I’ve alluded to this sad, sad addiction previously, but I feel now is the time to do some full disclosure on the blog: I watch Jersey Shore. I love it. I look forward to Thursdays (and not just because it’s the start of my weekend.) This was never supposed to happen. During the first season, I only had peripheral knowledge of this cast of ridiculous guidos and had never seen an episode. Then, right before the second season premiere, there was a Jersey Shore marathon on MTV and a hangover with no cure except mind-numbing pseudo-realistic TV. I blame NPH– he seemed to have an encyclopedic knowledge of Snooki and Pauly D’s shenanigans, was able to catch me up to speed on all the Sammi/Ronnie drama. Suddenly I was doing the Pauly D Point whenever that damn new Enrique Iglesias song came on (for those of you who don’t know, the video for said extremely catchy ditty is just the cast of the show dancing at an Enrique concert. Pauly D’s only dance move seems to be pointing at the crowd in tandem with the beat, my hypothesis being the more girls he points at, the more likely they will be to “smoosh” with him after the show.) I have conversations about these people with friends, and predict that Snooki Snickers will be this year’s Lady Gaga or Kate Gosselin of Halloween costumes. Do I have my favorites on the show? You bet I do. J-Woww serves no purpose for me, and I’ve come this close to shutting off an episode of Sammi’s ridiculous childlike attitude when it comes to the ol’ Ron-Ron. Snooki’s where it’s at, and not just because she and I are kindred spirits when it comes to all things pickles. The Situation used to annoy the shit outta me, but basically I would choose any guy in the house to hang out with over Ronnie. (Is she still blogging about the Jersey Shore? Well you’re still reading it.) If I could recommend the Rolling Stone issue with Leo DiCaprio on the cover, there’s an article about the show that’s well-written, funny, and gives surprising facts about the cast members pre-MTV fame. My roommate Lauren actually just expressed outloud, “I love these people so much.” (Yes, we’re watching reruns before the new episode tonight.) And I do, too. I don’t know why. I feel like an idiot, but the show (as Marc Jacobs, yes THAT Marc Jacobs said in a recent issue of InStyle) is a good brain vacation. One day they’ll all end up on Where Are They Now or surrounded by their bevies of Italian grandchildren (“THEY’RE NOT ITALIAN.” Yes, citizens of New Jersey, I’ve heard you. Humor us, please.) But until then, long live the Jersey Shore. God bless this Guido Juiceheads, protect them from the diseases that must be floating around in the Smoosh Room, and please, please give Sammi a backbone because this fake Ronnie drama has GOT to stop.

There are many times per day I question my mental health, though perhaps never as often as I have in the 48 hours I’ve been back on campus. As an International Studies (and Journalism!) major, various foreign countries are mentioned during the course of my classes multiple times a day. Apparently I never realized before how much Germany is slipped into even the most casual of lessons, though you can bet post-foreign study I now pick up on every even hint of a whisper of any mention of anything I ever even kind of encountered in my four months there. I need to go back to Germany. And this isn’t just “The beer is better there! Maybe I’ll backpack across Europe post-graduation.” In the spirit of full disclosure to my loyal legion of 5-13 readers: I was fighting tears in my European Integration class today. That’s right, people– my professor’s mention of the Defenestration of Prague in which he explained that “defenestration” means to throw someone out the window got me all misty-eyed because DID YOU KNOW that “fenster” means “window” auf Deutsch?! I need to go back. I need to learn more of the language, I need to show the people I love back home how amazing a country it is. It’s like my culture shock upon American reentry has laid dormant for a few months and is rearing it’s ugly and apparently overly emotional head now that I’m surrounded by people who still think “Nazi/Hitler/war/bad” when they see the red, black & yellow. It’s not that I miss the people in my program; save for a few close friends, I’ve hidden/ defriended most of them on Facebook. It’s rather some, I don’t know– primal need? Like four months wasn’t long enough, or I should be looking for some incredibly lucrative job that could support me living there six months out of the year. Perhaps you think I’m being overly dramatic, but I long ago stopped giving a shit what people think about me when I start to have feelings. So as to not leave you on a completely Debbie Downer note, I have no class tomorrow and generally like all my courses this semester. Yea for rays of sunshine!

Apparently I’ve forgotten what it is to be a student. I may have texted multiple people today that I was dropping out (it has yet to be seen if that was a joke.) I had a job interview this afternoon so wore a dress all day, leading passersby to believe I was dress-wearing excited for the first day of class which couldn’t have been farther from the truth. The amount of reading I have to do before my European Integration class tomorrow is insane and should be illegal, this is syllabus week people! On a brighter note, my roommates are awesome, and I’m not just saying that because they assigned each of us nicknames and I am now only referred to as “Bitch Duck.” Dearest friend and future Boston roommate (yes, we decided this last night– if you know of PR places in Boston looking for two shockingly good-looking employees in about nine months, keep us in mind) Natalie has been reintroduced to my life. And yes, I only added that because she asked for a blog shout-out. Not only have I made homemade sweet potato fries tonight, I actually said the sentence “I wish Jersey Shore was on every day” out loud and don’t really feel that bad about it. The DI had an article today on how freshmen have taken to literally roaming the town in search of house parties now that they’re banned from the bars. My business acumen tells me there’s a mighty big money-making market for those of us of legal keg-buying age, we’re all pretty excited about it.

Yep, I said it. I feel old. Today is the last day of my last summer vacation ever, and I’m not sure it even counts because I have a meeting later for which I’ll have to at least shower and leave the house. Iowa City is once again overrun with just bodies: bodies in the streets, bodies in droves pouring out of the liquor stores, tomorrow bodies getting lost, meeting for Mesa, cramming the Cambuses. I refuse to believe I’m one of these bodies, that I’m some how removed from the masses and am better than their mundane summer stories and 21-ordinance griping. I have a very “been there, done that” attitude, and I’m secretly kinda let down that I’m old enough to buy my own beer. We’re now entering the Get a job, get a job, get a job phase– no, thanks. If I’m told one more time that the job market has us all fucked from the get-go, I will scream and secure my sleeping bag space under the Benton Street bridge. I hadn’t given class starting tomorrow even a minutia of a thought until I had an inbox full of emails from professors with attached syllabuses. There’s so much reading. One of my professor is taking attendance. I have to give a speech on my first day of class tomorrow. Apparently I’m quite enjoying the bold HTML function today. Quite frankly, I feel completely overwhelmed. Three months of carefree summer loving has been beaten to a bloody pulp by course packs, a schedule already full of appointments, and general chest-gripping panic attack-inducing anxiety. So basically I’ve gone from feeling old (yes, I wrote the first part of this post this morning, pre-wheretheeffdidsummergo breakdown) to feeling incapable and infantile and stressed. I promise that was my last bolded word for today.

Well, here it is– the night before the last official day of my internship (I’ll be returning next weekend to help with a giant fundraising event, but school starts this Monday!) At 5 p.m. tomorrow, my car– which is currently packed full of Costco grocies, thanks Mom & Dad!– will be speeding down I-80 for my longest stay in Iowa City since December. Some days I thought this day would never come, at other times it seemed to be looming far too quickly in the future. My father asked at dinner tonight (thanks for that, too) how my summer was overall. When people ask me how I am, I usually reply “Fabulous” and they can decide whether I mean it sarcastically that day or not. But “fabulous” is about the only word I can think of to honestly describe the past three months. (Ok, “fantastic” “awesome” “super great” would all work, too.) This summer included turning 21, a trip to the hospital, one incredible trip to Vegas, some bonding with the boyfriend’s hometown, many miles logged on the half marathon training calendar, and of course– one kick ass Lady Gaga show. Sure, there were lots of times I was lonely for my friends in Iowa City, missed Germany, thought my family would drive me absolutely bat-shit crazy, and was a little bored or slightly less enthusiastic about my internship. Those times were quite few, however, and since my internship was the sole reason I was here for the summer in the first place– holy life-changing experiences, Batman. No seriously, it was that awesome. I really, REALLY love my job and I’d like to think I’m really good at it. I learned so much more and have so much more experience in journalism/ PR/ events/ design than I thought I would, and definitely more than my three years of college classes combined. The summer is not over, however– 713 will be bidding it a proper farewell this weekend, and there’s no where I’d rather be. In the meantime, I’ll leave with you some photos of one truly kick-ass summer.

Waking up in Vegas

Low potassium makes for a pokey arm

Not sure I ever told you about my new wheels...

Perez Hilton at One Night in Chicago

While working the last Saturday of my internship yesterday (cue the “Hallelujah” chorus– Saturdays are full of little kid events and coordinating rooms full of parents and giving tours of our facility trying to answer off-the-wall questions… it’s exhausting) my former neighbor called to see if I had gone back to college yet. Luckily for her, her husband, and the fun evening on the town they had planned, I don’t until next Thursday, thus was available to baby-sit their two sons on very short notice. Now, I would not have done this for just anyone, not to mention I thought my baby-sitting days were mostly behind me. These two boys however were literally born and raised right next door for 8 and 11 years, so to say I have a soft spot for these two rambunctious blondes is a bit of an understatement. I’m able to tell them stories “I remember before your brother was born…” “That one time we couldn’t tell if it was Oreos in your teeth or dirt…” that mostly just make me feel old, but also nostalgic for the days when they hadn’t figured out their brother served nicely as a human punching bag. I hadn’t seen them in about a year, and now they’ve moved out from next door and are currently living in the next town over. I was pleasantly surprised to find that they’re at extremely easy ages in which they’re more or less doing their own thing, can do most things for themselves, and best of all– know that 9:30 is bedtime and don’t put up a fight when the clock’s hands land on it. They picked Subway for dinner, and the oldest one opted to stay home for ten minutes while the little one came with me to supervise my sandwich ordering skills (and “Doriiiiiiitos!!!!”) I asked if he was too short to sit up front in my car and he said yes, thanks for the honesty little guy, so we pulled out of the driveway with me essentially Driving Miss Daisy. Now while he was in no way phased by this, I thought the whole situation was rather amusing: me, the 21-year-old college student who has no desire in the world to pass on her genes to another life, suddenly concerned about what’s on the radio because there’s an adorable eight-year-old in the back asking her why there’s kitchen supplies in the backseat (“I moved into a new apartment last week. Don’t worry, I’ll get to them.” I taught him the word “chauffeur”, and he was quite helpful in carrying the bag of sandwiches to the car. My favorite part was when we got stuck behind a van going about 10 mph through an intersection and I vocalized some of my frustration (no, this does not end in me cursing out other drivers and scarring my little passenger for life.) From the backseat I hear, “My dad yells at other cars when they don’t do good, too.” Melt. Afterward, the three of us went for ice cream, and I learned that little kids are perhaps the slowest ice cream eaters in the history of the world. I had to keep vigilance with a napkin to wipe up the multiple drips and spills, and the older one proclaimed he didn’t like the taste of the chocolate chips in his chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream, so would eat away the ice cream and dough then spit out the chocolate chips. More power to you, buddy. On the ride home I found out they’ve been to a Taylor Swift concert, know some Lady Gaga songs, and have already been playing tackle football for three years (when I went to school, tackling wasn’t introduced until 7th grade.) So basically, now I feel beyond ancient, and realize that unfortunately my little guys are getting all grown up. When they were asleep and the parents came home, the mom thanked me again for being able to come at a moment’s notice, though I really should have thanked her for one of the more relaxing and entertaining nights I’ve had in a while. Who knows when they next time I see them will be– perhaps one of them will be tall enough to sit in the front seat by then.

Lollapalooza was Gaga. And by that I mean, the whole reason I went to Lolla this year was for Her Majesty herself. I took a much more relaxed approach to the festival than last year, not to mention I had many more friends to hang out with at places other than the event itself. It’s guaranteed I’ll have issues anywhere porta-potties are the only means of relieving myself, but thankfully there were no major incidents or lack of toilet paper to report. I can’t really go into a full-on review of Gaga’s show because mostly my mind was just blown, but as everyone afterward said, it was a performance. Homegirl had some serious angst from performing at Lolla three years ago when she was a nobody and being told she’d remain so– there was a lot of shouting and “F You’s!” to the proverbial man. There were also a lot of parents who brought their kids (we’re talking 8-12 year olds) which was super inappropriate. Other than that, Green Day was good– everyone after Gaga just reminded me I wasn’t at Gaga (yes, it’s more than obsession.) Upon my return to Iowa City, I finished moving into my apartment and decorating my room. I was pleasantly surprised by how much stuff I brought back from Germany to brighten up the place, feel free to come over and check it out sometime. I only have ONE WEEK left at my internship, which honestly I’m pretty excited about, only because that means school starts afterward and I’m oddly psyched for routine life to start again. Oh– so I was introduced to Great Harvest Bakery this weekend. No, my life will never be the same; yes, I definitely ate more than one scone. WHYYYY don’t we ever get the cool places to come to Iowa??

Blogging from NPH’s kitchen– his mother made homemade blueberry muffins with streusel topping, add her to the list of things I love. Chicago is an absolute madhouse this weekend, not only because of Lollapalooza but because the weather is gorgeous AND Obama was in town the past couple of days. We didn’t see him, but every member of the Chicago police department seemed to be lining Michigan Avenue. As you may know, I am an avid reader of Perez Hilton’s blog– I don’t care if you judge me or hate him, he is one faboosh flaming former fatty. Anyway, he puts together “One Night In…” concerts when he’s in a city, and last night was a One Night in Chicago show to informally kick off Lolla. GUESS WHO WON TWO TICKETS?!?! Judging from the amount of capital letters in that last sentence, I hope you guessed ME! I invited the ol’ boyfriend to be my plus one, and we headed to the Hard Rock Hotel yesterday afternoon to get our wristbands. Doors were supposed to open at 8:00, we got in line behind about 20 or 30 people at 7:30 and were finally let in a little after 8:30. That hour of standing of people watching along the Magnificent Mile was both hilarious and slightly depressing in that I will never be that thin, have that big of a wardrobe budget, and be able to walk that far in that high of heels on a Thursday night while living my swank entry-level PR job in a major metropolitan area. Not that I really want to. We got inside, found a bar, ordered two drinks (specialty ones named like “Blogger Bomber” and other Perez-related stuff) then found out… wait for it… it was an open bar. That’s right ladies and gentlemen of my readership– FREE BOOZE. All night. UV Vodka was one of the sponsors– needless to say, we were pumped. Don’t think I went all balls to the wall, though (because one, there was no beer anywhere) but two, I needed to say alert and pumped for the Jump Smokers DJ Set, Nneka, J Brazil, Lissie, Kid Sister, and B.o.B. Now the only one in that line-up I’d even heard of was B.o.B. (damn that “Airplanes” is catchy) but I can honestly say they were all AMAZING. I won’t go into detail on each, but I was honestly impressed– Perez can pick some musicians. I ran into a fellow Hawkeye I was in PRSSA with who confirmed that Lady Gaga was indeed supposed to make an appearance (I KNEW it) but cancelled. Bummer. But not that big of a bummer because I’ll be seeing her tonight at Lolla, granted probably hundreds of yards away instead of literally ten feet. Oooh– we’re catching the train back into Chicago now. The train reminds me of Germany, sad; the buildings remind me I could never live in this giant of a place.

Because I just got back from running five miles and am apparently delirious with endorphins, here’s a list of things I LOVE:
1. Comments. Not that you people write many of ‘em, but when I do get ones, nice ones that say “I’m reading! You’re funny! (Blush) You write better than my seven-year-old nephew!” I get all warm and fuzzy inside.
2. My new apartment. I will be posting pictures with roommate permission soon (no, not so you can know where I live then break in and kill me in my sleep– you best know I read that issue of Cosmo.) We have so much SPACE! I look around my room wondering if I should buy more things (shame on you, capitalism.) I literally have so much room for activities! In my past four or five– I move a lot– places I’ve lived, there have been multiple flights of stairs, leaving my father and other strong-armed helpers extremely agitated at my inability to use any sort of common sense when choosing places to live. Not this time; FIRST FLOOR, baby! Also, my roommates are kinda the shit, and we’ve already named our dining room (!!!) Booze-a-palooza because of the unhealthy amount of shot glasses we’ve used for decoration. In the classiest way possible, of course.
3. Running. You knew this, but here’s an update– half marathon training is going (knock on wood) really well, and I’m constantly surprising myself and getting really proud of how far I can run. Cue the Rocky music or get Oprah on the phone because I am becoming that person.
4. NPH. Only because he’s taking me for sushi today since we still haven’t gone after our foiled attempt on Memorial Day. And because he helped me move in yesterday. But those are the only two reasons.
That’s gonna be all for now. My runner’s high is crashing and I’m now ready to chew off my arm– sustenance is greatly needed. Ohhh that reminds me of another thing I’ll add to the list:
5. Restaurants with food before the food. I’m talking bread baskets, chips and salsa, peanuts, etc. If I go to a restaurant, I’m hungry. The WORST wait in the world is the one between ordering and receiving your food. Ok, maybe not the worst, but dare I say it’s comparable to the wait on Christmas morning? My stomach is audibly growling here, Server, let’s get a MOVE on putting my order in.

I’m up weirdly early on a Sunday, filled with anticipation for picking up the keys to my NEW APARTMENT in a few hours. I haven’t actually seen the place– I trust Lauren and Rachael’s judgment (ooh new people to blog about)– and am itching to have my own kitchen, bed, whatever-as-long-as-it’s-not-713 in Iowa City again. Forget that I was just in Vegas less than two months ago when I tell you this, but I wanna go somewhere. Perhaps Colorado to visit D-Bag, or the Caribbean, or Vermont. That last one was only because I’ve never been there, but I imagine it’s nice. Class starts in three weeks, I am quite ambivalent about this, though the mighty job/ internship hunt is ON for the school year. A little part of me dies each time I see NO next to “Is this a paid internship?” on the UI’s Employment Expo (best. invention. ever.) but I’ve accepted that I will probably have to have a paying job not related to my major and then an unpaid internship on the side. And if this all could not take up any time on Saturdays during the months of September and October, that would be ideal; we’ve got some mighty tailgating plans this year. Oh, I ran almost eight miles yesterday. Pretty freakin’ ecstatic with myself. I’m hoping everyone else is town is too hungover to move in right away as I plan on doing– parents in IC, illegal parking, unloading heavy furniture, spider webs in my storage unit all give me unnecessary anxiety. I’m wearing a lovely pair of jorts for the move, be jealous.