NPH and I are getting fat. I suppose the ladies’ magazine term is “love chub,” though let’s just call it what it is here and deem it “beer and pizza.” The winter months were not kind to us, nor were we particularly kind to ourselves during that very long period of hibernation. We’ve reached the point where we’re no longer trying to impress each other (at age 21, wow– this bodes well for the rest of my life) and the most chivalrous thing he could now do for me is take Fergus out without being asked. (My ploy as of late has been speaking to Fergus loudly enough for Neil to hear, “Oh what’s that, Fergs? You have to go outside? Gee, I took you for that long walk today. Hopefully Neil can get his shoes on before you pee all over the carpet.”) Passive aggression is really my strong suit.

Luckily, we both recognize that we aren’t exactly the sylphs we once were and are completely cognizant of the lifestyle changes that would be necessary to reverse this plumping trend. However, as Neil pointed out last night, we have about five weeks left before the real world bitch slaps us good and proper across the face, thus we’re going to continue riding this wave of unhealthy living while we can. Perhaps you’re all familiar with one of Facebook’s more useless features where they recommend old photo albums of yours to peruse through when you should instead be doing a myriad of other actually productive things? Yesterday the ol’ Book wanted me to look at my prom pictures from junior year which were hilarious and frightening and sad all at once. Apparently back in the day my collarbone could poke your eye out (I’m not making this up– I would put up a photo but it’s a group of ten of us, and I assure you at least eight of those people don’t want themselves associated with this diatribe of self indulgence.) Somehow in five years, my collarbone has gotten lost in a sea of cheese fries and booze calories, leaving it debatable as to whether I have a skeletal structure or am merely being held up by pudding and mashed potatoes.

As per one of my New Year’s Resolutions, I’ve been getting more culinary as of late. Time spent in the kitchen is oddly fun to me, and it’s also a way I can sneak less saturated fats and more veggies into NPH’s life a la one of those sneaky moms in the Manwich commercials. I suppose the homemade beer-battered onion rings weren’t exactly a step in the right direction, but I made burgers out of ground turkey instead of dead cow, so they kind of balance each other out, no? An unforeseen consequence of this Emeril-esque adventure was that my hands will now forever smell like onions, and everying I own reeks of stale frying oil. The kids in class this morning definitely stared. After a meeting at work, I informed a co-worker that I was going home to shower, and she laughed like I was joking even though one look at my general appearance could have told her I was not. And my hands still smell like onions.

After a fever of 104, two hours at a walk-in clinic, and a chest x-ray at the hospital, Neil has been diagnosed with pneumonia. I am (perhaps foolishly) not too concerned about contracting a similar illness and have instead played the role of his and Fergus’ exclusive caretakers. When he gets better, I’ve already vowed to never take out the damn dog again. Don’t even get me started on the coughing– suffice it to say, my compassion has run out for this patient.
Well, my last semester of college starts tomorrow, and I am nothing but pumped. After a delicious reunion date with Natalie at the Vine yesterday, I am even more pumped about what comes after graduation because of my delirious optimism for all things job search related. Afterward, the roomies and I bunkered down on our respective couches with our respective Hy-Vee snacks (I just typed ’snakes’) and dissected every delicious minute of the Golden Globes. My fashion favorites included Claire Danes, Anne Hathaway, and Emma Stone, even though her skin looked straight up orange. You can Google them if you don’t know what they looked like, I’m far too lazy and concerned about copyright laws to slap up some pics for you. Ignoring Helen Bonham Carter’s desperate attempt at attention, I will say my worst dressed pick is Julianne Moore for that hideous one-sleeved Lanvin creation. And Natalie Portman for that FUCKING FLOWER on the front of her dress. WHAT THE FUCK. Yes, it deserves that many F-bombs. So hideous. Also, I’m tired of her. Your movie apparently wasn’t that great compared to The Social Network (still haven’t seen it), and by the way completely other tangent happening, why did Inception win nothing? I was so, so happy that Melissa Leo won for her role as the mother in The Fighter, and they could have just mailed Christian Bale is award months in advance because he had the Best Supporting Actor category in the bag three minutes into the movie.
I hate Glee, thus it winning Best TV Show or whatever it did was s-toooo-pid, but I was thrilled to see Chris Colfer and Jane Lynch win because well, they’re awesome. (By the way, did you notice how they panned to Lynch after Annette Bening won for playing a lesbian in The Kids Are Alright?) Speaking of, that movie was just alright– she was great, and don’t even get me started on the sexiness factor going through the roof with the casting of Mark Ruffalo, but alas, the movie was kinda flat.
And now I’m hungry, thus will leave to go make a sandwich with coleslaw on it. DON’T ASK– it’s my food phase of the moment. An odd one, yes, but also oddly delicious.

Recent discovery: While I like both peanut butter and celery, I do not enjoy them together.

The grade for my midterm has been posted, and while I won’t reveal it here, let’s just say I’ve at least left myself room for dire improvement.

This weekend, NPH and I ventured outside of our normal home football routine and traveled to North Liberty for a bit of a pre-game soiree hosted by my former supervisor. She’s also a close family friend, thus NPH had the privilege of meeting more of my blood relatives. Unfortunately there are no entertaining stories to report, though it was very reminiscent of My Big Fat Greek Wedding in that from the moment we entered, food was (quite willingly) forced down NPH’s throat, not to mention we were loaded down with leftovers before leaving. Those have had to wait in the fridge though because I got all domestic Friday night and made homemade chili. I wouldn’t even say I’m a fan of chili, but after the boyfriend requested and then badgered me about it for weeks, I turned out a bomb-skitty (yes, a real adjective) meal. Spicy, two kinds of meat, beans. Cornbread. Oh, am I gloating? It was that yummy.

Triscuits are my favorite cracker, followed closely by Wheat Thins and Ritz. My father is a large fan of Chicken in a Biskit. These have confused me to no end since childhood– WHAT is a biskit and WHY are they called that because they definitely don’t taste like chicken. They are damn delicious, however. I especially like the little scalloped edges.

In the final bit of news before I go back to working on a scholarship application, 713 has two new important additions. One is thankfully temporary– Taco, a very small kitten that’s currently under the watchful cat-sitting eye of one shorter, more intelligent member of the house. The other arrived after all four residents went on a spontaneous, shenanigans-filled run to Wal-Mart Saturday afternoon. The second amendment is being exercised (no really, as I type this, it’s laying across NPH’s lap) in the form of a BB gun… that looks like a .22 rifle. Because THAT has “great idea” written all over it. I don’t like the idea of firearms in any capacity, though watching the boyfriend find his inner 10-year-old and make shooting sounds while guarding us from imaginary house predators is one of the more adorable things I’ve seen.

“Well now I’m just embarrassed– you’re clearly blogging about this.” Puts down gun. He knows me too well.

Holy pseudoephedrine, Batman– it’s Kleenex pocket pack stockin’ up time! Methinks my allergies are in hyperdrive, or else I’ve just been sick in one side of my nose for the past couple days. I actually (full disclosure: this is kinda gross, but also mildly hilarious and embarrassing) woke up and was blowing my nose into my sheet in my sleep. No, seriously. Apparently my subconscious couldn’t remember there are tissues right next to my bed. Yes, a load of laundry is on my to-do list. I’ve had a ridiculously productive 24-ish hours since we last spoke including, here we go– applying for my first REAL job. I’m not quite sure how it happened, I was just stumbling around on this company’s employment page and got a bit overzealous with the Apply Now button, I guess. While this is quite a shot in the dark, the people I talked to at the job fair yesterday encouraged me to do so since they don’t limit their hiring to specific times of the year. Even though I don’t have class on Fridays (or Wednesdays, and soon to be Mondays) I have three standing meetings every Friday morning, all of which went swimmingly, or as swimmingly as they could go when you require college students to be up before noon on a Friday (seriously, how can Brother’s make money with Mug Night? Everything is a DOLLAR!) Tonight is date night for me and NPH– no, we are not a stuck-in-the-rut married couple, rather I saw a commercial for Outback Steakhouse during the game last week and apparently told Neil I’d be taking him there on Friday. Not one to back out on my word or a restaurant that serves loaves of bread fo’ free on the table, to Outback we shall go. We won’t go into how many times he’s mentioned ordering a Bloomin’ Onion over the course of this week, but it’s a weird amount. Of course last time I went to Outback, this happened, but that wasn’t their fault. Also, you best believe I’ve been speaking in an annoyingly bad Australian dialect for most of the day, as well as saying “Add some ‘roo to your ‘do!” from those damn Aussie hair product commercials for really no reason at all. When an Australian student from Iowa State stayed at my apartment two weekends ago, he was pretty abhorred at my attempt to match his way of speaking, and instead said I sounded British with a small mix of North Texas. Don’t even get me started on the whole Oprah taking everyone she knows to Australia thing that she did for her final season premiere. My favorite was when John Travolta stepped out of the plane and Roomie Rachael proclaimed that under no circumstance would she get into a plane flown by Danny Zuko. OOOH OOOOH six degrees of separation time: John Travolta starred in Grease with Olivia Newton-John who is from Australia! We are now most definitely ordering a Bloomin’ Onion.

If Diet Pepsi and brownies for breakfast is wrong, I don’t want to be right… especially these homemade brownies with walnuts that NPH’s mom sent for his birthday on Monday.  His blessed 21st will be properly celebrated on Friday evening following the culmination of finals week.  The Facebook event calls for classy dress, and most of the house is headed to Goodwill this week to find the perfect fancy attire– English gentlemen’s outfits, suits, fedoras, two-tone shoes, etc.  I am way too excited to be on official birthday cake duty.

So far, being back in America has been… uneventful.  This past weekend was a blur of jet lag, unpacking, and odd amounts of cake (Mother’s Day and Kayla’s graduation party <– because my best friend is officially a college graduate weird.)  One of my 713ers commented that Germany had been kind to my girlish figure, but I can assure him that one week in Iowa City can pretty much undo whatever four months of heavy beer drinking and daily pastry eating magically didn’t.  My less than 72 hours in this wonderful land of the Hawkeyes could so far be summed up as The Care and Feeding of NPH (who, for those of you who live under a rock/ DIDN’T subscribe to my study abroad blog, somehow became Boyfriend instead of just Bestie during my time away.)  Not that the kid isn’t fully functioning on his own, but he has four finals this week and works two jobs, not to mention what do I really have else to do but make sure he’s getting three square meals a day?  Playing House is actually insanely boring, and I can only make so many pepperoni and cheese omelettes before I want to take the pan and beat him over the head with it.   Luckily I have a Mesa date with Natalie for lunch today (if the weather wanted to stop being so PMS-y by then, that’d be much appreciated) and other girl friends to keep me sane when I just can’t take anymore gratuitous junk-grabbing/ unnecessary outbursts in the throes of video game playing passion/ Sun Chip inhaling.

Speaking of, Sun Chips were on sale.  What is your favorite flavor?  Choose wisely.  There is a divide in the house (Original is not even a contender in this race– it’s between Cheddar and Peppercorn Ranch.  Does anyone even buy French Onion?  I suppose you can vote for Garden Salsa if those are your true feelings, but I’d appreciate your help in deciding the Cheddar/ Peppercorn Ranch final round.)

My 21st birthday is three weeks from yesterday.

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…

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!!

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.