Uncreated Conscience

I really ought to remember that this was my personal blog before it became a publishing…ish blog. I mean, I have a personality! And interests beyond books! (Sort of. I won’t lie when I say books occupy about 85% of my brain space.) I also like art, photography, fashion, crafts, music, etc. It’s good to acknowledge that sometimes.

Anyway, I’ve been feeling very uninspired in the sartorial department lately. As far as vanity goes, I’m pretty freaking proud of my looks, although you wouldn’t guess it from the effort I’ve been putting into it lately. Hoodies! Jeans! Absolutely no makeup!

Sometimes I ponder through ideas better by drawing them out, so I threw together a quick concept sketch with some pieces already in my wardrobe to see if I can’t push myself into caring a little about my appearance. (I care, I just can’t find the energy at the moment.)

Sketch and photos under the cut. (more…)

Once more med school prom has come and gone I have the photographic evidence in my nail-polish stained fingers. There needs to be more (semi)formal events in my life so I can indulge my inner princess by wearing pretty, pretty dresses and makeup.

From a mask and makeup test a few weeks ago.

My mother once accused me of living in a made-up world of stories and fairytales. Of course, I found this vastly complimentary, but Mum actually intended it as a criticism of how I dress. I stand convicted. As you might recall, last year Bear and I went as a gangster and moll from the 1930s. This year the med school itself gave me a theme: masquerade ball.

Photos from the night (and the process of getting ready) below the cut.

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I have now joined Ravelry! Let me know if any of you are also on there so I might friend you.

Mum flew into town last night for business and we had dinner and watched parts of The Beethoven Virus before passing out. I am now sick as a dog with a head cold, but still I managed to slog it into work despite the snow.

Dear My Boss Will Probably Request You Slush-Slogger:
If you seal your SASE, we won’t be able to contact you.

Dear We’ve Requested Your Partial Slush-Slogger:
Your manuscript does not, I repeat, does not need to be bubble-wrapped. Twice. With differing sized bubbles. You also don’t need to duct tape the box you sent it in within an inch of its existence. All this does is leave the intern with raw fingers and a bad mood and your likelihood of being rejected increases threefold.

For those of you who read my blog with any consistency, you might know that I love Myers-Briggs type indicators and that I have (for the past few years, at least) consistently tested as an INFJ.

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Move over ModCloth, I have found another favourite less-expensive Anthropologie replacement: Ruche.

I would like this look, please.

1. Heather-grey flowing cardigan
2. Waves of Grain ruffle-knitted scarf
3. Delphinium bronze filigree earrings (My birth flower!)
4. Black cigarette pants
5. Bronze charm bracelet
6. Everlasting Love pendant necklace
7. Brown olden Oxfords

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Dear Ann Taylor:

What exactly, may I ask, is the purpose of manufacturing blouses with small buttons and large buttonholes? Do you subscribe to the 1950s sexist ideal or the 1990s power feminist ideal that cleavage in the workplace is better? Do you just not have enough money for bigger buttons? Or does it amuse you to witness this scene every five minutes?

JJ: (Typing away.)
Top Button: Pop!
JJ: Aw crap. (Glances around surreptitiously. Buttons self.)
Middle Button: Pop!
JJ: WTF? (Lifts arms to button shirt.)
Top Button: Pop!
JJ: Goddamn you all!
All Buttons: Pop! Pop! Pop!

I know I am a zaftig young woman and I buy my clothes accordingly, but there is only so much I can take. My 34C bustline may belong to a large shirt size, but unfortunately, the rest of my body does not. There is only so much compromising I can do. Do I buy a large blouse that provides ample cleavage coverage or do I wear a small one to avoid swimming in yards of excess material? In the event that I actually do purchase a large blouse, please note that I am already sacrificing much of my pride by taking the bigger size, but really, you don’t have to destroy my dignity by having the blouse fall open anyway because your retarded designers can’t fit the right button to the right buttonhole.

Regards,
JJ