Uncreated Conscience

I’ve seen this link before (on Neil Gaiman‘s blog!) and didn’t bother to comment on it then, but: this keyboard is amazing. And if I had the money, I would totally get The Aviator. Now if someone would only refurbish a Mac computer to look like this, I’d be set. If I had the skill, talent, and resources (and guts) I would absolutely turn Pantalaimon into this. (Alas for Sabina, she is an acoustic guitar and therefore unable to be turned into a steampunk guitar.) These people are geniuses!

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A cigarette fast is easy to maintain when your mother is in town, who so heartily disapproves of them to the point that she almost disowned you when she found out you smoked, and you are staying with her at the Hilton New York this week in order to escape The Hovel Where I Live.

Despite my decreasing desire for a cancer stick, the fact of an oral fixation isn’t as easy to break.

Mum: Stop biting your fingernails.
JJ: I can’t help it! I can’t sm—I have an or—I just—ARGH!

I can’t exactly tell her that I am trying to quit smoking when I assured her that I quit months and months ago nor can I exactly say that I have an incurable oral fixation, which would probably have her jumping to kinky (and most likely justifiable) conclusions about my sex life. If I had, one of the following three scenarios could have occurred.

Scenario One

Mum: Stop biting your fingernails.
JJ: I can’t help it! I’m trying to quit smoking and I have an oral fixation.
Mum: YOU HAVEN’T QUIT SMOKING YOU LIED TO ME WAH WHY ARE YOU SO IRRESPONSIBLE GET OUT OF THIS ROOM RIGHT NOW I AM NEVER GOING TO TALK TO YOU AGAIN AND DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT HAVING FREE FOOD ON MY TAB!

Scenario Two

Mum: Stop biting your fingernails.
JJ: I can’t help it! I’m can’t smoke and I have an oral fixation.
Mum: OMG YOU LIKE GIVING HEAD????? WHY ARE YOU HAVING SEX BEFORE MARRIAGE???? IT’S SO INAPPROPRIATE! IF YOU AND TEDDY BEAR DO ANYTHING OTHER THAN EXCHANGE CHASTE KISSES GOODBYE I WILL KILL HIM!

(My mother blissfully believes that I am pure and virginal as the snow/a unicorn/an untainted damsel-in-distress because sex does not exist in my family. I will not disabuse her of that notion because it means I have to acknowledge that my parents have sex and I really don’t want to think about that. Also, my mother’s Church is a direct descendant of the Puritan faith while my dad comes from a family of Mormons.)

Scenario Three

Mum: Stop biting your fingernails.
JJ: I can’t help it! I can’t smoke and I have an oral fixation.
Mum: You know, if you want, you should perform/ingest/imbibe some mystical Korean remedy that I will find for you which will miraculously cure you of that problem.

(Since my grandmother’s mystical Korean remedy for allergies really did miraculously cure me I am not one to scoff at such things. I love how my Asian family’s usual initial reaction to situations is to offer Oriental medicine as panacea. We shall see how well the magical mushroom powder from Jeju Island my mother brought with her this time will work on making me thin.)

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Number of copies of common application: 6
Number of envelopes addressed to various colleges: 19
Number of times asked if SOMEONE could break a $100 bill: 4
Number of magazines bought as a provision for breaking said $100 bill: 1

Holy orgasm!
-K. Shaughnessy

7:30 p.m. Stupid, stupid, stupid Veteran’s day. Gaah. I’m not begrudging old men their pensions or anything, it’s just that NOTHING IS OPEN ON A NATIONAL HOLIDAY.

Damn fuckwits.

I’m just out of sorts today. David and Mark left (their company I shall miss, but their stay here I will not). I rolled out of bed this morning around 6:30 a.m. because I needed to get to Kinko’s and FedEx my essay to St. Hilda’s and photocopy some crap for Art History.

I quickly dress in my uniform and brush my teeth in Mum’s bathroom, but I need to get into mine to grab my hair things, etc.

But guess who was in there taking a BLOODY SHOWER.

You guessed it.

David.

Damn boy takes twenty-five minutes in the morning! And he doesn’t even have any fucking hair to wash!

So I stood there pounding at my bathroom door for a good twenty-five minutes until he finally throws the door open. A cloud of steam billows out (I’m surprised he didn’t shrink in there!). There was so much humidity in the air that my hair waved instantly (I’m not kidding).

Of course, when faced with the wrath of a VERY PISSED OFF Catholic schoolgirl, one would normally run away screaming in the opposite direction.

However, David, being the guy that he is, takes one look at the skirt and knee-highs and his mouth drops.

“Don’t,” I snap, holding up a hand. “say ANYTHING.”

I waved goodbye to them all as a I left.

Thankfully, I won’t have to see them again until next year.

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Number of times bashed head about stupid Chester not handing essays back sooner: 6
Number of times wanted to blow up post offices for not being open on Sundays: 9
Number of times sighed over resignation to FedExing essay to St. Hilda’s: 65

2:58 p.m. All right, I admit it. David isn’t that much of a twit…anymore. He used to be. But he isn’t…anymore.

He is now, I’m afraid a dork.

Which isn’t horribly bad. Dorks are rather endearing. I much prefer dorks to say…nerds or geeks. Dorks are your quintessential “nice guys.” I honestly don’t see anything wrong with dorks.

To his credit, David really is a good kid: he’s wonderful with Tay, smart, and well-brought up.

Too bad he isn’t as hot as Zach.

Yes, it really is too bad.

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Number of times have cleaned room because Mum was convinced I didn’t get all the corners: 3
Number of times cursed Workings for making me undergo such servitude that might be construed as “cruel and unusual punishment”: 56,987,120
Number of times have sung to The Phantom of the Opera soundtrack this morning: 2 (all the way through)
Number of times have felt rather embarrassed that knew all the words to the libretto, the inflection, and exact timing of The Phantom of the Opera: 587,963,240,021 (oh yeah…I was obsessed…)

11:35 a.m. Of course, I SHOULD be vacuuming, dusting, and polishing the house. But I don’t feel like it. I just spent an hour and a half thoroughly cleaning out my room, even my closet, even though neither David nor Mark will even catch a glimpse of it. I deserve a break, don’t you think? Sheesh.

I hate it when we have guests over. It’s not that I mind their company; I love it. I just hate the fact that it always invariably falls to ME to clean the fucking house. Even if they’re not my guests. ~Sigh. Mum’s off to her class (as she always does on Saturdays) and Dad and Tay are running errands (as they always do on Saturdays). Argh! WHY ON EARTH DID MARK AND DAVID HAVE TO CHOOSE THIS WEEKEND? Okay, okay, it’s Veteran’s Day weekend (which I don’t have off…), but I have tons of homework and catching up to do. I simply don’t have time to entertain a twit of a sixteen year old. (“Twit” is the word Mum used, not me, although I think in this case it fits.) Of course, I’m the one that has to entertain him. WE’RE NOT EVEN FRIENDS! Okay, so I wouldn’t mind getting to know his older brother better (he’s a dreamy Prince William-lookalike), but the fact of the matter is…he’s the son of the family friend. Ick. If he weren’t, I might have enjoyed flirting. ICK. I have just grossed myself out entirely. It’s like hitting on a cousin.

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4:50 p.m. I’d say it’s just my luck. Oxford just sent me something through snail mail. One of their colleges is considering me for application, but of all the colleges, it just HAS to be Saint Hilda’s, the all-WOMEN’S college. Argh! Well, I’m taking whatever’s coming my way. After all, Saint Hilda’s is simply a residence dorm and I don’t necessary take CLASSES at Oxford, per se. I have a private tutor, which is really quite nice. But…ARGH!

5:14 p.m. Of course. OF COURSE! St. Hilda’s is the ONLY college at Oxford University that still remains all-women! *huffs in frustration* There were four women’s colleges but the rest all went co-ed a VERY long time ago. ARGH!

5:18 p.m. *mystified* St. Hilda’s has a three-course meal for dinner! Whoa…

5:20 p.m. Damn, their dorm rooms look like hotel suites…

5:21 p.m. You know…despite being all-women’s…it’s sounding quite nice…

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