact guilty of disloyalty myself...I will contend that I am the only one who cares enough or is willing to expose the elephant in the room. One that has, in fact, been in the room for months. I will not deny that this post was incredibly cathartic to write, but I do not speak these words with pleasure. To paraphrase Sophocles, no one loves the messenger who brings bad news. Don't read too deeply into this post either. It is not meant to be an exercise in "six degrees of separation".

As for whether or not I will continue to blog on a regular basis, that remains to be seen. In all honesty, this was one of the first times in recent memory that I've felt strongly enough about an issue that I felt the need to write about it (Dragon Age 2 is another, but that post is still in the works). Several friends of mine have started blogs of their own, so I may be motivated to do more writing in my spare time. We shall see how this story goes.

'Til next time.

Rumours of my demise have been greatly exaggerated

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that whenever something becomes hugely popular, will also become the object of ire and disdain by some solely for the sake of being contrarian. Twilight, a young-adult “vampire-romance” (is that a subgenre now, Wikipedia?) novel written by Stephenie Meyer, is widely adored by 13-year-old girls and 40-year-old housewives nationwide, yet reviled Internet book-critics. Why all the hate?

From what I've gleaned from friends and various Internet forums (mainly Reddit), the consensus boils down to the following points:

1. It gives young, impressionable girls unrealistic expectations of sexual relationships;

2. It is poorly written;

3. It depicts vampires in an unrealistic manner;

4. It turned my girlfriend/wife/SO into a vampire-loving whore, and I am now being compared to Edward Cullen at every turn;

5. And finally, the fanbase is largely pants-on-head retarded.

To which I say...

1. Disney has been doing it for eighty-seven years, and nobody bitches about how The Little Mermaid curtails female independence.

2. This remains to be seen, but in my experience most young-adult novels aren't beacons of literary excellence.

3. As there are no historical records of vampires in existence, this particular point of criticism is void. Alternatively, would you prefer every literary trope to remain static and unchanging?*

4. Why blame Ms. Meyer for the failings of your own relationship?

5. You could look at anything that is widely popular and find equally stupid fans, and the converse is also true. Not everyone who plays Dungeons & Dragons lives in their parents' basement, not ever pro-footballer runs a dog-fighting ring, and not every Twilight fan prefers the warm (cold?) embrace of an imaginary vampire over that of their real-life partner.

In an attempt to evaluate whether Twilight really is the literary abomination that so many claim it to be, my plan is as follows: I will read several chapters of the book every day, and blog about my experiences here. Friends have questioned my sanity in my decision to embark upon my quest, but my reasons for doing so are twofold. Firstly, as an English minor the idea that a mere book is capable of kindling such vitriol is rather curious to myself. Secondly, written anything solely for the sake of just writing for a very long time.

And thus, my very own “Twilight Saga” saga begins.

*Take high fantasy, for example. Ever since Mr. Tolkien brought Middle Earth to life, elves have possessed an ethereal beauty and excelled at ranged combat. Dwarves have lived underground, were fierce warriors, and master smiths. Orcs were evil and uncivilized. After reading about the elven scout Dal'Shirai gracefully swing down from an oak branch while her long, flaxen hair trails languidly behind her for the fifteenth time, one is ready for some change (I'm looking at you, Bioware).

Maladroit terrapin

It has been said that Chuck Norris, in his infinite wisdom, once had an awkward moment just to know what it felt like.

Said moments appear to be happening to me at a rather frequent rate as of late. For example...

Scene one. A couple weeks ago, me and my mates were volunteering for the Richmond Center for Disability. Prior to that, we'd taken a course on sensitivity training. What to say, what not to say; common sense stuff, really. Then, during an activity involving compasses and bags of eggs, Friend A says something, and Friend B responds with this gem:

That's so retarded.

He realizes his faux pas a second later. Cue three Asian guys staring at each other in horror. Volunteer C is staring at us with murder in her eyes. The...uh...offended demographic continues searching for eggs. I guess we were lucky nobody was really paying attention to our shenanigans.

Scene two. Me and my (different) mates (I've been saying mates a lot lately; I'm using it ironically so it's not like I'm a hipster or anything) are just hanging out, discussing the meaning of life, typical post-adolescent shit. The topic turns to relationships. Someone says something along the lines of "everybody being in a relationship nowadays", and I make an off-handed remark in the vein of "maybe I should see about getting one myself, nudge wink say no more". The topic immediately turns to...

What kind of girls do Vass (me) like?!? My face: D:<

I mean, it's not as if I can bring my real fetishes out now, right?

Moving right along...

I don't think I can look at a chicken wing for another week or so. Or a piece of sushi, for that matter. I learned a valuable lesson yesterday, after AYCE dinner with my mates on the eve of Stamkos' future wife's wisdom teeth extraction. And that is: never go to AYCE with Asian girls, they eat like chipmunks and the menfolk are stuck with the task of finishing up the leftover food. Oh, and when playing a game where you name car manufacturers alphabetically, "Mazda" is not a suitable answer if you're going first.

Actually, I'm hungry now. I could go for some...wings.

I think I should cut this post short, it's 5am and I'm just rambling. It's like I'm writing stream of consciousness or something. Like James Joyce. With less fucking the farts out of...nevermind.

p.s. girls are so forward these days! The other day I was on the Skytrain with a friend of mine and this girl, out of the blue, asks my friend: "Where'd you get that backpack? I'm going on a backpacking trip to somewhere and I'm looking for something similar and something something..." I stopped paying attention there. Point is, the question was just...random. No lead-in, no introduction, nothing. And after he answered the question the girl didn't even take the conversation anywhere. She just stopped talking, leaving friend and me...well, talking about backpacks. Maybe she just really sucks at hitting on guys, or something.

p.p.s. I've only just realized that Weezer's Pinkerton album is chock full of references to Puccini's Madama Butterfly, which I saw at the QE Theatre this past Tuesday (I guess I am a hipster, after all). The album name itself, "listening to Cio-Cio-San" (El Scorcho), the closing song ("I told you I would return when the Robin makes his nest), etc. Gosh, no wonder this album sold terribly in America. Nation of Philistines, the lot of 'em.

Go web!

So I woke up this morning (not feeling particularly like P. Diddy) and there's a fucking spider on my wall.

It wasn't one of those small, harmless ones either. This fucker was larger than my thumbnail. So what do I do?

I didn't want to squish it, as that would leave an unsightly stain on my wall. So I hit upon the idea of scooping the spider up gently with a piece of paper and flinging it outside. Unfortunately the spider had other plans.

As soon as the paper touched the spider it immediately fell off the wall onto the carpet. Which was brown. Like the spider.

So now I have a spider lurking about in my room. FML.

DELICIOUS CAKE OM NOM NOM

Or, the cake is a lie ;_;

Anyway I've developed a new scale to measure female attractiveness, as I feel that a numerical scale is too constrictive in calculating something as diverse as physical attraction.

"Pastry Scale of Female Sexual Attractiveness" is a follows, from top (will sell soul to mate with) to bottom (ugly as sin):

Tiramisu - ex. Emma Stone

Chocolate cake - ex. Zooey Deschanel

Sponge Cake - ex. Gemma Arterton (shown on the left; although Daniel Craig's not bad either.)

Cupcake - ex. Miley Cyrus

Pop tart - ex. Post-addiction Lindsay Lohan

Fruit cake - ex. Courtney Love

McDonald's Apple Pie - Oprah (on a good day)

There's a rather steep decline near the end of the scale, and that is this system's greatest flaw. There simply are no pastries that you'd ingest if you were drunk, then regret it the next morning.

I don't really know where I'm going with this. Have a nice day.

p.s. happy birthday Chuu!

The best laid schemes of mice and men...

Today is my birthday.

Happy birthday! I'm no longer a teenager, which makes me sad. What's worse, I'm an adult without a driver's license. Shame on me.

So, on a whim (or maybe it was planned, nobody tells me these things), my friends and I went to Playland today. For those of you who are not from the Lower Mainland, Playland is an amusement park. One of its main attractions is the "flume ride", where visitors sit in simulated logs which run on tracks immersed in water. Essentially, the point is to...well I guess the point is to get wet but everyone makes a show of not getting wet.

Because of physics and the angle at which the logs enter the water at the bottom of the slide, whoever sits in the front of the log would suffer the most (needless to say, the heavier you are, the bigger the spash you'll make, etc.). The discussion regarding who sat where went like this:

Girl 1: Shotty back!
Girl 2: Shotty middle!
Me: ...shit.

So everyone (except me) was happy with the seating arrangements, and we settled down into our seats. Then, disaster struck.

A fat caucasian couple sat down in front of us. As a result, everyone was soaked :/

Later on, during dinner, after the server was informed that it was my birthday, he asks me, totally out of the blue:

Server: Is one of these girls your girlfriend?
Me: *shifty eyes* NO.

Several minutes pass.

Server: So, is your girlfriend not here?
Me: ........I don't have a girlfriend.

Maybe I'm so irresistable that it was unimaginable that I, of all people, would be single.

Oh, and we saw the Japanese Emperor's motorcade after we exited the restaurant. Arigatou gozaimasu~