-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.

Shifting from Crazy Dog Lady mode, I got a Droid X today. It. Is. Awesome. I’ve been wanting a smart phone for some time, and sitting in a conference all day Saturday I realized how much I really wanted (needed?) to check my emails since I had been out of the office traveling the day before (I sound so grown up, it’s all a front, I assure you.) I had to go to Des Moines to interview someone for an article I’m writing, so afterward I met up with my father at the Verizon store and I officially became my own customer instead of part of our family plan. Let me tell you, being a grown up isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. It does come with amazing technology, however, which is already proving to be quite the perk. My favorite feature so far is that I can say something into the phone and it will send it via text, but I’m sure once I dive into the app store there will be plenty more unbelievable things that will astound and freak me out at the same time (have you seen I, Robot? I’m convinced that’s what this world will one day become.)

Do I want to go to boot camp tomorrow? Oh gracious, no. But I will. Good night.

…ok, fine– I’ll just show you the cover. Only because it’s a mondo-ly impressive transformation, much more inspiring than me making up words like “mondo-ly.”

Yet I’m finding I can’t do it. I don’t know what’s stopping me. Could it be the heartburn from that way too salty veggie pizza? (Sorry Dad, but Godfather’s really isn’t doing it for me anymore.) Could it be that I’ve been constantly reminded for the past two years that the job market is shit, and I’ll be lucky to be offered a position during the third shift on some fast food restaurant’s janitorial staff? It could very likely be that I don’t have much confidence in my cover letter-writing skills, or that I have no idea where geographically I want to work, and I still can’t articulate a real answer when my parents’ friends ask, “So what is it exactly you want to do?” I could try and BS myself into thinking that I’m just scared it’s actually going work, that I’m going to get a job and THEN what? That would be an ideal situation, and I’d hope my pansy self would be able to be first and foremost over the moon, and then address the Holy Majackas I’m Officially an Adult panic moment at the appropriate time.

Mostly I realize that I’m scared because this is the big leagues. I’m scared that being a graduating college senior came far too quickly, and I’m scared of what happens next because I don’t know what happens next. I’m scared I’ll move somewhere where I don’t know anyone, scared that NPH and I will be forced back into friendship because of long distance and that my visitation with Fergus will be relegated to the occasional photo or Skype session. I’m scared I won’t get to live with my awesome roommates anymore, and that I might have to shack up with a stranger who will stink and not do their dishes and rob me. I’m actually really quite frightened I’ll get a job I won’t know how to do, that I’ll be in there the first week and my boss will realize my hiring was a terrible mistake. There’s a litany of other things I have anxiety over– the Hawkeyes’ loss today, how fat I look in photos taken last weekend, if Fergus is going to pee on everything when he gets here later this week– but I’ll stop burdening you with my insecurities.

It’s time to write some cover letters.

The grade for my midterm has been posted, and while I won’t reveal it here, let’s just say I’ve at least left myself room for dire improvement.

This weekend, NPH and I ventured outside of our normal home football routine and traveled to North Liberty for a bit of a pre-game soiree hosted by my former supervisor. She’s also a close family friend, thus NPH had the privilege of meeting more of my blood relatives. Unfortunately there are no entertaining stories to report, though it was very reminiscent of My Big Fat Greek Wedding in that from the moment we entered, food was (quite willingly) forced down NPH’s throat, not to mention we were loaded down with leftovers before leaving. Those have had to wait in the fridge though because I got all domestic Friday night and made homemade chili. I wouldn’t even say I’m a fan of chili, but after the boyfriend requested and then badgered me about it for weeks, I turned out a bomb-skitty (yes, a real adjective) meal. Spicy, two kinds of meat, beans. Cornbread. Oh, am I gloating? It was that yummy.

Triscuits are my favorite cracker, followed closely by Wheat Thins and Ritz. My father is a large fan of Chicken in a Biskit. These have confused me to no end since childhood– WHAT is a biskit and WHY are they called that because they definitely don’t taste like chicken. They are damn delicious, however. I especially like the little scalloped edges.

In the final bit of news before I go back to working on a scholarship application, 713 has two new important additions. One is thankfully temporary– Taco, a very small kitten that’s currently under the watchful cat-sitting eye of one shorter, more intelligent member of the house. The other arrived after all four residents went on a spontaneous, shenanigans-filled run to Wal-Mart Saturday afternoon. The second amendment is being exercised (no really, as I type this, it’s laying across NPH’s lap) in the form of a BB gun… that looks like a .22 rifle. Because THAT has “great idea” written all over it. I don’t like the idea of firearms in any capacity, though watching the boyfriend find his inner 10-year-old and make shooting sounds while guarding us from imaginary house predators is one of the more adorable things I’ve seen.

“Well now I’m just embarrassed– you’re clearly blogging about this.” Puts down gun. He knows me too well.

10. to Mike “The Situation” and Pauly D: You are absolutely the best part of the show, and the only reason I still watch. While you have the busted face of a 45-year-old trucker, Situation, we could all use a healthy dose of your confidence. And Pauly, whenever your “song” Beat da Beat comes on my Sirius, I try– I really do try– to listen. So far I’ve gotten to about the second chorus before I fear my ears will start bleeding onto the steering wheel, so it’s progress, my friend.
9. to Roomie Lauren: This whole time Roomie Rachael and I have been trying to blame the clogged shower drain on your insane mane of hair, but we had a conference in class this morning and realized that in fact we shed just as much. So I apologize. And also, stop tanning– your death from melanoma will probably leave 1/3 of the rent unpaid and well, my internships just don’t pay that much.
8. to our neighbor: Stop smoking weed. We can all occasionally appreciate some recreational use of the ganj, but your lungs have to be black (green?). See above, I apparently have turned into a giant anti-cancer advocate in this post.
7. to Neil: If your Mom brings me pumpkin bread, please don’t back out on that time when you said I can have the top piece. And yes, the whole top slice. Just take the knife, turn the loaf the wrong way, and slice me off the sugary, still kinda melty part. Feel free to give the nasty part kinda stuck to the pan to Pierce, he’ll eat anything.
Intermission– my LORD this is boring to write. I feel it would be un-upstanding of me to quit the 10 Day thing on like, Day One-Third, so bear with me.
6. to my grandmothers: I hope you’re both feeling better. If I weren’t such a shitty granddaughter, I would pick up the phone or send a letter or really reach out in any other way than a half-assed blog post. And I’m sorry I said “ass.”
5. to Roomie Rachael: I am so, so sorry I just made that face at you.
4. to Brother: What do I get for keeping this new secret for you? We can discuss later, I’m thinking straight cash.
3. to the man who called me beautiful while walking to class: Creepy. But thank you. But seriously, who does that? If you’re over 40 and in the construction industry, that will just never, ever come off as anything but borderline illegal.
2. to Curtis: You leaving your dirty socks here was not seen as a gift by me and my roommates, contrary to your apparent belief. You’re welcome for carrying your cowboy boots around town, the use of my boyfriend as your personal donkey, and the black bean burger you found in my freezer and drunkenly ate upon your return from the bar. …but seriously, I still owe you like a million from my times of just barging in and demanding lodging in Ames, so come on back any time.
1. To Mama and Papa: I’m bringing laundry home tomorrow.