“She’s blogging!  She survived the night!”

Yes indeed, you may all carry on with your lives normally again– one night down, 141 to go (yep, I calculated that when I woke up.)  Thanks to my newest best friend NyQuil, I slept 13 hours and my throat feels much better.  And I suppose I’m genuinely glad to be home (so much food in the fridge!  So many TVs!  Someone else to clean the kitchen!)

This afternoon we have Chistmas 2 of 3, this time with my mom’s dad’s side of the family.  Speaking of, I’ve scoped out the present situation under our trees and there are some for me, though not dozens as there should be (there’s still four shopping days left, I’m not too concerned) but T-BONE has TAPED the bags shut.  Ahem.  If I were really desperate (and it’s only Sunday, so I’m not ruling this out later in the week) I could cut open the tape, peer inside, then re-do it with no one the wiser (I mean, my conscience would know, but I’ve gotten pretty good at shutting it up after 20 years of questionable morals.  <– A half-joke.  You should half-laugh.)

Speaking of presents, NPH loved his.  Mine never arrived.  The bastard assures me they’re on their way and that he’ll send them to me to take to Germany.  I don’t have the heart to tell him I’m not devoting precious space in my luggage to three bottles of barbecue sauce.  Oh, and APPARENTLY my parents met each other long ago and were “friends” but my mom “didn’t like him like that” until she moved away and realized they were “actually in love with each other.”  Okay 1.) Barf.  2.) That was some heavy use by me of superfluous quotations around most of that story. 3.) Yes.  I understand this.  You the reader, Obama the president, Jerry the homeless guy in Iowa City ALL THINK Neil and I are either already dating or destined to be together or at some point in our lives be touching each other beyond the occasional drunk slapping I do of him when he makes fun of me for exchanging more than pleasantries with a kid who went to special ed in high school (if you do not already know this story, you don’t want to.  Might I just say for the record: HE WAS NOT “special.”  So academia might not be his strong suit.  BIG DEAL– he’s in college now.  Not a very rigorous one, but higher education nonetheless.)  I’ve completely lost my train of thought now… anyway, the point is: me + hot German man I’ve yet to meet = yes please  You may think I’m going over there to “learn German” because its required by “my major.”  HA.  Boy do I have you fooled.  This is really just a husband-finding mission.  NPH already knows he’ll be standing up between Kayla and Lauren in my bridal party in Vegas.  I think he’s quite excited for this, especially if I pick out bridesmaid dresses they’ll be able to wear on other occasions, for example, a mid-summer polo match.  Ooh, I should get them in red– Neil really does look best in warm colors.

My last night in IC was better than anything I could have asked for or Facebook event-ed for myself.  Magically I saw almost everyone I would have wanted to hang out with at some point in the evening which was NEAT-O.  Lots of people hugged me, and I hugged them back (I know, you’re shocked– this whole maturing thing is weirding me out, too.)  Today I had leftover pokey sticks for breakfast and Hy-Vee chinese for lunch.  The stabbing stomach pains that have resulted do not want dinner, just water and sleep.  And my THROAT hurts like a SONUVABITCH, so that’s cool– getting sick for Christmas.

Things I don’t want to talk about: saying good-bye to NPH.  Can I just say that I never cried in front of anyone during this whole going away process?  I’m quite proud of myself for that.  I mean, my car might be a different story and other drivers on I-80 tonight were probably extemely concerned that I was going to careen through a guardrail at any point, but STILL– the actual parting of ways was not that bad.  The resulting wallowing is pretty painful, at least for those around me anyway.  It’s not like anyone’s dying or anything, and I’m starting to get REALLYEXCITED for Germany, but separation anxiety is still no picnic.

Things I would love to talk about: the scholarship letter I got in the mail today.  Woo-hoo, journalism school!  By some weird miracle I applied  on time and the powers that be decided my grades and stroke-of-luck writing samples warranted a big ol’ check to help pay for college.  That’s pretty boss.

I’m home, my parents are off at a Christmas party, I’M GOING TO BED.  It’s 7 pm.  Wow, Brittney.  Your life is too.much.fun. to handle.  Hey– this little illness festering away in my nodes isn’t going to go away by itself.  Also, when one is mourning the loss of their partner in crime for five months, sleep is a much more attractive option than watching I Love You, Man with your brother because it would just remind you of the Paul Rudd poster hanging over the TV in 713’s living room and then all of a sudden you’d be bawling again and calling Kayla who would get really concerned that something actual tears-worthy had happened but you’d have to explain to her that it’s just because you already miss NPH and she’d be all “Good God woman get ahold of yourself.”  I mean, that didn’t happen.  I’m just saying… I could see a scenario like it in which sleep is always the better option.

By some miracle (and with a little help from a super cutie at Hy-Vee) I got enough boxes and found enough motivation to pack all my shit and have officially MOVED OUT.  Adios, adorable loft apartment only steps from downtown but a bit out of my price range.  It’s been fun.  I suppose I can no longer climb those bajillion fafillion stairs every day and call it exercise.

T-Bone and Papa K rolled in to help haul stuff to my storage unit, and NPH decided to come along for the ride.  And then I abandoned the poor kid with my parents while going to finally sign over the lease to our subletters.  I do hope they got along swimmingly.  Dad only called NPH the name of my ex-boyfriend a handful of times, and my mother got enlightened by Neil’s freak knowledge of the differences between Britain’s political parties.  So basically… I had to do minimal work and that. was. awesome.  Even awesome-er was LUNCH at WHICH WICH and I got my black bean patty with avacado, BBQ, sauerkraut, and some other stuff– it did not disappoint.  I was sta-HARV-ing because I hadn’t eaten for like… 14 hours.  WHAT?!  I know.  Unfathomable.

I am now sitting at 713, my new home, my future home (Dad, you HAVE to be on board with this now– NO STAIRS!!)  waiting for the going away festivities to start.  Oh and, NPH and I bought apple brats for dinner.  As if you didn’t see that coming.  AND a new flavor of BBQ sauce (since my Christmas gift of assorted sauces hasn’t arrived yet.)

OH, so last night, me and my main bitch Lauren (saying good-bye to her tonight SAD FACE) went to the always classy Piano Lounge for cheap martinis and to flirt shamelessly with the musician, who played guitar instead of the usual piano.  And he WINKED AT ME while playing SWEET CHILD O MINE.  Is there anything more?  Nope.  Stick a fork in me, I’m done.  Might kill myself because life doesn’t get much better than that (note: that was a JOKE. If you are a mandatory reporter, I assure you, I am not a self-harm risk.)  He was probably super turned on by the fact I was charging my phone in a random outlet I found in the center of the bar.  It wasn’t that crowded, don’t worry.

Alrighty tighty, Kiddos– I’m out like Adam Lambert.  I’ll make sure and heed the wisdom my father imparted to me before leaving today… “It’s your last night.  Don’t do anything silly, anything memorable.”  Oh don’t worry, I definitely won’t be remembering it

It’s PACKING DAY!!  Almost as fun as moving day.  Almost.  The real question on everyone’s minds is WHERE TO EAT LUNCH tomorow with the parents and NPH (that’s right people, they’re meeting.  Get excited.  My mother will fawn over his rugged Brawny paper towel man looks and my father will get deeply engrossed in conversation with him about manly things like how best to manuever my 600 pound television down four flights of stairs.  OR… he and I show up hungover and they say Oh hey, so you’re the one she’s always blogging about, thanks for helping.  My money’s on scenario two.)  I’m thinking Which Wich since I can’t leave the great US of A without one last black bean patty on wheat with avocado and barbecue sauce YUM YUM YUM excited.  Or the Hamburg Inn.  Or the Pit for some BBQ.  Dammit.  “You wanna see Brittney’s head totally spin?  Ask her where she wants to eat.  She can’t do it.” — my father.  It is true.  Indecisiveness is one of my few character flaws.

You know what SUCKS?  My milk-to-cereal ratio for lunch was way off.  I don’t oft’ buy cereal, especially not Rice Krispies (can I get a woo-hoo for Reese’s Puffs and Grape Nuts?!  Not together of course) but they were left over from baking.  And I’m a sucker for how much noise they make when you put the milk on ‘em.  Hehehe more foods should make sounds.  While I’m on this random food tangent, let me say that I have no problem with lukewarm foods.  Or cold food.  I don’t often eat hot food.  One of the ladies at work was SO. DISGUSTED. that for lunch one day I whipped a can of soup out of my bag, pulled off the top and dug right in.  Cold.  I also eat with my hands whenever possible (but not soup DUH.)  Both Natalie & NPH have commented in the last week on my um, interesting style of eating.  Namely pulling eveything apart and picking at things and re-forming them and generally treating mealtime like a toddler.  And I WONDER why I don’t go on more dates…

In the name of making this post longer while relieving myself to FINALLY PACK… (maybe)… I will now post the blog NPH penned one evening entitled “Why I’m a Weak Drinker” (apparently I don’t wish to ever have legitimate employment).  Note that his FULL NAME is in it– all his doing– so you can all go Google and Internet stalk him and show up at his house and peer in his windows and I will laugh heartily.

“Hey My name is Brittney, I’m a pretty good drinker. Let me just say however that I bow to Neil Ledford in terms of drinking. He is a far better drinker than me. I wish, every night I wish I had his ability. Sadly however, it is impossible for me to gain his ability. I can only hope!”

Thanks, buddy.  I would just like to point out the size difference between the two of us so I would HOPE the kid could put much more away than I.  We should probably work on getting real hobbies at some point…

Bomb: -noun

1. Military. a projectile, formerly usually spherical, filled with a bursting charge and exploded by means of a fuze, by impact, or otherwise, now generally designed to be dropped from an aircraft.

…a few alternate definitions, then

6.  Slang.

or, one might use it as a verb in this example: “Brittney completely bombed her final.”

Yep.  Ouch.  Painful.  And I studied.  I really actually opened the textbook (kind of a big deal for me) read and re-read the notes, made a bunch of flashcards, memorized em… but the 7:30 am time got the best of me.  I know I know more than I knew, but it just wasn’t coming to me.  Four pages of matching– complete clusterfuck; multiple choice about the FCC and cable and who owns what and does broadcast TV use coaxial cables under which Broadcasting Act from what Decade– I’m supposed to KNOW this?!; and then the essays.  Oh baby the essays.  If anything, I might have actually done my best on those, or at least in comparison to the rest of that horrid pile of filth and dribble I turned it after 1.5 hours of pure, horrible mental torture.

ANYWAY.  So then I went home and slept.  And slept some more.  And woke up going BOW HOWDY now if I only had some boxes and some motivation to pack the rest of my apartment, I’d just be super prepared for moving out on Friday!  But nope.  I am currently doing the only thing (well, besides blogging– per threats suggestion from Natalie– and excessive drinking, that’ll come later) that I know to do in these times of severe pseudo-crises… baking.  HEY– I’m legitimately using up many of the ingredients I’ve amassed over a year of living here so really, it’s all working towards the goal of pullin’ up my roots and headin’ out.

Speaking of Natalie (Girrrrl, your name just got mentioned twice in a post) she and I met at the always fabulous Mesa Pizza yesterday because 1. It’s awesome and 2. She had a present to give me.  I KNOW.  How great is she.  Anyway, she FORGOT the present at home, so we noshed on our faboooooosh slices and flirted a bit with the behind-the-counter guys and then she brought me my gift later which I can’t really tell you what it is but it’s a-MAZ-ing.  I will wear it often.  It is a shirt.  That I wanted.  That she got for free through her super secret hook-ups.  She really swims her way into people’s hearts <insert uproarious guffawing here for inside jokes.>

Also, I figured out what NPH’s gift to me is the other day.  Because I am a snoopy bitch.  And because he made the mistake of telling me where one of them came from, and when the source is a town of about 800 people in Iowa, it’s not that hard to Google and figure out the only thing they manufacture there.  (Hint: it’s Wall Lake, Iowa if you’re that interested.)  There are two other similar things, but they are shipping from farther SOUTH– so you know they’re gonna be good.

It’s probably dinnertime where you are, but thanks to my extreme inability to deal with even remotely unnerving situations well, all I’ve been able to pick at today is Rice Krispies.  If you think this is causing me to become fabulously thin, well then you are WRONG, Mister.  Roomie made scrambled eggs and methinks I’ll make some myself, there seems to be a rumbly in my tumbly (Winnie the Pooh reference– GOD I’M MATURE.)

It’s my mama’s birthday, e’erybody– let’s give up a big HAPPY BIRTHDAY, T-BONE!!!

Yesterday NPH and I traveled to the GIANT METROPOLIS of Hills, Iowa and rented me a storage facility to move all my stuff into on Friday.  He knows my personalized gate code to get into the facility, has a key to it and is one of the alternate phone numbers should something go wrong with my stuff while I’m away.  Yup– we’re pretty much married.

Do you know what song and video are ABSOLUTELY ridiculous?!  “Video Phone” by Beyonce and my favorrrrrrite Lady Gaga.  It’s a song.  About a video phone.  No, Brittney.  But surprisingly… yes.  Gaga’s lookin a bit more tranny in this one, and now I can’t even watch the video with a straight face after seeing the following parody of it:

In other GREAT NEWS: Melanie (my German language buddy– come on people, keep up) 1. Added me on Facebook, and 2. Told me they eat LOTS OF BREAD there.  I had inquired about the food situation.  Her first response: bread.  “Hundreds of types.”  Plus lots of other carbs.  So while I might require two plane seats on the return flight, these next four months are looking to be pretty boss.

In about an hour here I have a Mesa pizza date with the always lovely Natalie (she just squealed with delight, my number one fan.)  Then I’ll be wandering aimlessly about town studying all afternoon until I meet my former boss for coffee later this evening.  Then I probably might actually read some notes or crack the textbook (HA– okay, that was a giant lie) and study til whenever I want since the final’s at 7:30 am.  And then DONE, BITCHES.  Go figure, NPH’s only final is also at 7:30 tomorrow morning, so you can imagine the kinds of shenanigans we’ll be getting into afterward.  And perhaps I should focus on packing the rest of my apartment at some point.  You know, just a thought.

Oh, and… drumroll please… in honor of my mother’s birth AND the fact that I have to go into public soon… today I’m going to shower!!

Good MORRRRRNING!!!!!!!

Roomie’s working all day so I figured I’d turn on a little TV while I PACK and CLEAN (I’ll really try to spare you how I’m not dealing well at all with the freak amounts of anxiety I’m suddenly wrecked with about moving/subleasing/Germany/etc.)  The View is on, and unfortunately I caught it during “Hot Topics” when they were discussing that Obama gave himself a B+ job so far.  I had to switch to a different channel for a while because do you know who MAKESMESOFUCKINGPISSED?  Elizabeth Hasselbeck.  I think she’s adorable, I watched her on Survivor, as a person I have zero problem with her.  But when she opens her whiny, ultra-conservative mouth and starts going off about how our president is “delusional” and at best deserves a D because he just sucks so goddamn bad to her, my hereditarily low blood pressure gets going and I get quite irate.  So that wasn’t a fabulous way to start my morning.  I liked Charlie Gibson’s answer later that he should have given himself an Incomplete.

Let’s talk about PRESENTS.  We’re 11 days out from the  big day (pass me a brown paper bag, please) and I have a gift for one (1, uno, eine) family member (CONGRATULATIONS, Mom– it’s you.  As if it were hard to figure out.)  My father is the world’s hardest person to buy for so he’ll be lucky if he gets a package of Twizzlers under the tree (hint…hint…ideas, Sir.)  I also have NPH’s gift, only because I got it months ago as an inside joke gift, then realized I’d just hold onto it and pass it off in celebration of Christ’s birth.  And GUESS WHAT– he ordered mine yesterday… then deleted his computer history, the bastard.  I am so so SO the snoopiest person when it comes to surprises.  When I was at home, I’d find my presents hidden in the guest room or a closet.  I wouldn’t advise putting my gifts in a bag with just some tissue paper over it because it’s guaranteed I’ll peek.  I realize this is an asshole thing to do, but I can’t help it, I’m very much about instant gratification.  Surprises are something I can’t decide if I love or hate.  Thanks to my very generous parents, surprises are a normal part of my life, be it a book or box of brownie mix in the mail randomly or “Hey, what are you doing this weekend, let’s go to Vegas for your birthday.”  Methinks I love giving surprises much more than receiving…. <–not sexual.  It’s the holidays, people.

What the aitch is up with pretty major celebrities doing dumb dumb dumb endorsements?  Examples: Christina Aguilera doing DirecTV commercials, Luke Wilson hawking AT&T, Ciara doing some dumb cell phone commercial, and Megan Mullally singing a God awful parody of Gloria Estefan’s “Turn the Beat Around” for a new kind of I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter.  I doubt any of them need the money that bad (okay… so Megan hasn’t really been doing much since Will & Grace.  Le sigh.  Loved that show.)

Anyway… I haven’t started studying for my one and only final yet.  Probably won’t until tomorrow.  Just couldn’t give a shit less at this point.

We are going to eat lunch in the dorm cafeteria today and it.will.be.awesome. 

On the National Geographic Channel today, a show about heroin is currently playing, next is Taboo: Drugs, followed by a program on LSD, then “Marijuana Nation,” and finally a show about Discovering Jesus later this evening.  I chuckled on this inside at this line-up.  (OHMYnastiness– they are currently talking about these drug mules in Nigeria who swallow 90 condoms full of heroin for a run.  It takes a lot to turn my stomach, but that is extremely unsettling.)

TONIGHT, ladies and gents, TAYLOR LAUTNER, the sweet sexy fine underaged kid from Twilight is hosting SNL.  Be still, my heart.  I don’t know that I’ve actually ever heard him speak, or that I want to, so perhaps I’ll just watch it on mute.  If the SNL writers know what’s up, they will find a way for him to be shirtless in every sketch.

I’ve realized I’m treating my departure to Germany as I will never be coming back.  The mental list of things I want to do in Iowa City before I leave is quite lengthy.  Last night I remembered that Mesa pizza exists so will definitely be hitting that up.  NPH and I have apple brats on the menu at some point, probably followed by kumbaya-ing while holding hands on the couch, sobbing to The Departed and drinking BBQ sauce straight out the bottle.  Not that that’s ever happened.  But really wouldn’t be that weird to anyone around us if it did.

Oooh, congrats former heroin addict girl.  She’s been clean for almost eight years.  Apparently now she’s taken to riding subways alone in Detroit, staring out the window and contemplating how much better her new sober life is while melancholic piano music plucks along in the background.  Or perhaps that’s just how NatGeo TV sets up these ridiculous re-enactments.

I have officially run out of clean pants.  Since I am currently umemployed and have no academic obligations save for a final at 7:30 am on Wednesday, this isn’t really a problem.  I would like to throw up some mad props to Lada Gaga for making optional pants-wearing so much more socially acceptable.

Mom’s package came in the mail today.  If you have a hankering for triple chocolate Ghiradelli brownies anytime in the next week, I’m your girl.

I turned my journalism scholarships application in today with three hours to spare!  Deadlines are the only thing that gets my work done.  At the beginning of every semester I have great intentions to do ALLMYWORK within the first two weeks, but that always gives way to doing a shoddy job moments before everything’s due.  I see no reason to change this– I’ve operated pretty well like this for twenty years.  The early bird gets the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese.  <– I don’t know who originally said this, but I completely ripping them off.

You know who thinks it’s hi-LAR-ious to change people’s Facebook statues or tweets or blog posts when they remain logged in on an abandoned computer?  NPH.  Last night was the first and hopefully only time I have fallen victim to this.  While it wasn’t exactly hard to figure out the perpetrator (his blog post was all about his vast superiority because he can drink more than me), I do appreciate him checking the BBC’s Web site for international news mid-shenanigan and later discovering it on my computer history.

Christmas is TWO weeks away!  Roomie has informed me that Hanukkah starts tonight.  Mazel tov?  I can get down with celebrating eight nights in a row.

So I have this idea, and I think you’re really going to like it.  A rent-a-baby service.  People like babies, but don’t want to have any of their own (I’m generally going to market this to the college-aged population.)  If a mom wants an afternoon away from her screaming kid, she drops it off at my rent-a-baby service and someone can come by and take it out on the town for about an hour.  She doesn’t have to pay for a babysitter, you don’t have to pay to hang out with a baby.  But only cool babies.  If you have a boring baby, you are not allowed to have people rent it. ”Oh wow, I’m really enjoying my walk through the ped mall today, but it’d be a lot better if I had a BABY with me.”   “Oh hey there’s Brittney– and she’s hanging out with a baby!  Ohhh, what tomfoolery she’s always getting in to.”  We’ll get into the whole diaper-changing/ background checks thing later, but I’m fairly certain you’re just as sold on this idea as me.

Well folks, I’m itching for an ADVENTURE.  Most people on campus are “staying in” this weekend and “studying” for “final exams.”  These phrases confuse me.  If I end up at 713 next to Neil on the couch, I will scream.  A change of scenery is always appreciated.  Perhaps I will go paint my nails now.  Or frost some cookies.  Yep– THIS IS MY LIFE.

I just  kneed myself in the eye.  Let’s not ask how this happened.

So today was my last day at the hospital.  Just a typical morning of waking up too goddamn early to ride a bus full of far better looking, higher achieving students than I… UNTIL I went into the child psych clinic to get the papers from our mailbox and BAM “This will be the last time I ever do this.”  <–Sadness.  Weirdness.  Not sure how to feel-ness.  You see, I’ve held the same job for longer than I’ve been a student in college.  That’s a long time.  We’re talking winter breaks, summer breaks, snow days, in between classes for over two years.  While part of my perfect work world was shifted this summer when our department got merged with another and my lovely boss abandoned us, for the most part, it’s been a pretty smooth, fun ride.

I am (was?  SAD) ferociously good at my job.  If there’s one thing no one can fault me, it’s that I’m extremely loyal and extremely good at whatever work I do (we’re not talking schoolwork here, people– just go with it.)  I know that hospital like the back of my hand, am oddly protective of our psych patients, have clocked more hours there in the past two and half years of my life than I have in class.  My job was not a bed of roses– often it was mundane, boring, tedious, pain-in-the-ass busy work– but it was my job and I was damn good at it.

Enter my two co-workers, K & D, full-timers, moms just a few years younger than my own.  We weren’t super close when I first started, I was just another student who would scan charts for a couple months then find something better.  But then they realized I wasn’t going anywhere.  And together we weathered break-ups, divorces, their sick kids, my hangovers, perhaps their hangovers, deaths in the family, shared inside jokes to make the horrid time at the hospital just a little more bearable.  They were the surrogate moms who would Tsk Tsk when I came in with bar stamps on my hand on weekdays but then give me Tylenol, ask “Where are your gloves?!” when I showed up half-frozen, and made THE BEST peanut butter Cap’n Crunch cereal bars and cream cheese salsa dip for office parties or just because. Today, when I walked in and saw them, I was like “Holyfuck this is gonna suck.”

And it did.  Everyone brought in a bunch of food (the sugar coma definitely eased the pain of the good-bye) and I got some cards and I made K & D cards and my boss cried and gave me some presents.  But then 4:00 came (okay, 3:52– I always skip out a bit early to catch the bus) and I was like Well, catch you on the flip side and IDIDNTCRY but almost did.  On the inside, folks.  Brittney cried on the inside.

So technically, I am currently unemployed.  Way to be even more of a bum than I already am… AND, save for one final next week, my semester is O-V-E-R.  It went supercalifragilistically fast.  Let’s not talk about what comes after this one.  If it was this hard to say Peace Out to two ladies I see a couple hours a day, I don’t even wanna think about when I have to do it to NPH or my pops.  (Ooooh, Brittney’s being all serious– weird.  Usually this is supposed to be funny.  Now I’m just uncomfortable.)

In other news, Miley Cyrus got her Grammy nominations revoked today.  I am beyond pissed.  “Party in the USA” is an goddamn lyrical masterpiece and YOU KNOW IT.