Aisling's Diary

Chapter 7

Wednesday 19 October 

I was online again looking at Murphy’s Bebo profile. Under relationship status it says ‘It’s Complicated’. Ye-es, it certainly is when you’re forced to go out with someone you’re not even going out with. Interesting that Eavanne’s reads ‘Seeing Someone’ – how lame is that? I suppose she could say she is actually seeing someone as in she does actually SEE Murphy.

Wait. Finally. Joy of joys–Amelia (MEL) is online. 

AIS: Mel!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

MEL: Ais. How are you? We get 2 chat!

AIS: Yay. How’s everyone at Irish Dance?

MEL: Fine. We miss you. Regionals in 1 wk. Sooooooooooo much 2 do.

AIS: Wow. I wish I was 2 and not forced to attend Mrs Kennedy’s

School of Irish Hell . . . I mean Dancing.

MEL: You too funny.

AIS: And – she blushes – how’s the gorgeous Phil Donnelly?

MEL: oh

AIS: oh?

MEL: Well . . .

AIS: Not with Tinker Bell?

MEL: No, not Tinker Bell.

AIS: But . . . ??????????????

MEL: Ais, Woody said Phil’s going 2 ask Colleen to the formal.

AIS: Oh no. OH NO. OH NO.

MEL: You OK?

AIS: Yeah.

MEL: Really?

AIS: Sure? Promise.

MEL: She was gonna email u about it. I said she should.

AIS: Thanks, Mel.

MEL: You’re not cross with me r u?

AIS: No. Course not.

6:01 p.m.

He’s gonna ask Colleen out to the formal? 

6:03p.m.

Went downstairs to get some food, but there was only fruit. When will those in charge of shopping understand that a teenager in crisis cannot survive on fruit alone? Does no one in Ireland like snacks? Ah, what I would do for a big handful of goldfish crackers. While I padded round the kitchen looking for something other than apricots to eat, like some kind of Tiger on the look-out for a tasty gazelle, Aunty Stella continued to talk for Ireland.

If talking was an Olympic sport, Aunty Stell would have won gold for Ireland in Beijing 2008, no worries.

Stella said she was having her kitchen totally redone. It’s costing 20,000euros! I reckon she could get one for half that and donate the rest of the money to a donkey sanctuary. She kept going on about her new kitchen, Mum said later she thinks the whole reason Aunty Stella came over was to tell us how much the kitchen cost. Why would she do that though? It must be a pretty amazing kitchen if she’s going round people’s houses to tell them about it.

She was also going on about where we live, apparently it’s quite a nice area but not the best area to live in. That is D4, which is where she lives. Doesn’t sound that great to me, sounds like some kind of military training camp. I wasn’t really listening to all this boring adult chat. For a start I was teetering, as I was on the brink of starvation, and had just experienced a massive emotional crisis.

However, in order to be polite I kept one ear on the conversation, AND THANK GOD I DID otherwise I would have missed the really interesting bit. She also said. WAIT FOR IT. That there’s this guy on our estate who’s kind of a real ‘bad boy’ with his motorbike and his cool clothes. Apparently he hangs out with a group of degenerates(had to look up this word, it’s always quite hard to understand when Aunt Stella comes over –it means troublemakers).

What? And then I realized the Bad Boy she was talking about was my Murphy. And the troublemakers, that must be his crew. Wait, she can’t be talking about that group of twerps I saw yesterday, can she? Clutching hold of the box of dried apricots, I tried to listen closely.

This is definitely all true, because Aunty Stella’s hair-dresser (Denise) does Murphy’s mom’s waxing and Denise had said that Murphy’s mom was really worried about Murphy getting into trouble with the police since he’s got his motorbike and is in with his krew. Well lady, they sure didn’t look like a gang to me. They looked like a load of wimpy Irish boys trying to look like rap stars in their baggy trousers and gold chains. They should see some of the people Amelia and I used to see at Urban Dance class if they want to see what degenerates really look like. Why are adults always so taken in by people’s clothes? Dad always used to grip the steering wheel more firmly when he saw some of the kids at the day discos in their big baggy trousers, baseball hats and P Diddy leisurewear – that’s probably because he didn’t see them like I did – going into a massive sulk just because they can’t spin the helicopter as well as their mate. 

8:10p.m.

No email from that snake Colleen. Can’t believe she’s going to even think about going to formal with Phil. I mean, yes, OK, there are a few problems with us getting together, like being on separate continents, but there’s a principle involved here, isn’t there? 

8:12p.m.

And then there’s Murphy. Ahh, Murphy! He makes Phil Donnelly look like a four on the scale of gorgeousness. Ah, in that case maybe Colleen can have Phil? What am I thinking, no way– I’ve been into Phil Donnelly since first grade. No way, Colleen.

8:14p.m.

When will it end? So now, Mum had to go round Aunty Stella’s to look at her kitchen. She said she was going to go and ‘get it over with’. I was trying to work in my room. I couldn’t MSN Amelia because she was back in class. The time difference really sucks. I just couldn’t work – James Joyce may as well be written in Arabic for all the sense I can make of it.

So, I went downstairs with James Joyce (the book, not the person) and found Dad sitting on the couch reading a copy of Plumbing Monthly. He was reading an article on Rainwater Tanks, which he said was written really badly. He said he has to read up about it all now he’s back in Ireland working for his brother. Imagine that, imagine you think you’ve finished with James Joyce FOREVER and then ten years later you find out you’ve got to read it all over again. Argghhhh. Poor Dad! We watched telly for a bit together. Guess what it was? Father Ted. 

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