Today I learned an important lesson: do not buy the cheapest thing on Amazon. It will come with poorly translated directions and generally frustrate the hell out of your already exhausted self who only needs this music player to get her through her very early run tomorrow morning. Yes, I’m officially on a training plan for the half marathon and it feels AMAZING and I have renewed faith in both the heavens and my shoddy left knee. While I’ve been suffering through with just my thoughts (RIP iPod, you went above and beyond the many years I asked of you) now that I’m going 5+ miles, some heavy dance beats do wonders for my morale. In Iowa City this weekend I did my first “long” run with the help of NPH’s iPod (which he gave me, then TOOK BACK when his newer one broke. Goddamn Indian Giver. Is that a racist term? If it is, I apologize. That’s just literally the only term I know for someone who gives you something then takes it back. Other than Giant Butthead.) I move into my apartment THIS WEEKEND and am beyond excited to have my name on an apartment in IC again after eight months of separation and/or couch-surfing at 713. I’m also looking forward to resuming a somewhat normal blogging schedule since perhaps life around my peers will inspire me more than life working for the man (albeit a very fun, exciting “Man” who has been an amazing experience) does. Back to individually converting MP4 files to MP3 to go on this new piece of shit contraption even though I’m sure there’s ten other easier ways to do this AND I should be in bed if not staying up to watch the season two premiere of Jersey Shore. How I got into this show (just recently! Over the weekend!) is a tale for another post. Or maybe never because I’m very, very ashamed I know what “GTL” stands for.

The next season of Teen Mom on MTV starts on Tuesday. This has to be in my Top Five times I’ve ever been this excited for a television event. I’m not going to apologize for being MIA because silence is better than forced posts that are me recapping another booze-fueled weekend in Iowa City, my growing attachment to my boyfriend, owning up to the fact I’m barely running anymore, or the angst-y trials of feeling like an adult while living with the ‘rents. I could tell you about the glowing mid-season internship review I had at work, but that would just be gloating. I suppose a problem I’ve been having with blogging is that my insides are rebelling against this whole sharing-everything-with-the-Internet thing. I’m starting to become agitated with the blogs that fill my Google Reader– if I read another race recap or see another photo of a perfectly nutritionally-balanced breakfast I’m going to leave my laptop lying in an intersection. My Facebook usage has plummeted and absolutely no one on Earth has been negatively affected by this. I’ve many times contemplated deleting my Twitter account altogether, though I won Pancheros Twitter Trivia a few weeks ago and dammit those burritos are reason enough to stay activated. I actually– drumroll, please– went to the LIBRARY the other day and checked out a nonfiction book that I am LOVING. It’s called The Reason for God: Belief in an Age of Skepticism by Timothy Keller and it’s quite thought-provoking (a phrase I don’t like now that I’ve used it.) Lollapalooza’s in three weekends, and I seriously need to sit down and provide instructions for NPH in the very likely event that I undergo some sort of physical bodily reaction from being in the same airspace as the Lady herself– i.e. heart attack, stroke, seizure, or just peeing my pants in public. Once the excitement of that dies down (WHO scheduled her to play Friday night– aren’t you supposed to save the best for last??) I’ll be making weird amounts of toast at Neil’s parents house because I don’t know what kind of bread they buy but DAMN it’s good. And then after that, well, summer will almost be over and I don’t really wanna think about that yet.

When people use the word “rage” outside of it’s intended meaning, I think less of them. According to the always trustworthy Dictionary.com, rage means: angry fury, violent anger. An acceptable use of it in a sentence would be, “She was filled with such rage, Brittney ran down all the pedestrians with her car.” An idiom of this word could even be used in the phrase “all the rage,” though that’s usually only accepted if you’re an AARP member. Unfortunately, some people are now using this four-letter word to mean get really drunk and party.

“Ohmygod we should totally rage this weekend.”

“I’m gonna get my rage face on and party.”

“We totally raged.”

No, you did not. You probably acted a fool and drank too many Bacardi Raspberry Coolers and ended up at Pancheros long before bar close. I can’t point to one particular reason as to why turning this noun into a horrible verb irks me, but it does. Along with it, I’d like to add overuse of the word “epic.” I blame whoever started labeling circumstances as an Epic Fail.  Not everything in your life is epic, please stop referring to it as such. I’ve known a skater/native Californian or two who legitimately refer occasionally to something great as being epic. Hey, that’s fine– it’s much different than Miss Midwest in her Pink VS sweatpants describing her slice of Mesa as epic, and then her amount of homework as epic, or, God forbid, “We raged last night and it was so epic.” The gun to head motion goes here.

Nine days.  I’d sell my soul to be there now.

We’re flying out earlier than expected for our cruise tomorrow.  Miami will be nice.  I will have no connection with the world (Facebook, blogging, cell phone) for like, a lot of days.  And then only one full day in between flying back and flying out for Germany.  My room is beyond a wreck (not on purpose, contrary to apparent popular belief) with boxes, clothes, suitcases, lots more clothes, Christmas gifts.  It’ll be weird celebrating New Years on a ship with strangers and my family.  Hopefully there will at least be champagne.

I got new glasses today.  And my digital camera from Christmas finally came (thanks, Grandma!)  There’s nothing really great to put up pictures of yet, but you can bet there’s much bigger excitment to come.  That’s all for today, folks.  I will spare you my shit-tastic mood.

After 13 hours of sleep last night I woke up feeling horrid.  I don’t think that’s how it’s supposed to work, so I went to student death health where they loaded me with antibiotics for a sinus infection.  The rest of the day has been spent in bed, wondering if my head and throat could possibly feel any worse, and I have decided that no, they cannot.  NPH offered to bring me juice after class (thanks, buddy) but not only would that have thrust him far into boyfriend territory, I also have a freak love for going to HyVee and wanted to do it myself.  A carton of orange juice, some NyQuil (on sale!), a can of soup & some apple cider flavored tea later and I think I’m good to go.  To bed, that is, which I’ll be doing here in about ten minutes.  Yes, it is approximately 5 p.m.

Congrats to the Hawkeyes for making it to the Orange Bowl.  I know many people who plan on going to Miami for the game, and GUESS WHAT we’ll be down at about the same time because that’s where we fly in and out of for our cruise.

If you have a moment and want to read something far more interesting than my mindless blathering, check out this article in today’s DI.  It’s about binge drinking (BIGSURPRISE) but I liked his one much more than some of their previous.  Perhaps because if you check out the multimedia package on the right there’s pictures of people who’ve puked on themselves.  As far as remeding the situation, Greek life should definitely be wet (something ISU has over us) and students will just have to be cognizant of how much they’re drinking on their own.  Long editorials and city council meetings are obviously not changing anything, we’re all so friggin’ tired of hearing we drink too much.  Don’t they say about addicts, you can’t change them until they finally want to change?  The underage drinkers and binge drinkers of Iowa City obviously don’t want to change, and the ones who do, will.  No one’s done anything significant to impede our drinking, and if they did, we’d relegate ourselves indoors to house parties and more lame backyard kegs a la Ames to get the job done.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a date with some nasty cherry-flavored NyQuil in hopes of just sleeping this thing off.