“Well it’s over,” I told Kayla about five minutes post-first midterm of the semester. “And by that I mean my academic career.”

Ok, so it wasn’t that bad (though I guess we won’t know til I get the score) but it was pretty bad. So bad in fact, that one of my short answers literally included “…clearly I’m drawing a blank. Sorry.” The question, or rather given phrase we had to elaborate one was “Conciliation Committee.” The course is on the European Union, so I knew it was part of one of three legislative bodies. I started to write that it was part of the council– crossed it out– put down that it was part of the European Parliament (the correct answer, though to get full points it would have needed a lot of back-up information that was most likely in the assigned readings that I chose to think were optional) then crossed even THAT out and wrote, “The conciliation committee is part of the commission… clearly I’m drawing a blank. Sorry.” My other four short answers weren’t leagues better, and my essay answer was possibly worse, especially since I referenced how “the leader of Luxembourg was probably a nice guy” in the early 1950s. For the record, the course does not at all cover or care about the demeanors of EU member state leaders.

My professor bid everyone a cheery “See you Thursday!” when turning in their exam since he’s the same masochist who sent us a good luck email about two hours prior to the exam. After glancing at mine though, he added, “Wow, you have nice penmanship.” Duh, sir– I’ve been writing for pleasure since the age of five. I thought of bidding him a sarcastic, “At least you’ll enjoy the handwriting while you read those shit answers!” or telling him up front that my oft-practiced print/cursive combo was the only semi-decent thing he’d have to say about my test. Perhaps later I will get the opportunity to explain myself: “My handwriting’s so pretty because I’m a journalism major who’s never taken a political science course before, but apparently thought I could run with the big dogs in your upper-level, nearly graduate school level course just because I needed some credits for my second major and this was the only class that didn’t meet on Fridays.” Hopefully if that opportunity does present itself, I’ll learn how to breathe through the run-on and smile charmingly.

“Whether you think you can or or you can’t, you’re right.” –Henry Ford.

Well I can’t do it. I was apparently being optimistic when I ballparked my inevitable mid-semester breakdown to come sometime during October. It’s happening now, and it makes my brain throb, and it makes me want to hurt people and kick things and scream and cry and stay in my room forever. It’s not my job or my internship, those are currently existing in a wonderful symbiosis under the category of Thing I Care About. Things I do not care about however, things I just can’t care about are my classes. Specifically my international studies ones, which cover topics I have zero interest, that my brain simply can’t and won’t wrap itself around. I’ve given far too much of myself academically in the last seven years to keep trying in these last two semesters over things that will 100% not matter once I enter the job market (no seriously, I’ve been told that by multiple people in my job market.) I originally wanted to minor in International Studies, but my passive, doormat self let my advisor upgrade it to a major. Looking back and at my schedule currently, my college life would be a hell of a lot different if I’d stuck with my original plan. Granted, I wouldn’t have gone to Germany (because I wouldn’t have needed to for my language requirement) and it’s not too late to just take the minor, which I already have. I’m just burnt out. There are more important things in my life right now that don’t deserve me having to split their needed attention with Languages of the freakin’ World aka “What kind of embedded/ subjunctive clause do we find in this little-spoken language recently discovered in a small South Pacific island?”

I realize I’m complaining and wallowing and could definitely do it, but I don’t want to.

Currently, I’m chomping on some cherry Twizzler nibs, bought for me by my favorite navy-sweatered boyfriend on this very autumnal day. He has finally wised up and realized that nibs are where it’s at, and that cherry Twizzler bites are NOT the same and nearly vomit-inducing. I suppose I can’t complain, though, since he’s finally realized buying me candy is the key to my heart… or at least to getting me to shut up and do my homework. These miraculously sugared gummies are only a string of fabulous things that have happened in the four short hours I’ve been out of bed. It was most certainly a coffee morning– why I haven’t yet made very morning javaliciously caffeinated, I’m not quite sure. With German-flag mug in hand, I logged onto Facebook to read the sweetest message from my friend D-Bag (not familiar? He was my best friend in Germany) that me laugh aloud, smile a lot, miss him like crazy, and generally start my day off on the best foot possible. When roomie Rachael finally arose after hitting the snooze button no less than six times, we had a 90’s boy band dance party (or me YouTubing Backstreet Boy and N*Sync hits as she questioned my delirious mood) while getting ready because we share our first class of the day. Ten plus years post the height of both of these bands, I can appreciate a little “Tearin’ Up My Heart” and “Bye Bye Bye” every now and then. In my formidable years, however, I was a Backstreet Girl til death and refused to acknowledge JT and crew were anything more than BSB wannabes. Before that, I was– and no, this is not a joke– a member of the Hanson fan club, and had a giant poster of the brothers on my closet door where I could wake up and have Taylor’s heart-breakingly adorable face greet my day. Looking back, the kid looked like a straight up girl. Apparently I’m compensating now by dating a whiskey-swilling, fully-bearded lumberjack of a guy whose idea of cleaning his room is fitting all four corners of his bottom sheet to the mattress. His parents are coming this weekend, by the way, and I was quite looking forward to seeing them. Unfortunately, I’ll be missing out on an awesomely awkward dinner with them and instead returning home (that’s not the unfortunate part) to visit Savannah and see The Town (!!!!!!) with my dad and a refillable tub of kettle corn. Dammit, the Twizzlers are gone. I suppose I’ll get cracking on my assignment due in an hour.

It’s here. The week The Town comes out. Luckily, neither NPH or I have class on Fridays, and while I do have three meetings already scheduled for that morning, we should be able to make it to a matinee in time to view four more simultaneous screenings with ample discussion and squealing time in between. On my to-do list for tonight (because I cannot, not, NOT operate without everything written out in my planner which is chained to my hip at all times) is updating my resume. Somehow in the span of two weeks, nearly everything on it has become irrelevant. To say I’m stretched pretty thin is an understatement, but so far I seem to managing it pretty well (check in around Week 7 of the semester for the inevitable breakdown.) Don’t worry, my personal life has not yet taken a hit, and I in fact had a fabulous time watching us beat the Cyclowns– not like everyone in the state didn’t see that coming anyway. My apartment somehow became the hostel of choice for many of my visiting high school classmates, which was entertaining, stressful, and bizarre all at the same time. Oh, can we talk about the VMAs for a bit? Whatthedumptruck that was horrendous. Chelsea Handler was not even a smidgen of funny, Taylor Swift can’t sing live AND as Kathy Griffin later tweeted “For fuck’s sake, its not like Kanye raped you,” and I was even weary of Gaga and her damn broken record “Nobody liked me in high school” thing combined with the “It takes me 20 minutes to get on stage because I’m constantly trying to outdo my previous outrageous fashion choices.” And in the last bit of random updates for today (because that’s all this blog has become, at my least my grandparents are still reading) I really want a dog. No, Mom– not our dog. For some reason that relationship broke and I’ve moved on. Specifically I want a basset hound; I would tell you his name but you’d be jealous and steal it. I asked NPH if I was REALLY really good this semester and did my homework and cleaned my room and promised to clean up after it, would he PLEASE get me a dog and he said yes, but sadly I think he was joking. I wonder if he ever gets tired of dating a four-year-old.

I’m blogging from class, so shoot me. The most painful, dreaded class of my schedule just because it’s so gosh darn BORING. It’s a linguistics class (mistake) in which we learn about sentence order and prepositional phrases and postpositional phrases and relative clauses only we learn about them in languages no one has heard of. Did you know there are over 4,000 languages in the world, but no one can know for sure? Have you heard of Madurese? Don’t worry, it’s a traditional Subject Verb Object sentence order just like good ol’ English. I couldn’t tell you for $50 where in the world speaks Madurese without some Google searching, but alas I’m painfully suffering through 1 hour and 15 minutes of a woman who still writes on a chalkboard in two thousand freaking ten. (Rant over, for now.) The roomies and I have officially begun our change jar in the kitchen for Vegas Spring Break 2011, made only that much more exciting by Lauren’s birthday being on St. Patrick’s Day which is the Thursday of that week. (Ok, I said I was done, but the professor just said “We’ll be looking at a language I can’t pronounce.” Then WHAT is the point. Clearly no one here can speak it, WHY does it matter?! For the record, the language is called Hixkaryana. Apparently it’s spoken in Brazil. No, I will not be participating in this part of the class exercise.) Other big news is that it’s Beat State Week on campus. Activities leading up to our annual Cyclone ass-kicking include free t-shirt giveaways, a slip-n-slide on campus, and speed dating tonight that I’m SO pissed I can’t make it to, but alas have a meeting. Tomorrow is the IA/ISU rugby game, um– yes please. I will wear my one Iowa State t-shirt for that since my loyalty lies not with my school, but with the attractiveness of the boys on the team. Our tailgating plans for Saturday are essentially the same as last week’s trial run, though perhaps with more vigilant peeing in the woods since the dickhead Iowa City police (no, I’m not apologizing for that adjective) were handing out public urinations in literal droves last weekend. I did my first big grocery shop of the year yesterday– yes, my Costco run from the parents lasted that long– and am sososo excited because I got bread ‘n butter pickle slices which are the BEST snack/breakfast/dessert/accent on really anything. First of all, Aldi is the absolute best thing that’s ever happened to my wallet and secondly, HOW GOOD are bread ‘n butter pickles?! I used to be a dill girl (SNOOOOKI!!!) and I’m not adverse to them, but the b-’n-b’s have suddenly taken strong hold of my heart and tastebuds. And there’s your random, unnecessary fact for the day.

My black and gold fingernail polish is chipped, my hangover has subsided, and I’ve declared Labor Day “get my life back on track day.” So far, it’s been moderately successful since I’ve gotten one and three-quarters homework assignments done AND introduced NPH to the wonder of peanuts mixed with candy corn (if you haven’t tried it– it’s gotta be Brach’s candy corn and salted, dry-roasted Planter’s nuts. There’s a certain ratio that I’m kind of forgetting right now, but one bag and one jar should do ya. Beware, the entire bowl will be gone in a sitting if you don’t watch yourself.) Needless to say, the first tailgate of the season was a rousing success. My Crock-Pot breakfast casserole was a surprising hit, and no one brought a bat to do Louisville Chuggers, thus making us able to stay upright far longer than most games. Sunday was a fabulous day for laying and contemplating suicide and half-watching trashy reality television. Fortunately, I start both of my jobs this week (thanks for the well wishes– they apparently worked as I got the second internship I interviewed for) so the level of debauchery brought upon by the first home game will be unattainable for the rest of the semester. On a different note, happy birthday to my father, who is currently on a plane to Las Vegas (only a stop on the way to visit some relatives.) Either way, I’m very jealous because being in Vegas or even Eugene, Oregon means I wouldn’t be in school, the absolute bane of my existence. Yes, perhaps that WILL be the running theme of the blog until graduation– it’s just not. getting. better. I loved school until about high school, but since then it’s been an unfortunate means to the ultimate end of having a real career. No, I didn’t get my dad a gift, but I would want a blog shout-out over a package of Twizzlers or grill accessories any day. HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!

There are many times per day I question my mental health, though perhaps never as often as I have in the 48 hours I’ve been back on campus. As an International Studies (and Journalism!) major, various foreign countries are mentioned during the course of my classes multiple times a day. Apparently I never realized before how much Germany is slipped into even the most casual of lessons, though you can bet post-foreign study I now pick up on every even hint of a whisper of any mention of anything I ever even kind of encountered in my four months there. I need to go back to Germany. And this isn’t just “The beer is better there! Maybe I’ll backpack across Europe post-graduation.” In the spirit of full disclosure to my loyal legion of 5-13 readers: I was fighting tears in my European Integration class today. That’s right, people– my professor’s mention of the Defenestration of Prague in which he explained that “defenestration” means to throw someone out the window got me all misty-eyed because DID YOU KNOW that “fenster” means “window” auf Deutsch?! I need to go back. I need to learn more of the language, I need to show the people I love back home how amazing a country it is. It’s like my culture shock upon American reentry has laid dormant for a few months and is rearing it’s ugly and apparently overly emotional head now that I’m surrounded by people who still think “Nazi/Hitler/war/bad” when they see the red, black & yellow. It’s not that I miss the people in my program; save for a few close friends, I’ve hidden/ defriended most of them on Facebook. It’s rather some, I don’t know– primal need? Like four months wasn’t long enough, or I should be looking for some incredibly lucrative job that could support me living there six months out of the year. Perhaps you think I’m being overly dramatic, but I long ago stopped giving a shit what people think about me when I start to have feelings. So as to not leave you on a completely Debbie Downer note, I have no class tomorrow and generally like all my courses this semester. Yea for rays of sunshine!

Apparently I’ve forgotten what it is to be a student. I may have texted multiple people today that I was dropping out (it has yet to be seen if that was a joke.) I had a job interview this afternoon so wore a dress all day, leading passersby to believe I was dress-wearing excited for the first day of class which couldn’t have been farther from the truth. The amount of reading I have to do before my European Integration class tomorrow is insane and should be illegal, this is syllabus week people! On a brighter note, my roommates are awesome, and I’m not just saying that because they assigned each of us nicknames and I am now only referred to as “Bitch Duck.” Dearest friend and future Boston roommate (yes, we decided this last night– if you know of PR places in Boston looking for two shockingly good-looking employees in about nine months, keep us in mind) Natalie has been reintroduced to my life. And yes, I only added that because she asked for a blog shout-out. Not only have I made homemade sweet potato fries tonight, I actually said the sentence “I wish Jersey Shore was on every day” out loud and don’t really feel that bad about it. The DI had an article today on how freshmen have taken to literally roaming the town in search of house parties now that they’re banned from the bars. My business acumen tells me there’s a mighty big money-making market for those of us of legal keg-buying age, we’re all pretty excited about it.

After barraging Google with searches for  hypokalemia (low potassium) I am now a veritable expert on the potassium content of most foods.  Thankfully T-Bone was set to do some grocery shopping anyway, so I added prunes, cantaloupe, bananas, and avocados to the list to jump start my blood’s return to healthy.  I must interject that I was a bit surprised to find out a potassium-low diet was part of my problem because I am not exactly the world’s slouchiest eater.  My meals at home consist of lots of color and produce and are much more nutritionally balanced than most 21 year olds you know– except for my weekends in Iowa City living off of cheese fries from the Vine, but even those are made from potatoes which are filled with potassium!  Getting told I need to eat more fruits and veggies is no skin off my back, except when it comes to the prune department.  These dried plums and I had never met before, and I was well aware of the reputation that precedes them.  Mom picked up three bags– regular, cherry and orange flavored.  My first reaction to a prune: GROSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS.  Why are they slimy?!  Dried apricots aren’t slimy, they’re magically delicious.  This prune was bitter and slimy, yet the inside was mushy.  The other two flavors didn’t exactly mask the taste of nasty, but unfortunately “3-5 prunes with meals” was literally part of my doctor’s prescription.  I took a break from this culinary misadventure and tried again later.  At least I can proudly report, they’re growing on me.  And boy am I getting creative with them.  Last night I took some of the cherry ones and chopped them up in ice cream.  This morning I took advantage of their oddly spreadable insides and mixed them with the peanut butter on my English muffin (topped with a sliced banana because PB & ‘nanas is the best taste combo in. the. world.)

Let’s take a break from the exciting adventures in my kitchen and talk about Germany. D-bag and I talked via Skype yesterday and it was awesome yet sad.  Then I looked through some of my pictures from study abroad– MISTAKE.  Then, missing it so much I could have puked, I figured I should probably have some goal about when I’m going to return (Oktoberfest 2011.)  I’m certainly not hating being home, but it’s crazy to think that some of my classmates are still over there and haven’t even began the coming home process yet. Speaking of study abroad, I got a 4.0 last semester– not exactly the toughest 16 weeks of academia I’ve endured, but all A’s nonetheless.  This does wonders for my overall GPA, and now only 24 credit hours until I’m done-zo.  Posts related to that upcoming life crisis to follow.