Ahh, where to begin?!  Thanksgiving 3 of 3 has commenced at my mother’s mother’s house.  Grandma made a lasagna the size of Texas and now we’re all anticipating tomorrow when we eat a turkey about the size of a small elephant.  Go big or go home, I suppose.

If I had a dollar for every time someone asked/assumed/insinuated that Bestie and I are dating/going to get married/doing the horizontal no-pants dance, I could pay off the rest of college and at least a semester of graduate school.  Apparently his friends from home are now in on the act, as well as my grandfather who calls him “Beastie.”  I suppose this new nickname could catch on if he didn’t sleep til Brooklyn (<–Beastie Boys reference.  Did you get it?  I should have made it easier and said “if he spends most of his time fighting for his right to party.”)  We have decided the way to best remedy for this is for me to punch him square in the face when he gets out of the car on Saturday.  Or let everyone privy to one of our riveting conversations where he sits on the couch watching Cops and I sit next to him fah-REAK-ing out about something and after a few minutes he’ll turn and say, “Oh, were you talking to me?”  Hmmm… in retrospect I have just presented you with even more evidence that we are, in fact, a couple.  Whatevs. 

Tomorrow’s Thanksgiving so I should probably stay up all night thinking of something REALLY good to be thankful for.  I suppose today I’m thankful that I’m right-handed.  Because statistically, if I were left-handed, I would die ten years earlier.

Sorry so short, but you know, family calls.  You should be with yours anyway, too– GET OFFLINE!

Dad just asked why exactly I’m going abroad again.  “You won’t be able to see this face for five months!”  Well, it’s more like four…  My impending exit is on many people’s brains lately– when I go back to Iowa City I will have THREE WEEKS to find a subleaser, pack my apartment, finish classes, take a final, and say peace out to those I love most.  So you know, piece o’ cake. 

Barring natural disaster or terrorist attack, Bestie will for sure be having the sheer privilege of visiting on Saturday.  He and Lauren are the two people I will miss most in Iowa City.  She will be in my wedding, one of those classy bitches I can see being in my twenties with, swirling martinis and complaining about the lack of men in our lives whilst lamenting the size of our upper arms. 

My mother has officially turned into her mother.  Christmas vomit has covered every inch of our house, including the bathroom off the kitchen where a patriotic Santa the size of a toddler is just hanging out next to the shower and it scares the BEJEEZUS out of me everytime I go to relieve myself.  Neither of the trees are up yet and I plan on not being in or near the house when it gets to be that time.  I’ve seriously contemplated converting to Judaism because I am so that person who has a tree up 365 because I’m too gd lazy to take the thing down.  I feel that eight pronged candelabra thingy would be much easier to stuff in a closet.

Two days til Thanksgiving which means today I’m thankful for heat.  This elusive element is something I’ve heard other houses have, but apparently we haven’t caught on yet around here.  Supposedly there’s one of those fabled “heaters” in the basement, but it must be broken or something.  I mean, why else would could we hang meat in the living room like it were an effin’ butcher shop?  I think I’ve experienced this feeling called “warm” sometime during the summer, but my brain is half-frozen so it’s hard to remember.  Perhaps Grandma’s house will be liveable without socks, longjohns, and a down parka.

The irony is not lost on me that I HATE hospitals yet work in one.  I spent about ten hours in my place of employment today, though I went for moral support for a family member instead of a paycheck.  Holy suck balls it smells bad there.  And is creepy.  Thankfully it was nothing life-threatening and he was able to have an outpatient procedure sooner than they thought and I should be DONE with being in any medical facility for visitor/patient purposes for a while.  Luckily I brought my hospital badge so was able to save $1.69 on lunch.  Way to go, employee discount!

GUESS WHAT?!?!?!  Bestie might come visit on Saturday.  I am piss-my-pants excited.  Tomorrow my two girl besties from high school will finally return to our blackhole of suck hometown and we’ll get to go out for Savannah’s 21st birthday and have fun girl time and tell secrets and hang out in the Subway parking lot and be super awesome!  And now there’s a possibility that Bestie will get bored at home in Illinois, return to 713, then traverse to visit moi next weekend?!  Woah-uh, awesomeness overload.  Mostly we’re trying to pack as many activities (Stepbrothers reference, obviously) into our last two weeks of friendship as possible.  He would also really like to shoot guns off the back deck with my father since he’s in awe of Iowa’s lax gun laws in comparison to the ones governing our neighbors to the east.

My mother would very much like us (or even apparently just me, should he not be able to come) to attend church on Sunday morning.  Apparently it’s “the rules.”  I will not mention how “the rules” seem to change everytime I come home, depending on what “rules” she’s feeling like making up at the time.  We grew up going to church most Sundays and I’m definitely not opposed to it.  In college, however, sleeping in has trumped going to church about 98% of the time.  I am definitely more religious than the vast majority of my college friends, and this has nothing to do with my Sunday morning worship attendance.  When I come home it’s nice to go and see all the old ladies who watched me grow up, but our pastor who was BOMB-DIGGITY has left and now it’s just weird and people look at me like “Ohh the liberal from Iowa City is back, I wonder if she’s withchild.”  Not to mention if Bestie and I rolled in together, they would presume he and I are dating.  (Mom, you know me telling them “no, we’re not dating” would so not work on those Lutheran women.)  I can handle all of Iowa City and the tri-county area assuming this, but those church ladies are too much to handle.

Apparently there’s a large stink over Adam Lambert’s performance at the AMA’s last night.  I did not see said performance, a quick YouTube search doesn’t provide me with anything interesting.  He kissed a guy and simulated oral sex on one of his back-up dancers and grabbed his crotch a lot.  The first one is so Madonna and Britney, I seem to remember them getting a lot more praise than flack for that.  The third point of contention is straight outta Michael Jackson’s book, and the glove that did a lot of that very self-gropeage just got sold for an ungodly outrageous amount of money.  So really Adam Lambert just needs to get off his knees and those 1,500 angry phone calls to ABC needn’t have been made.  Personally I like the guy for some reason, and I haven’t ever really heard him sing.  His fellatio-centric stage time had to have been more entertaining than Jennifer “I couldn’t act or really sing my way out of my marriage to the most hideous man ever even if I tried” Lopez falling off the back of one of her dancers (which I did find video of online, and homegirl did a pretty good job of making it look like part of the performance.)

If you’re thinking about having kids, you should probably just adopt.  Don’t be selfish and have your own.  There’s plenty of perfectly good babies who need homes.

I’m re-reading A Million Little Pieces because I don’t know, I’m oddly fascinated by drug rehab I guess.  An excellent movie you should watch is 28 Days (with Sandra Bullock, not 28 Days Later with zombies.)  The phrase “chemical dependency” really rolls off the ol’ tongue.  I also really like the word “environmental,” in case you were wondering.

For the time time in 20 years, I found my inner Zen at around 4 pm today.  Tomorrow will come whether my paper reaches five pages or not, whether I keep rambling about Nazis in it or not (I am sadly not kidding– somehow my Legal & Ethical Issues in Mass Communication term paper has turned into a diatribe about the undercurrent of raw emotions that surely must exist in present day Germany because of the Holocaust.  I am so not getting a decent grade.)  It will come whether I know what the O’Brien Test is (I don’t) or whether or not hidden cameras are legal in Iowa (they are… I think.)

There is a french silk pie chilling in the refrigerator, courtesy of my awesomeness, that will be devoured at a very 713/529 Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow night.  Bestie’s making the turkey and said we probably won’t eat until almost 10 pm anyway, so I can go see Adam Richman AND have an awesome time recreating the slaughter of thousands of Native Americans by greedy white people first Thanksgiving.  And then get really drunk only to wake up really early possibly still intoxicated to travel two hours down the interstate in time for an oil change at 10 am.  Gotta love the end of midterms week.

Today I am thankful for my boss.  What?  But, Brittney, you loathe your job to the very core!  Well yes, but that’s because it’s inane busy work spent in front of a computer when I could be sleeping or eating or doing really anything besides wearing business casual clothes to class when all of my peers get to wear sweatpants.  I’m super pscyhed because I’m not working AT ALL next week.  Weeeee-hoooo!!  I invision a lot of lounging and eating and sleeping and sweatpants-wearing in my future.  Happy Turkey Day to me!

Also, I hate Murphy’s Law.  While on a given day I’m usually rockin’ an attractiveness rating of a good four or five points higher than your average college student, today was an exception.  I looked like the Elephant Man.  I consciously went into public full-on knowing this, thinking I wouldn’t encounter anyone whose opinion really mattered.  Boy was I wrong.  And I paid for it in ten minutes of super self-conscious conversation, followed by a complete melodramatic over-analytic meltdown about said meeting. 

This is when having a female best friend and a male best friend really comes in handy.  While both of them were supportive and assured me that  they have both seen me look like this elusive Elephantitis creature and they’re still talking to me, their follow-up approaches to talking me down from the ledge were varied.  Kayla lied to me and told me what I wanted to hear.  Apparently other Bestie is a walking copy of He’s Just Not That Into You and told me what was up, straight up no chaser.  I am now fake mad at him for doing this.  CLEARLY he does not understand girl logic, as I told him, and he replied with, “Nope, because it’s not logic.”

Anyway (hey, Natalie!) I’m gonna go do one of the million other things on my to-do list that you would think I’d have done by now, but you would be wrong.  I have to like, plan our end of the year social?  For PRSSA?  And talk on the phone to strangers to get estimates on how much banquet service will cost ?  Barrrrrrffffff, I HATE talking to strangers on the phone.  Perhaps there was some incident in my youth regarding rejection via landline that I’ve repressed but still scars my subconscious.  Whatever the case, NOT. Looking. Forward to it.

I should absolutely not be blogging right now.  I STILL have not nailed down a topic for my term paper due Thursday which I have to get done before then because the MIDTERM for that class is the same day.  Imagine Wednesday night for me just being spectacularly fun.  Perhaps if I start writing nonsense on the blogosphere, my creative juices for Legal Issues in Mass Communication will also start flowing. HA.

Last night Bestie and I discovered the movie The Ten with Paul Rudd in it.  That’s correct– Paul Rudd has starred in a film that we DID NOT KNOW even existed.  We were really upset with ourselves over this fact, but mostly just really excited because the movie is all sorts of fucked up AND he does a musical number at the end.  There is a poster of Paul Rudd in 713’s living room, a shrine, if you will.  When I asked Bestie to articulate exactly why they’re all so gung-ho over Mr. Rudd, he replied simply, “Because he is hot.”   I concur.  He reached his hotness peak in Wet Hot American Summer, but like a fine wine, he really only gets better with time.  I mostly like him because his awkwardness level in I Love You Man almost rivals mine in real life.

In other GIANT LIFE-ALTERING NEWS: Slash will be on the George Lopez show on TBS tonight!!!!!  Giggity goodness, people.  SLASH will be on the TELEVISION and I will be WATCHING HIM.  My suicide over this week’s workload so just got postponed until tomorrow.  Charlie Sheen will also be on, and anyone with half a brain or who has read the should-be-award-winning autobiography Slash (I have an autographed copy, because I know you were wondering) knows that those two are way good buds.  They go way back. Kind of like me and Slash… in my fantasy world where I spend most of my day. 

Perhaps I will go make myself a ham sandwich.  Or eat some soup out of a can.  Or run into oncoming traffic– really anything to keep me from this effin’ research paper.  If there’s one thing I hate in this world more than people who invite themselves to me (because really, isn’t that everyone’s number one pet peeve?) it’s RESEARCH.  People who do it for a living are in a whole other realm of crazy to me.  Who CARES?!  If the information is already written down, why do I have to find it and re-word it and stretch it out into a bunch of pages and spit it back to you?  I’m quite certain my professor is much more well-versed on Article 10 of the European Convention of Human Rights than I am, so perhaps he should be writing a paper for me on it.  I’d probably at least skim it.  (<– Ok, that was a dirty, dirty lie.  I would throw it away recycle it.)

Oh, and since we’re rockin’ a little over a week until Thanksgiving, today I am thankful for… the hospital workers who were putting up Christmas decorations today.  Because you know what that means: they’re going to replace the normal muzak in the halls to CHRISTMAS MUSIC pretty soon and then I will have total permission to walk with a spring in my step when pushing my God-forsaken cart of charts all over the blank-blankin’ hospital (did you know that beast is 1/4 of a mile from one end to the other?  And you wonder why I’ve suddenly developed the athletic prowess of an indigenous African…)

In closing, Roomie has concoted what smells like macaroni & cheese if Jesus himself were to make it.  I shall go investigate.

It will be a miracle if I make it through this week.

If you put up entire Facebook albums of your cats, I judge you.

Thanksgiving 1 of 3 was a success.  Lots of food.  My french silk pie was bomb-diggity.

I had my first dream last night about leaving for Germany– I was saying good-bye to my friends and sobbing.  Excellent.  Let’s hope the actual parting of ways will be much less of a shitshow. 

There is something in my contact.  It has been there all day.  I hope it’s not a hair like last time.  There was an actual HAIR from my HEAD in my EYE.  When I finally discovered what it was and pulled it out and showed it to a lady at work she was all “Ewwww” and I was all “This is the coolest thing everrrrr.” 

The guy from Man vs. Food, Adam Richman, is coming to town on Thursday to, I don’t know, talk about himself and food I guess.  I have a ticket though I’m not sure that I want to go.  I don’t know anyone else going.  And if he’s not eating then… whatever.  We’ll see if I even make it to Thursday.

The good news of going home is that Mom gave me a loaf of bread.  Our apartment already houses a toaster, and now I have bread?  I think you know what this means.  Saturday morning’s toast fail will be long forgotten tomorrow morning. 

Have you heard the new duet by Boys Like Girls and Taylor Swift, “Two Is Better Than One”?  BLLLEEEECCCHHH.  Yes, cruel world, I realize two is better than one.  What if you can’t have two though?  What if you are destined to only be one forever?  I mean, I sooooo enjoyed no less than four relatives today asking if I was dating anyone, how my “love life” is, and then one going, “So really?  No love life?”  Yep.  None.  Zero. Dead in the water.  Complete asexual– THAT’S ME.  Or perhaps– and follow me on this, I realize it’s a far stretch– I’m a junior in college and not actually looking to put on a ring on it anytime soon.  WOAH-UH.  I know, your mind was just blown. 

Bestie told me the other day that I had “spunk”.  So today I am thankful for… my spunk.  You probably don’t have spunk like I do.  That’s okay– I’ve been working on mine for awhile.  Maybe I was born with it, maybe it’s Maybelline.

Roomie would like you to know that “Brady and Moss together are ridiculous.”  Which means good.  She is from that Satan place Massachusetts and thus is a “Pats” fan (that means Patriots).  Tom Brady isn’t exactly hard to look at.  Hehe.  Hard.

Sports Illustrated cover + parents’ weekend + Ashton Kutcher in attendance + Northwestern = inevitable loss.  All season people kept saying “When we lose it will be to someone like  Northwestern” and then their friends around them would explode into a fit of giggles because the 9-0, 4th ranked Hawkeyes are just so much better than that.  Except everyone, including us, knew we weren’t.  As someone from my immediate family who was not my mother or brother texted me after “Thank God that’s over.”   I’d have to agree– we had a nice run, but OMFGSHUTUPPPPPPPP.  And now they will.

Last night was my final shift at my beloved job, at least til I return from abroad.  My boss and I decided I’m the Stanzi of the store, with me being out for the season and all.  I also was complaining that my leg was broken hurt  a lot because my back was hella messed up from some awkward couch-sleeping followed by miles of trekking to tailgating before 7 am.  In flip-flops.  All night I was having quite the mental struggle over what my final free sandwich for a while would be.  In the end, I got my favoritest favorite– I can make a ham sandwich at home anyday, but the world does not get any better than  black bean patty with avacado, BBQ sauce, some hummus, some other stuff that’s SUPERDELICIOUSINMYMOUTH.

If it rains this month, I will fah-REAK out because it will be November Rain.

Today I have to like, vacuum my living room and dust the TV and get things all ready for our PRSSA social.  I may even put out a plate of cheese and crackers.  Step aside, people– domestic goddess coming through.

Bestie’s parents came yesterday and his mother brought the best pumpkin bread in the history of the world.  You think I’m exaggerating here, but nay. It had raisins and walnuts in it (don’t barf, it was sophisticated quick bread).  Unfortunately the pan was set between college boys wielding a knife– I fear that one slice will be my only experience with that magical, magical treat.

This was my last weekend in Iowa City until the last weekend in November, and I am beyond ok with that.

Do you know the adjective that best describes me?

Awkward.

People have been using this word for eons in conjunction with yours truly.  I’ve gotten used to it, grown into it, embraced it.  I have a 100% money back guarantee that I can take even the most awkward of situations and make them just plain more AWKWARD.  (Bestie #1, I see you sitting up there in the wind tunnel of the state, nodding in agreement, guffawing outloud at this, your personal shout-out.)

A reader today told me she was reading my blog aloud to her boyfriend (I apologize to him because I’m sorry, but that would be quite boring to me…) and she was tearing up from laughing so hard.  Not only did 1. He seriously question his relationship with this person, but 2. He asked her if I was single. HA.  Apparently he has a friend with whom I’d just get along famously.

So THEN I started thinking about blind dates in general, which I’ve never been on, which I’ll never be on in the forseeable future or hopefully ever, and how AWKWARD it would be to go on a blind date with me.  Seeing how awkward I am just walking down the street and all. 

I have this problem with eye contact, where I get exTREMEly uncomfortable looking into another person’s eyes for any length of time, so I kind of look at them then quickly look off to the left of them or above them and just keep flitting back and forth between the two.  I’m fairly certain most people caught in coversation with me are just sure I’m giving the go-ahead to a serial killer behind them to pounce and strangle them with a phone cord just so I can finish their food.  (These are the thoughts I have on a daily basis.  Please be concerned.)

I’ve actually been at a networking mocktail event where we got feedback from professionals and one guy was trying to be nice before he just cut to the awkward chase and said, “Uhh, your eye contact.  You were looking over my shoulder the whole time.”  Oh, I’m sorry, Sir.  I was just bored out of my mind by you. 

ANYWAY, so let’s say I’m on this hypothetical blind date and we manage to establish some sort of semi-acceptable level of looking at each other.  The second super awkward thing would be that Bestie would be sitting either directly next to me, in the booth behind me, or in a table across the way just downin’ beers til I was done.  Now if my date can’t accept this TOO BAD– he sucks and should just go lay down in traffic.  Bestie and I have actually had a conversation about how people obviously assume we’re together when in public.  This generally does not bother us when we’re at the meat market, for example (they like us there) but perhaps does hinder us when out on the town. 

He is often perplexed by the sort of sketch characters I find myself pining o’er.  For example, one real winner he and I  recently befriended came to the rescue when we were grilling brats during tailgating but the charcoal wasn’t  lighting.  One of our favorite Sunday afternoon activities is recapping certain portions of the weekend that may be hazy for one another for whatever reason, and I laughed out loud at this particular tale he re-told me:

“He lit the grill with hairspray and a lighter.  I looked at you and said, ‘Yep, she is in love with him.’  Your jaw was on the ground.  I was like, it’s not Tom Cruise over there!”  (I realize not actually knowing him, you’d probably like the five seconds of your life back that it just took you to read that, but I assure you– it was uproariously hilarious.)

Where was I?  Oh yes, blind date that will never happen.  Side note: I would not actually mind having a blind date.  I could win him over with my wit and intellect without actually having to change out of my pajamas.  This would also alleviate much of the self-consciousness I harbor over my abnormally large cheeks (when you’re 15 and the love of your freshman-in-high-school life says you remind him of a baboon because of your chubby cheeks, YOU REMEMBER.)

This blind date guy would only prove to be a real winner when 1. He stuck around to watch me eat way  more than him.  Because it is inevitable that I would eat more than him.  If he wanted to go plate-for-plate, BRING IT.  If he suggests stopping for ice cream after, I have found my prince.  2. He paid for it.  Only because in my current financial situation, I had to actually decide today between buying a 74 cent bag of popcorn at work or a postage stamp– if you know me at all, you’ll know which I chose.  (Okay, I’m not that poor, it’s just all the change I had on me.  But I’ve recently discovered I’ve spent way too much since coming to college.  Um, oops.)  I am by no means one of those Make the Guy Pay for Everything gals (just ask the ex) but it would be a nice gesture.  Especially since the odds of him calling after said blind date are moot, he can at least swing one dinner.

In conclusion, it should be interesting to see how my awkwardness translates in Deutsch.  Since I’m pretty much planning on meeting the love of my life over there, who will also just happen to play for some World Cup-winning soccer (excuse me, football) team, I should really brush up on my nonverbal skills.  A.k.a. bedroom eyes.  Maybe we’ll just start with the eye contact first.

I would like my future planned out NOW, thank you very much.

Things I know:

1. I only have three courses left this semester (one got dropped because it’d be more helpful to take it after studying abroad, one was only for ten weeks.)  Not only have I done homework in advance for two of these, there is generally no good reason why I shouldn’t have a 4.0 this semester.  THERE– I SAID IT.  Now Mom & Pops are gonna sit me down when grades come out, this post in hand, saying “Brittney, dearest daughter of ours, is there a reason you barely passed freelance reporting and writing?” (The obvious answer to this hypothetical confrontation is of course, that I loathe reporting, not to mention grading in that class is completely subjective.)

2. In 64 days my happy ass will be strapped into a plane, flying 4,500 miles to live in Germany for four months.  In the words of Owen Wilson a.k.a. “Cowboy” from the hands down best-ever made full-lenth feature drama Armageddon, “I’m like 98% excited, 2% scared.  Or maybe it’s more 98% scared, 2% excited…”  He dies on the asteroid, by the way.  I’m hoping for a slightly different outcome.

3.  Before number two can happen, I need someone to take over my lease on my apartment AND I would like to have a concrete idea of what I’m doing when I come back.  One word: internship.  It’s no longer something I’ll willy-nilly be applying for, it’s actually quite imperative that I get one.  My insane wit and brilliant people skills will only get me so far with zero experience.  (I’m thinking PR internship, but given my love-hate relationship with it, I’ll take anything at this point.) Finding one for the summer in December is a bit unrealistic I realize, but I’ve been bitten by a bug that says SPEND EVERY WAKING MOMENT COMBING THE INTERNET FOR LEADS.  For some reason I can’t wrap my mind around Germany being anything but the bomb-ravaged Nazi-controlled shithole of my father’s WWII movies and guess what, they didn’t have the Internet back then.  Some Lamaze-like breathing and practical thinking usually brings me back to reality however, and I remind myself that I will have full access to my UI e-mail account as well as any internship opportunities posted on the great World Wide Web.

THUS, I have concluded the following:

1. Lean Pockets are probably not that great for me.  I live my life in phases and right now is definitely Frozen Dinner Phase.  (Previously it was Bratwurst Phase and before that, Sushi Phase.)

2. I’m not sure I want to live in Iowa City next summer.  It really SUCKS trying to speculate what I’ll be thinking/feeling/doing after the whole Sprechen Zie Phase of my life, but I’d like to entertain the thought that I don’t need to rush back here.  Of course I’ll come visit– Bestie & my 21st birthdays are within three weeks of each other– but I don’t want to rule out…. living at home…. for the sake of my future career.  (Dad?  Are you still there?  Keep breathing, don’t say no quite yet.)  Des Moines is rife with many more opportunities than this place, and I need (will need– Luneburg has the most bars per capita in Europe second only to Madrid, Spain) a break from the bar scene.  Especially is the subletter who I WILL find wants to stay til July 31, I won’t have to go through the headache of finding a place to live for three awkward months.

3. In addition to said internship, which I’m just assuming will be unpaid, I’ll need a job.  I really want this to involve some sort of bakery.

4. It is the first Tuesday of November, I most certainly remember where I was one year ago tonight.  Perhaps I will post about that tomorrow, if I feel so moved, since I consider that the true anniversary.

Costume shopping was a success and I am going as…

Daphne from Scooby-Doo! 

It was between her, Velma, or one of the wives from the Flintstones (character costumes were way cheaper at Second Act and I had no motivation or ideas to making something from scratch.)  Bestie was the ultimate decider with his much-appreciated input: “You’d get to have cool hair with Daphne.  You will get hot in Velma’s sweater.”   Betty and Wilma had weird foam hairpieces anyway, not that the giant BRIGHT ORANGE monstrosity that looks nothing like the above picture is much better, but I have til Friday to tame it.  He is going as Mr. Rogers, or as he put it “Me but with a sweater vest.”  Ahh, also so much more practical and economical that one.

I kind of want to see the Michael Jackson documentary. 

I’m making Halloween themed cupcakes and sugar cookies for Saturday morning tailgating and am so excited.

Friday will be a busy day of touring Eastern Iowa companies, learning about PR and marketing and networking and eating free lunch and taking notes and asking compelling questions and lots of smiling and awkward introductions and being really uncomfortable in dress clothes.

Roomie just came out to show me her Twister board costume.  She looks very cute in it (p.s. I HATE, hate, hate, loathe when people call me “cute”, but it’s okay for girls to say it of their peers.) 

In conclusion, I have stayed up too late yet again, have failed to do laundry yet again (I have officially run out of towels, at this point it’s now become a necessity) but helped in the once-every-three-months trash overhaul at 713 and watched a documentary on morbidly obese pregnant women with Bestie.  Chalk today up as a W.