Uncreated Conscience

It was a long, torturous night.

I clasped my precious book to my chest and furtively slipped my eyes over its pages while the hum of interviews, Sabado Gigante, and one very cute Hollywood Bowl events coordinator milled all about me.

I was hooked from the very first page.

And it was sheer agony.

I was torn between savouring the book, reveling in its angst, gorging myself on its newfound darkness, or cursing myself at how slow I read, feverishly tearing through the pages, biting my lip in order to restrain myself from jumping to the end to see who dies.

The damn mariachi festival ended at eleven o’clock (those Latinos know how to PAR-TAY!), with me sitting in our box for the finale, covertly reading Harry Potter with a stolen flashlight. I couldn’t leave until closer to midnight, with all the cleaning up we had to do. It was an hour that I could have spent reading OotP, an hour that I could spent getting closer to knowing what lay in that mysterious chamber and who it was that finally bit it.

I came home around one o’clock in the morning, grabbed a quick bite (I didn’t have dinner) and read like a madman.

And I finished it. Around two o’clock in the morning, I finished it.

(more…)

Am. On. Chapter. Twenty-Seven.

Must. Finish.

NOW.

I couldn’t pick up the book until nine o’clock this morning (Vromans, stupidly, didn’t have a midnight party), but rest assured, I was right there at 8:59, just waiting for the starting bell to go off. Beating off hordes of children.

I had to work today (which really sucked), but it wasn’t so bad. I got to read The Order of the Phoenix in between shifts, and even on shift, I sneaked off to the loos and read some more.

No more of the evening. On to the wibblings and musings of OotP.

(more…)

IHAVEITIHAVEITIHAVEITIHAVEITIHAVEIT!!!!!!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!

DO YOU KNOW HOW FUCKING LONG I’VE WAITED FOR THIS DAMN BOOK?!

AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!

And once more, with feeling:

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I.must.read.I.must.read.

I can’t read.

The world conspires against me so that I cannot have a full day to enjoy my Harry Potter. In less than two hours, I have a lunch to attend. After that, I am fucking WORKING until eleven o’clock tonight. Sunday I must pack for my orientation and Monday I’m off to New York.

No! The world is not fair!

I found out that I’m working this Saturday. Working. The day The Order of the Phoenix is released. Which means that instead of spending the day reading the long-awaited next installment in the Harry Potter series I’m stuck sitting at a mariachi festival at the Hollywood Bowl, arranging interviews, directing media, and such.

It bites.

What was I thinking when I applied for this internship?

Number of times of times drooled over Daniel Radcliffe: 365,478,996,511,543,257,862,312,354,687 (conservative estimate)
Number of times drooled over Christian Coulson: 9,876,582 (but only because he had comparatively less screentime)
Number of weird stares received for perving over a thirteen-year-old and fainting over made-up language: 987,589
Number of theatre managers had to entice in order to procure a Chamber of Secrets poster: 1
Number of children had to trample over to get said poster: 3
Quote of the Day: “Once, I drank so much I forgot how to drive.” -D. Reeves

Some indeterminant time in the wee small hours of the morning: Oh. My. God.

*takes a deep breath*

SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Let me repeat that.

SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Okay…I got that out of my system.

Then again, maybe not.

SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Okay, okay, calm down…deep breath…

Perhaps I should start with the day before delving into my highly biased review of Harry Potter.

(more…)

Number of times tried to control hair only to have it end up with waves larger than the tsunamis of Japan: 4
Number of times panicked over Oxford interview: 3,697,820,012
Number of hugs needed: 9

8:35 p.m. Hello, am so fucking nervous.

In less than twelve hours I will be on a plane bound for my most favourite city in the world.

Gaah!

I so torn between the prospect of shopping and having fun and terror over the interview.

Gaah!

(more…)

Number of times played wrong notes during Karros’s performance of “Sora”: 8
Number of times people noticed: 0 (phew!)
Number of times had bizarre desire to run out into the rain and dance naked: 9 (four of them during AP English)
New Reevisms:

1. “analajous” (translation: analagous)
2. “yee big”
3. “snazzarific”

5:43 p.m. It’s RAINING! Yeehaw!

I think it’s because I’m a southern California native who rarely sees rain that I find it so…beautiful. The world turns a silvery-grey, dreamy, and slightly melancholy.

Rain is utterly different from snowfall, which I may love more than rain (as if it would EVER snow in Los Angeles). Unlike snow, rain isn’t quiet. Rain has its own music, the gentle plink!plink! as it gently rings against the gutters, the pat-patter as it strikes the pavement, and the low rumble-dum as it drums against the windowpanes.

I love rain.

Well, if I go to Oxford, I’ll get that in bounds, no?

(more…)

Number of times bashed head over college crap: 78
Number of times felt guilty about not doing college crap: 36,547,945 (conservative estimate)

9:28 p.m. I’ve said it once before and I’ll say it once again.

COLLEGES CAN KISS MY ASS.

If they want me, THEY can solicit ME. Fuck.

It’s not the essay writing that bothers me. In fact, I relish it. I love writing essays like that. Informal. Where my grasp of the English language (language, not grammar, since my grammar is extremely poor) can be flaunted.

The part I hate is the stupid busywork. I can’t stand busywork; it taxes my patiences like nothing else. Why waste my time on trivial things (like writing my legal name, of which I’m not even sure of, over and over again?) I absolutely DESPISE organizing and puttings things together; that has always been my mother’s forte.

~Argh!

Anyways, once again, I was without my car, but this time I wasn’t culpable for the loss. My dad had to have his car serviced, so he drove my car over the weekend. Supposedly, it was supposed by to ready by Monday, but it wasn’t.

So Dad had to drop me off at school. Gaah.

(more…)

Number of times watched tape of Oprah: 2 (not bad, as is one hour long)
Number of times wanted to jump Daniel Radcliffe then and there: 27,896
Number of times wanted to lick Daniel Radcliffe’s oddly sexy and manly neck: 3271
Number of times stared at how well Danny’s jeans hang on his slim hips: 68,978
New Reevism: “niftosaurus”
New Karlisms: “unsatisfactoriness” and “soffering”
New Moranism: “extremely muchly”

Dear Bart, how like you this?”
-K. Bautista

*stunned silence*

*blinks*

Excuse me, or did Daniel Radcliffe get hotter OVERNIGHT?

And just when I think that boy can’t get any sexier.

Ahem, before I get ahead of myself, I think I should recap the day.

(more…)

Number of times stared at this TomPic: 23 million
Number of times wondered how such a pretty boy could look so hot: 23 billion
New Reevisms Lots of them! Made up for last week.

1. “seeter-sotter” and “tee-taw”
2. “Tau, the one that looks like the letter ‘T’ on crack.”
3. “Alpha, the one that looks like a little fishie.”
4. “Squooshie.”
5. “Friction-y.”
6. “Thusly.”
7. “Importantest.”

7:58 p.m. The hotness of that TomPic went straight to my stomach. Ping! Wow. Flo, you must be in perv heaven right now.

Holy mother of God…I don’t perv Tom, but that pic might make me change my mind…

Then again…maybe not. Still too much of a pretty boy for me to perv. (I don’t say pretty boy as though it’s a bad thing! I just…don’t perv them!)

As Vende pointed out, Tom looks eerily like Eminem in that pic.

(more…)