Long before dawn, I woke up this morning to work a very early event for my internship.  I’d already been up for 12 hours when I got home at 3 p.m.– needless to say my head hurts a bit from being so tired.  This past weekend was the last time I’ll be able to go to Iowa City this month, which is probably best for my car, body, sanity, wallet, etc.  It seems whenever I go, I assault my body with an insanely shiteous eating, drinking, and sleeping schedule, leaving me in recovery mode until the next weekend when the cycle repeats itself.  Not exactly the best lifestyle for a working girl like myself, not to mention one who needs to step up her training for a half marathon (which is in four months.  No, I haven’t forgotten.  No, I’m not running as much as I should be.  When I do, yes I still love it.  I think about it every day before going to work/ after collapsing from exhaustion after work.  Move your ass, Brittney.)

March will be my final Spring Break– the big one, the one as a senior, the one where I’m finally 21 (which is the BEST. AGE. EVER. in case you were wondering.)  As such, much planning needs to go into it and thankfully NPH has devised one amazing road trip destination: The Wizarding World of Harry Potter in Orlando.  (My parents think I’ve been huffing paint for choosing Florida anytime near Spring Break, but they apparently don’t realize it’s the HARRY POTTER books only in REAL LIFE.)  The best part of this plan is that by driving, we’ll have unlimited access to amazing southern barbecue joints that will probably be the largest slice of my Spring Break budget pie chart.  Though, if you know me even a little, this is still in the OhmygodI’msoexcited phase in which I’ve found myself far too many times, only to never have the plans actually pan out.  But only this time it’s Harry Potter and magic will be involved.

“She’s blogging!  She survived the night!”

Yes indeed, you may all carry on with your lives normally again– one night down, 141 to go (yep, I calculated that when I woke up.)  Thanks to my newest best friend NyQuil, I slept 13 hours and my throat feels much better.  And I suppose I’m genuinely glad to be home (so much food in the fridge!  So many TVs!  Someone else to clean the kitchen!)

This afternoon we have Chistmas 2 of 3, this time with my mom’s dad’s side of the family.  Speaking of, I’ve scoped out the present situation under our trees and there are some for me, though not dozens as there should be (there’s still four shopping days left, I’m not too concerned) but T-BONE has TAPED the bags shut.  Ahem.  If I were really desperate (and it’s only Sunday, so I’m not ruling this out later in the week) I could cut open the tape, peer inside, then re-do it with no one the wiser (I mean, my conscience would know, but I’ve gotten pretty good at shutting it up after 20 years of questionable morals.  <– A half-joke.  You should half-laugh.)

Speaking of presents, NPH loved his.  Mine never arrived.  The bastard assures me they’re on their way and that he’ll send them to me to take to Germany.  I don’t have the heart to tell him I’m not devoting precious space in my luggage to three bottles of barbecue sauce.  Oh, and APPARENTLY my parents met each other long ago and were “friends” but my mom “didn’t like him like that” until she moved away and realized they were “actually in love with each other.”  Okay 1.) Barf.  2.) That was some heavy use by me of superfluous quotations around most of that story. 3.) Yes.  I understand this.  You the reader, Obama the president, Jerry the homeless guy in Iowa City ALL THINK Neil and I are either already dating or destined to be together or at some point in our lives be touching each other beyond the occasional drunk slapping I do of him when he makes fun of me for exchanging more than pleasantries with a kid who went to special ed in high school (if you do not already know this story, you don’t want to.  Might I just say for the record: HE WAS NOT “special.”  So academia might not be his strong suit.  BIG DEAL– he’s in college now.  Not a very rigorous one, but higher education nonetheless.)  I’ve completely lost my train of thought now… anyway, the point is: me + hot German man I’ve yet to meet = yes please  You may think I’m going over there to “learn German” because its required by “my major.”  HA.  Boy do I have you fooled.  This is really just a husband-finding mission.  NPH already knows he’ll be standing up between Kayla and Lauren in my bridal party in Vegas.  I think he’s quite excited for this, especially if I pick out bridesmaid dresses they’ll be able to wear on other occasions, for example, a mid-summer polo match.  Ooh, I should get them in red– Neil really does look best in warm colors.

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

Cottage cheese is the bomb dot com.

Apparently I’m intimidating.  We were given feedback from our peers in one of my classes, and the instructor said “at first your group members found you intimidating, but later realized that was not the case.”  Roomie corroborates this character assessment.  I find this laughable, yet not surprising.  Usually people just say I’m a stone cold bitch when they first meet me.  More acquaintances than I can count have said to me, “You know, when so-and-so first introduced me to you, I thought you hated me.”  Methinks this goes back to the whole awkward thing.  And that I’m usually generally uninterested in meeting new people.  Especially if they are female.  As Neil pointed out today, I automatically assume an adversarial role with all unknown females in a situation.  I do not know why this is. 

Also, when I tell my friends that I am the least confrontational person they know and that I HATE conflict, they laugh in my face.  So apparently I’m an intimidating bitch who wants to rough your shit up.  You’ve been warned.

Tomorrow is my brother’s birthday.  He will be 19.  He will not be getting a birthday present from me 1.) I do not have the funds.  2.) We’ve never been big birthday gift exchangers. 3.) He told me people only think I’m funny when I bitch about stuff.  So he can just go shove it.

OH, so Neil never came to my house last night for the BBQ thing because his car started smoking on the interstate and he spent the majority of his afternoon waiting for it in a repair shop (he has assured me this was not a tall tale in order to get out of meeting my parents.)  So I decided to pack up and head back to the ol’ IC early and boy howdy I’m glad I did.  Not that over a week at home wasn’t fun and all, but last night was a quality evening that could not have been had elsewhere. 

Did you know that part of Turkey is in Europe and part of it is in Asia?  I’d like to think there’s a giant sign that says NOW ENTERING ASIA or something, and a nice tourist-trap type photo op where you can be on two continents at once.  NPH says I am an idiot. 

You know what’s on the ol’ jellyvision tonight?  Family Guy AND Sex Rehab with Dr. Drew.  Boy howdy my night is set, if I can keep my eyes open.  Then the best friend and I have a date with the grill because THIS GUY found a new BBQ sauce at Hy-Vee and we gotta test it out.  I’ve obviously already tried a dab of it, it tastes like barbecue potato chips.  Roomie was all, “Umm, crazy pants, why are you drinking barbecue sauce?”  And then I CUT HER THROAT with a kitchen knife cuz I’m so INTIMIDATING!!!  …or maybe I just said, “Not drinking, just sampling.”  And she thought, “The girl I live with has serious issues.  That tall Shrek-looking kid she’s always hanging out with has really poisoned her brain.”  Hey, if sticking your finger in a jar of sauce and discerning the aroma like a fine wine is wrong, then I don’t wanna be right.

I’ve tried blogging a few times today and it just wasn’t happening.  The amount of food I’ve consumed (yes, I eat more the day after Thanksgiving than on the actual holiday) has apparently inhibited words from forming.  It was bound to happen someday.

My last DQ pumpkin pie blizzard of the season was had on the ride home from Grandma’s house.  There were too many crust pieces in it, but that’s kind of like saying there was too much money in my bank account– not actually a real problem. 

Going back to my apartment can’t come soon enough, though I’m SUPER PSYCHED for our VISITOR and BARBECUE tomorrow!!!  He will be here for less than 24 hours, but in that time I feel Bestie will be force-fed an inordinate amount of food by my mother.  His agenda seems to be shooting guns and drinking (perhaps together, whatever– it’s rural Iowa.)  Kayla is NOT coming over because she’s a butthead.  Yes, I called my best friend a butthead.  No, I have no used that term since approximately the third grade.  Some sort of familial obligation– whatever.

If you put up pictures of yourself on Facebook, that’s fabulous, but your tongue should be sticking out in less than 1/3 of them.  Anymore than that and you’ve just got real problems.

Carbs… hurting… brain.  Hopefully I sleep til noon tomorrow and Bestie comes shortly after.  You  know what?  His name’s Neil.  I’m done calling him Bestie.  Natalie calls him Neil Patrick Harris (and no, they’ve never met, that’s just how much he comes up in everyday conversation.)  So maybe I’ll just call him NPH from now on.  He doesn’t read my blog anyway (asshole) so there you  have it.  Bestie’s real name is Neil.

You can probably figure out from the title that this post will be heavy on the sauce… kind of like the two places I’ve found that I dripped BBQ sauce on my shirt at dinner…

Bestie picked me up in the middle of the road after class and we made our way to HAIGHT’S HAWKEYE MEAT MARKET *sounds of angels singing.  Luckily we had called ahead so knew that the apple brats were fresh in the case today, as opposed to frozen like we’ve bought them before.  We walked in and the guy was like “Ahh so you were the one who called earlier.”  Duh, sir.  I think it’s a safe bet to say you don’t have that many phone calls per day and certainly not ones asking “Do you have apple brats today??!?!”

And do you know what else they had??  A new kind of barbecue sauce we’ve never had.  Yes, in case you wondering, Haight’s will toats-mcgoats be catering my wedding reception.  This particular brand was called SuckleBusters Original BBQ and as Bestie pointed out, you know it’s gotta be good when it has a seal that says “No Bad Stuff” on it.  Quality.  He and I both agree that this one has broken our top five.  Now, we shall rank them for you:

Best friend’s top 3 favorite sauces

1. Stubb’s http://www.stubbsbbq.com/

2. Big Daddy’s http://www.bigdaddybarbeque.com/

3. SuckleBuster’s http://www.sucklebusters.com/

My top favorites

1. Big Daddy’s

2. Sweet Baby Ray’s http://www.sweetbabyrays.com/

Bestie likes his with more spice, I like mine sweeter.  Stubb’s is awesome if you like spicy (but not too hot) kick, SuckleBuster’s as well provided a nice spice in constrast to the sweetness of the apple brat.

In other news, I got to pet a sugar glider today.  Two members of 713 got new comforter sets for their beds– really classin’ the place up AND the light in the living room works again.  My stye has gotten worse and there is a small mountain of a blemish on my chin because apparently my skin thinks I am a 14-year-old boy.  It is essentially the weekend– bring on more barbecue!  And six hours in a car with my family…

Where will I be one week from today??

HOME!!

Who’da thunk I could get so excited to return to a place I was once counting down the days, hours, minutes until I could leave?  Ahh, maturation.  I’m headed back to the mothership so my family & I can roll on down to KC for my cousin’s wedding, something I’m oddly really excited for.  Perhaps it’s because of the BARBECUE REHEARSAL DINNER, you read that right: Bar.Be.Cue.  I might try to sneak the bestie down as well so we can have a taste-off (pretty much our only marketable skill is our combined extensive knowledge of a wide assortment of BBQ sauces– we’ll probably write a book.)  At my other cousin’s wedding I cried– wtf– so let’s hope there’s not a repeat performance, but something about weddings & graduations make me weepy?  Lame.

You should be insanely jealous of how my apt smells right now because yellow cupcakes were just pulled outta the oven.  Holy yum sauce.  They’ll get some chocolate frosting later and then get taken to another friend’s 21st birthday party (this is supposed to be like a classy ladies-only get together… weird) and I was commissioned for the cake. 

Someone take me to a movie.  I do not want to see Where the Wild Things Are.  Unlike apparently the rest of the world, I was not a large fan of the book growing up.  All I remember of it was its hellacious length.  If they made If you Give a Mouse a Cookie into a movie, now THERE’S some great cinema.