Yesterday morning I opened a new box of cereal (off-brand Kashi Go Lean from Aldi, it has something called “fiber sticks” in it) and had some sort of cartoon moment. As I was contemplating grabbing a knife or scissors to hack open the unbelievably tough waxed paper, I decided to give pulling it apart one more go, and KA-BOOM– cereal exploded everywhere. In the toaster, under the coffee maker, probably into the T.G.I. Friday’s margarita glasses on top of the fridge, but I haven’t looked there yet. A good three bowls of cereal were now strewn into every tiny nook in the kitchen, and the cleaning process took minutes out of my precious breakfast time. At least the toaster’s now empty; I found a chunk of charred toast way down at the bottom when I was banging on it upside down to get all the fiber sticks out.

The girl next to me in the River Room just had the audacity to look over and judge my sanity while I was singing a song to Neil about getting finishing my article. Not many people know this, but I’ve become quite talented at making up nonsense songs and singing them to NPH, who always at least pretends to be entertained. We’ve become quite the musical duo– me making up lyrics about a little cat in a trash can, while he takes more of the Weird Al parody route. I’d like to think I’m the more musically gifted one however, as Neil just takes popular songs and replaces certain words to be about Fergus. My favorite will always be Elton John’s “Fergus Day Nights Alright,” though I am enjoying “Who’s that Hound?” to the tune of Rihanna’s “Who’s that Chick?”

As you can see, I’ve completely given up on academia. Since I have zero, zilch, goose egg to do tomorrow, I suppose I’ll troll the Internet begging for post-graduation employment. Oh, I’ve run twice more since Monday’s doomsday workout, and while it’s gotten a bit easier, I’m still not going Olympic distances. Which frustrates me greatly because I was apparently born with a much larger “All or Nothing” part of my brain than the average person.

There is a medium amount of blood on the sidewalk outside our apartment. There’s not a trail of it off into the bushes, so I can’t muster up much concern, but there are also broken bottles strewn everywhere. If there’s one thing Mamie from “The Wild & Wonderful Whites of West Virginia” (it’s on Netflix Instant and an absolute must watch) taught me, it’s that you should always drink beer from a bottle because it can instantly become a weapon in case of crisis or drunken brawl. Due to my passive nature and general happy state when under the influence, I’ve yet to put that little nugget of wisdom into practice.

I need to stop eating Jimmy John’s due to my current broke as a joke status, but that bitch Natalie (she’s currently on a cruise to Honduras, so the offensive adjective is completely justified) introduced me to the #5 and my life hasn’t really been the same since.

Even though it seems winter is just going to last until September, we pretended it was spring yesterday afternoon and had a good ol’ fashioned grill out. Some may also call it a garden party, but half of the attendees used cinderblocks as seats, so I’m not really sure it qualifies. We had mignon burgers because they’re on sale at Hy-Vee {insert here something about how I feel like a very boring housewife for even typing that} and now I’m not sure I’ll ever want regular ol’ ground beef ones again. Holy yum. T-Bone, put those on the menu for my graduation barbecue.

I’m going to spend the rest of the day finding ways to get back to Germany in the coming months. My wanderlust has been kicked into hyper-drive hearing all the super cool places my co-workers are going to this summer (Costa Rica! Greece!) And, after spending 50,000 hours road-tripping over spring break, a seven hour flight now seems like cake.

Insert here: observation about how it’s almost April yet still freezing.

Insert here: recap about weekend that involved lots of friends, little productivity, a puppy, and a random rugby game.

Insert here: something about lack of motivation/ not that much to do school-wise anymore/ still looking for a job.

Insert link here to my latest TNGG article about said job hunt/ impending graduating doom. (No really, you should actually click that. Not just because of the money I may or may not receive if we all collectively click it six million times.)

Insert here: my slight sadness, or perhaps just general eerie feelings, over the news that one of my former co-workers from a job before I went to Germany passed away a week or so ago. He was 23. We weren’t super good buds or anything, but I liked working with him a lot because he let me get away with anything and he had no problem making fun of my love for all things Guns n Roses. I gave him rides sometimes so yeah, we were friends. That’s what falling out of touch will do to ya– you gotta find out through Facebook.

Having survived the 27 hour drive to Vegas, I’ve now had the chance to enjoy my Spring Break destination for three nights (because in Sin City no one’s awake during the day anyway, right?) and learn a few things about myself along the way.

-I am a morning person. Ok, so this realization has been brewing for several weeks & the two hour time difference probably helps, but I have been up with the sun every day since leaving home. This also means staying up until even midnight is a challenge, much to the chagrin of my travel companions.

-I’m not a sit by the pool and relax type of vacationer. I prefer to be doing something, even when I am sitting poolside. I may have brought my laptop outside with me to search for wireless to send something to my editor. Yes, I felt like a tool and was being far too self important, but even on Spring Break there’s deadlines and jobs to search for (anxiety much? Perhaps.)

-You can get pickles on In-n-Out burgers, upping the already insane delicious factor. Also, their fries really aren’t that great and should be skipped so as to not detract from the cheeseburger-y awesomeness.

-Vegas is different when you’re the one paying
for it. Shout out to my father, he’s always taken great care of all of us on vacation. Traveling as a group of college students facing the brink of unemployment is a whole different ballgame, however, making me more thankful for the nicer vacations I’ve had and weary about my financial future when paired with my wanderlust.

-Flats are better than heels when you gotta do anything besides sit around and look pretty. Or perhaps this post could be titled “Brittney Goes to Vegas and Realizes She’s Become an Old Person.” I promise my next bullet point will not be how I’ve discovered the joys of eating dinner before 5 pm.

That’s actually gonna be it due to fear of hand cancer from holding my Droid for so long. If this post is rife with spelling errors or errant punctuation, blame it on big thumbs typing on a tiny touchscreen.

I will need a few days to recover the pure straight hate and anger that’s currently coursing through my body while watching the Super Bowl halftime show. It’s bad enough that the Black Eyed Peas are just awful, but to have that meth face Fergie sing “Sweet Child o’ Mine” so horribly and ruin EVERYTHING I HOLD SACRED…. there will be a blood-letting.

…and apparently I never title my blog posts anymore. Silly Brittney (something I say in real life, a la “silly Bridget” when Bridget Jones discovers in the movie about her diary that Daniel Cleaver had not just in fact recently met the girl from New York he was cheating on her with. Wow, I need a life.)

(This is really solely for Roomie Rachael who asked to see a copy of the personal essay we had to write for class. It was limited by word count, boo, and was essentially a completely open-ended prompt of “tell me your story”, double boo. If you don’t like it, suck it.)

In January of my freshman year of college, Slash spoke to me. More specifically, he said, “Hi,” and I managed to choke out something that sounded similar, though much more breathless and high-pitched. Being a Guns ‘n Roses fan since perhaps birth, meeting my number one rock ‘n roll god was more than an adolescent fantasy come true. Even though his time as the lead guitarist for the hair band was long since history, when he came to play as a part of Velvet Revolver at the Val-Air Ballroom in Des Moines in 2008, I immediately bought tickets for my then boyfriend and me to be in the crowd. For Christmas, my father upgraded these and gave me two backstage meet and greet passes with the band. I won’t say that I cried when I found out, but there was definitely some tearing up.
In preparation of the show, I spent far too much time trying to come up with the perfect thing to say to Slash. I was also anxious—what if they cancelled? What if he was mean? How many other people would be there? Would we get to hang out and chill with the band? My questions were eventually answered when we arrived at the Val-Air and were placed in a special line apart from the already long queue of regular ticket holders gathered outside the venue. There were ten or fifteen of us, most were older, tattooed Guns fans. When the doors opened, I felt like I was either going to puke or burst into tears. A table sat at the end of the long, empty floor, and we were instructed to wait in a line about ten feet to the side of it. After a few moments, Velvet Revolver emerged, my eyes again tearing up when I saw Slash. He was sharing the same air space as me, his mannerisms on full display as he casually took his seat next to Duff.
Before their arrival, a handler had explained that each person would sign only one thing and we were allowed to stand behind the group for one photo. This perplexed me greatly as I in addition to the photograph everyone received to have signed, I’d brought my copy of Slash’s autobiography hoping he’d autograph it as well. When it was finally my turn, I made my way down the table beginning with Matt Sorum, GNR’s replacement for original drummer Steven Adler. It blew my mind how kind both he and bassist Duff McKagan were, shaking my hand, asking my name, then joking with me about how popular my name was for girls born in the late ‘80s. It was then my time to shine, to dazzle Slash with my wit and fanaticism, to tell him that I thought he was the sexiest, most bad ass guitarist, nay—human, in the history of the world. I stood before him and… completely froze. I just smiled at him like a complete idiot, my mind void of any words at all, just trying to memorize every piece of the moment.
“Hi,” he said to me.
“H-h-hiiiiiii!!!!” I managed to squeak out.
He took the 8×10 stock photo and signed next to his band mates, sliding it down to the last person at the table, rhythm guitarist Dave Kushner. I realized I was still gripping his book, wondering if I’d get thrown out for asking him to sign just one more thing.
“Um, could you maybe, um, sign your book?” I asked him.
“Oh yeah, sure!” He grabbed my copy, signed on the title page, then turned to Dave and told me that he’d mistakenly spelled ‘Kushner’ wrong throughout the entire thing. I laughed along and nodded or something similarly uncouth, then was instructed to stand behind the band my photo with them.
“Do you two want this together or separate?” the photographer asked Geoff and me. Obviously when you’re 19 years old and in love, “together” is the go-to answer for any question of this sort. That’s why today in my room hangs a framed photo of me, the sexiest man alive, and my douchebag ex-boyfriend. Don’t worry—I taped a nickel over his face so as to not distract me from Slash.

Yesterday was my 200th post, whaddya know.

I am far more sore today than I was yesterday, holy butt muscles it hurts to move. My poor NPH has the flu– fever, body aches, sleeping all day. Thankfully a slightly pushy doctor back in November talked me into getting the flu shot so hopefully I won’t get this, but you never know. I am playing the part of diligent girlfriend and catering to his tomato soup and grilled cheese requests; I will demand monetary reward later. This evening a friend from work and I are going to show around some of the newly arrived foreign exchange students, I’m pretty excited about that since they seem to be as well. The girl coordinating all of it is from The Netherlands and keeps asking about “the pubs” which I think is delightfully European of her and might just start referring to them as such myself. I’m currently watching the Sex and the City movie for really no other reason than background noise while doing some work online, oh well that and Roomie Lauren hates when I go into her room, thus I try to do it at least thrice daily. This just reminds me that I need far more impossibly chic outfits for my random daytime errands. And that Kim Cattrall is just the worst actress.

Welp, I’m sick. I’ve been denying this fact since I started losing my voice in Milwaukee, but I can’t fight it any longer. Well, I can, and currently am with an arsenal of Mucinex, nasal spray & orange juice, but I’ve succumbed to staying in today and working from home. I could really get used to answering emails while watching Say Yes to the Dress (HOW many episodes has she seen? Is she addicted? Does TLC have any other shows?!) and munching on the cupcakes I made yesterday.

Why yes, those are homemade mint chocolate cupcakes. Dare I say they’re better than what we had in Milwaukee? Baking is so calming, though I’ll have to put any other culinary adventures off until I’m done being a succubus of viral plague. NPH is being his wonderful self and has already delivered orange juice and his mother’s lasagna; poor Fergus doesn’t understand that I can’t breathe and still chooses laying on my face as his preferred position on the couch. I foresee getting bored in my near future, so either expect multiple blog updates or my germs being unleashed on the world when I venture out to grocery shop before the “snowstorm” (2-3 inches?) descends.

You’re welcome, Roomie Rachael, for the U2 title. Blech.

Instead of studying for my one final of the semester that’s scheduled for tomorrow afternoon, I’m watching E!’s “Married to Rock” ONLY BECAUSE Duff McKagan and his wife are on it. Because yes, the only thing anyone who wants my attention or ad dollars has to do it is slap anything related to Guns n Roses on it (original line-up through Steven Adler being replaced by Matt Sorum line-up, not creepy Bucket Head pretending to be Slash line-up because YOU ARE NOT GUNS N ROSES!!!) Overall, the prematurely plumped, nipped, and tucked beauties featured on this show make me very sad for myself and the state of my country, but on this particular episode, AJ somebody is stressing over proposing to her boyfriend, Billy somebody, who is completely unrecognizable to me. He has an English accent, perhaps you older-generation readers would know who he is. Her three cronies, but most especially the very vocal, very annoying wife of Perry Farrell, have decided that this is a terrible idea. Because God forbid a woman not just wait around for the man to decide their next move as a couple. Which is of course now making me think, would I ever propose to someone? When I was younger, I had this thing where whenever I found my first love, I would absolutely never, ever be the one to first say those three words. You know, those. And I didn’t. I would have sat on it forever, tight-lipped and brimmin’ with love, but far too scared to tell the other person for fear they’d freak and run for the hills. As you can imagine, this was just the healthiest of relationships. I’d like to think I’ve grown a bit as a person and realized that you only live once and that if you love somebody, well dammit you should say so. (As you may have noticed, I had no particular trajectory for this post, just a lot of finals procrastinating.) Funny I still have trouble saying it to my own family members, but tell Fergus that I love him at least 20 times a day. But he’s just so damn cute.

ANYWAY– from what I can tell, this AJ girl decides to not propose to British Billy, possibly because E! was behind the camera telling her to do it all in the first place since Billy has been very “I don’t wanna get married anytime soon” since the beginning. Please stay tuned for more riveting reality show updates. (And yes, I hope that was a joke, too, mostly because I kinda need a pretty good grade on this final.)