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.

Good morning friends, family, Twitter creepers & those of you who only find this blog by searching “Avoid the Stork.” Recently I’ve gotten bangs (not really by choice, more by way of an overzealous stylist at Pro Cuts. Have you been? It costs about $12 to get your hair cut there. I am far too cheap to care enough about my hair to not get it cut for only twelve dollars), started being oddly productive on Fridays, gotten really into putting honey mustard dressing on my salads, adjusting to putting only one space after a period in sentences which is difficult and completely against everything I was ever taught for 13+ years of schooling, hitting the job search hard, and getting completely Becky Home Ec-y in the kitchen (was my mother the only one who ever used that phrase? It’s probably made up.) In addition to making homemade valentines this year, I’m also making some of the edible variety by way about one hundred sugar cookies– thanks for the cutters for Christmas, Grandma– with people’s names piped on the top. That is today’s project, I’ll be sure and report back on how it goes. I also plan on making these gems before the weekend is over, and in a perfect world I would also squeeze in a meal just devoted to these, but I’d like my pancreas to survive til Monday– Valentine’s Day, my favorite holiday. For those of you who live under a rock or need a refresher, I will be spending my V-Day evening in Moline, Illinois at perhaps the greatest show of my nearly 22 years. Making this event even more blessed is the meal I will be happily shoveling in my face beforehand. The Ozzy/Slash tickets were Neil’s Christmas gift to me, if you recall, thus my German beer hall visit is technically my Valentine’s Day present. Or so he says, but there also better be some flowers or trinkets bestowed to me throughout the day if he knows what’s good for him.

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.

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.)

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.

Who called classes being cancelled today?  THIS GUY.  You can hire me out as a psychic if you want.  Even though the rest of campus got to sleep in til their hearts content, I woke up before the sun and went to work.  Sigh the shameless things I do for money.  About halfway through the day though I said Eff This and blazed my way through the BLIZZARD to 713 because NPH and I have papers due as well as co-dependency issues.  Needless to say, not much headway has been done on my article due tomorrow.

The antibiotics have kicked in and BOY HOWDY do I feel 100% better.  After work yesterday I went holiday baking cr-AZ-y and whipped up some peanut butter balls, frosted sugar cookies, and chocolate covered pretzels to give to some of my favorite locals/ those I owed favors to (for those of you getting all pissed because you were given the shaft: cool your jets– T-Bone’s shipped over a box of brownie mix, sprinkles, etc. and you will be recipients of Holiday Baking Extravaganza Round II.)

Apparently there is a university-wide snowball fight happening at the Pentacrest right now.  Over 3,000 people have RSVPed on Facebook (even though they just sent an update that the snow is terrible for packing.)  Lo siento, but this kind of shit really does not trip my trigger.  First of all: IT’S COLD AS BALLS OUTSIDE.  Secondly, I don’t like my peers near enough to meet them en mass and talk about “Ohemgeebestsnowdayever!!!”  We had two our freshman year, I’m over it.  If anything, I really wish we had school today because the ONE PRESENTATION we were being graded on the ENTIRE SEMESTER in one of my classes was supposed to be today.  So… not really sure where we’re going from here.  I do know that exactly 24 hours from now, my semester is over save one final next Wednesday morning.

Melanie my language buddy responded to some of my questions I had about Luneburg.  To my GREAT PLEASURE she informed that it rains most nearly every day there.  Awesome.  At least I’ll save room in my suitcase not bringing any hair products/appliances.  She also thankfully told me that every student at Leuphana University speaks English– they’re not allowed admission if they don’t.  So while I plan on being quite fluent in German when I leave, at least there won’t be a complete language barrier when I arrive.

Pee Wee’s Big Adventure is on in half an hour– a greater gift from God than any snow day could ever be.

I just got my first phone call since changing my ringtone.  You can’t not answer the phone with a smile on your face when Stewie Griffin is singing “A bag of weed, a bag of weed, everything is better with a bag of weed!” to you. 

We’re off to decorate cookies at the Hope Lodge for PRSSA in about an hour.  I am not sure how this counts as philanthropy, but it will be the most fun time I’ve ever had volunteering. 

My sinuses suck.  I bought a netti pot today, stuck it in my nose, let the water drip out the other side.  It. was. awesome.  

 This is all I’m blogging today.  My apologies to those of you who just wasted two minutes of your life reading it.