Yep, I said it. I feel old. Today is the last day of my last summer vacation ever, and I’m not sure it even counts because I have a meeting later for which I’ll have to at least shower and leave the house. Iowa City is once again overrun with just bodies: bodies in the streets, bodies in droves pouring out of the liquor stores, tomorrow bodies getting lost, meeting for Mesa, cramming the Cambuses. I refuse to believe I’m one of these bodies, that I’m some how removed from the masses and am better than their mundane summer stories and 21-ordinance griping. I have a very “been there, done that” attitude, and I’m secretly kinda let down that I’m old enough to buy my own beer. We’re now entering the Get a job, get a job, get a job phase– no, thanks. If I’m told one more time that the job market has us all fucked from the get-go, I will scream and secure my sleeping bag space under the Benton Street bridge. I hadn’t given class starting tomorrow even a minutia of a thought until I had an inbox full of emails from professors with attached syllabuses. There’s so much reading. One of my professor is taking attendance. I have to give a speech on my first day of class tomorrow. Apparently I’m quite enjoying the bold HTML function today. Quite frankly, I feel completely overwhelmed. Three months of carefree summer loving has been beaten to a bloody pulp by course packs, a schedule already full of appointments, and general chest-gripping panic attack-inducing anxiety. So basically I’ve gone from feeling old (yes, I wrote the first part of this post this morning, pre-wheretheeffdidsummergo breakdown) to feeling incapable and infantile and stressed. I promise that was my last bolded word for today.

Lollapalooza was Gaga. And by that I mean, the whole reason I went to Lolla this year was for Her Majesty herself. I took a much more relaxed approach to the festival than last year, not to mention I had many more friends to hang out with at places other than the event itself. It’s guaranteed I’ll have issues anywhere porta-potties are the only means of relieving myself, but thankfully there were no major incidents or lack of toilet paper to report. I can’t really go into a full-on review of Gaga’s show because mostly my mind was just blown, but as everyone afterward said, it was a performance. Homegirl had some serious angst from performing at Lolla three years ago when she was a nobody and being told she’d remain so– there was a lot of shouting and “F You’s!” to the proverbial man. There were also a lot of parents who brought their kids (we’re talking 8-12 year olds) which was super inappropriate. Other than that, Green Day was good– everyone after Gaga just reminded me I wasn’t at Gaga (yes, it’s more than obsession.) Upon my return to Iowa City, I finished moving into my apartment and decorating my room. I was pleasantly surprised by how much stuff I brought back from Germany to brighten up the place, feel free to come over and check it out sometime. I only have ONE WEEK left at my internship, which honestly I’m pretty excited about, only because that means school starts afterward and I’m oddly psyched for routine life to start again. Oh– so I was introduced to Great Harvest Bakery this weekend. No, my life will never be the same; yes, I definitely ate more than one scone. WHYYYY don’t we ever get the cool places to come to Iowa??

Blogging from NPH’s kitchen– his mother made homemade blueberry muffins with streusel topping, add her to the list of things I love. Chicago is an absolute madhouse this weekend, not only because of Lollapalooza but because the weather is gorgeous AND Obama was in town the past couple of days. We didn’t see him, but every member of the Chicago police department seemed to be lining Michigan Avenue. As you may know, I am an avid reader of Perez Hilton’s blog– I don’t care if you judge me or hate him, he is one faboosh flaming former fatty. Anyway, he puts together “One Night In…” concerts when he’s in a city, and last night was a One Night in Chicago show to informally kick off Lolla. GUESS WHO WON TWO TICKETS?!?! Judging from the amount of capital letters in that last sentence, I hope you guessed ME! I invited the ol’ boyfriend to be my plus one, and we headed to the Hard Rock Hotel yesterday afternoon to get our wristbands. Doors were supposed to open at 8:00, we got in line behind about 20 or 30 people at 7:30 and were finally let in a little after 8:30. That hour of standing of people watching along the Magnificent Mile was both hilarious and slightly depressing in that I will never be that thin, have that big of a wardrobe budget, and be able to walk that far in that high of heels on a Thursday night while living my swank entry-level PR job in a major metropolitan area. Not that I really want to. We got inside, found a bar, ordered two drinks (specialty ones named like “Blogger Bomber” and other Perez-related stuff) then found out… wait for it… it was an open bar. That’s right ladies and gentlemen of my readership– FREE BOOZE. All night. UV Vodka was one of the sponsors– needless to say, we were pumped. Don’t think I went all balls to the wall, though (because one, there was no beer anywhere) but two, I needed to say alert and pumped for the Jump Smokers DJ Set, Nneka, J Brazil, Lissie, Kid Sister, and B.o.B. Now the only one in that line-up I’d even heard of was B.o.B. (damn that “Airplanes” is catchy) but I can honestly say they were all AMAZING. I won’t go into detail on each, but I was honestly impressed– Perez can pick some musicians. I ran into a fellow Hawkeye I was in PRSSA with who confirmed that Lady Gaga was indeed supposed to make an appearance (I KNEW it) but cancelled. Bummer. But not that big of a bummer because I’ll be seeing her tonight at Lolla, granted probably hundreds of yards away instead of literally ten feet. Oooh– we’re catching the train back into Chicago now. The train reminds me of Germany, sad; the buildings remind me I could never live in this giant of a place.

Did the lack of potassium kill her?!?! Nope, I just kinda forgot I had a blog there for about a week.  The good news is, I went back to the doctor and my electrolyte levels are back to where they need to be– no more health-related posts!!  NPH not only visited me at work when he got into town on Friday, but was also quite impressed when I introduced him to Famous Dave’s.  We made the trek to Adventureland Saturday morning– holy humidity, Batman– and the first four parking lots were already full when we pulled up 20 minutes after it opened.  Also, turns out the parking stand people only take cash which presents a few problems for college students who are slaves to their debit cards and don’t put much time into pre-planning their theme park day trips.  After making it through the gates and gooing on a ridiculous amount of sunscreen, we headed off to wait in line for the Raging River (I.HATE.LINES.)  Neil was previously a security guard at Six Flags so proclaimed “This is nothing!” as I whined about it for the duration.  All our loitering did provide ample time for people watching which is usually interesting, though watching and eavesdropping on the crowd at the biggest attraction in Altoona, Iowa made me more sad than intrigued.  When we finally got to the front of the line, three teenage boys from Kansas City, Missouri were also in our tube (how do I know this?  They introduced themselves.  And it only got better from there.)  I felt kind of bad for them because they were at the peak of social awkwardness in their lives– voices were cracking, whiteheads were ripe for the popping, hive fives were given after one of them got particularly splashed when we rammed into a wall.  ”Dude, you sooo have to give Brenna a hug after this.”  ”Ohmygod no, dude– she’d so kill me.  Haha dude you’re right, I’m so gonna get Brenna all wet.” My definition of the seventh circle of hell?  Close.  We rode a few roller coasters after that which weren’t as thrilling as I remember them being as a child, though Neil laughing maniacally next to me as I screamed for Jesus to save me before I surely plummeted to my death was a new couple-y experience.  After lunch (who knew they served beer at Adventureland?!) and NPH’s first funnel cake (which was GROSS, but the poor thing hasn’t been to the State Fair yet so still deemed this nasty imposter cake delicious) the humidity rose as our patience for the screaming children around us tanked.  Somehow we found ourselves in a  bar watching the USA lose the World Cup game to Ghana, then may have ended up at my house to drink more and watch Step Brothers. I know the first half of that damn movie by heart, but since there’s always a case of some cheap domestic brew involved, the second half of the movie is kind of hit-or-miss for me.  After two days of work, I spent my day off today helping my grandparents get their garden ready for a garden tour in a week or so.  And by “helped” I mean kinda spray-painted some stuff, wandered the house, ate a weird amount of chicken salad for not liking mayo, and then tried unsuccessfully to fix their printer.  Productive day?  Oh my yes.

My alarm will go off in six short hours, but I’m much too excited about the Harry Potter theme park-centered Spring Break road trip I’ve decided to go on to get any sleep.  As NPH pointed out, there will be many great hole-in-the-wall barbecue joints between here and Orlando.  I need to start breaking my paycheck down into Rent/ Booze/ Spring Break. Apparently I should also be saving heavily for life post-college,  but I don’t see much room for that in the aforementioned list.

Yes, this post is evidence that I did indeed survive my weekend of post-21st birthday celebrations in Las Vegas.  A grand time was had by all, save for perhaps our livers and wallets.  I gambled for the first time in my life, perhaps $4 total into penny slot machines, and made not a cent of it back.  Our flight from Omaha to Vegas on Thursday afternoon was delayed three hours due to a broken hydraulics system in the plane just before take-off. While we were less than thrilled, Southwest then provided free booze when we finally were airborne– not a bad deal at all.  Unfortunately we began to think we were slightly jinxed when our limo tour around town also went kaput (thankfully on an exit ramp) and a few other transportation-related annoyances that are now a bit hazy to recap.  Clearly we didn’t let any of that stop us and made it to IN-N-OUT BURGER, the super swank nightclub Tryst in the Wynn, Fremont Street, the hotel pool, THE HOFBRAUHAUS, and the Hard Rock Hotel bar a few more times than you might have thought possible.  One of my friends in my program while in Germany lives in Vegas and was able to meet us at the Hofbrauhaus!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! <–that’s how I excited I was.  We had the best time, and the menu was surprisingly authentic, though the music was not (“Sweet Home Alabama” isn’t exactly a crowd favorite in Deutschland.)  NPH loved the German beer and my favorite mustard so I guess I’ll keep him around for a while.  I’ve been trying not to think about how it’s only been a month since I’ve been back because it feels like a lifetime ago, and sometimes I have dreams where D-bag’s in ‘em or I’m speaking in German and I get very sad.

OVERALL, Vegas = giant success.  I’m both pants-pissing excited and a bit fearful of future roomie Lauren living there after graduation; I’ve been there three times in as many years and don’t see any reason to discontinue the trend.  Perhaps I’ll  branch out from getting sickeningly stuffed on Canter Deli’s turkey reuben every time I go (not likely) or stay at the Paris on my next visit so breakfast can come from their bakery case every morning (has to happen.)  Hopefully the bartenders at the Hard Rock don’t have that quick of a turn around rate since I’m now on first name basis with a few (shout-out to Greg and Joe, and yes, I’m name-dropping.)  While I’m still love love loving my internship, the next countdown is now set for Lollapalooza: I’ll be seeing Lady Gaga in exactly two months.  <There’s not a squeal loud enough to insert here.>

Well, yesterday was the day.  My 21st birthday.  I’ve only been counting for oh, years?  I remember figuring out that it’d be the year 2010 before I could legally drink (this makes me sound like an extra alcohol dependent) and assuming the world would probably explode before then.  While it’s probably close, the Earth is still in fact intact and my i.d. is now quite legal.  I worked 9-5, a shift that went by remarkably fast and was filled with lots of fun projects. My bosses took me out to lunch and we were given a free slice of birthday cake; they are awesome.  The rest of my day was, erm… quite different from how I had ever pictured my 21st birthday being.  I went home, pizza was involved, so were some Comedy Central specials I had already seen.  This is due mostly (all?) to the fact I’m flying to Vegas in a day to have a weekend full of plenty of celebration to count for yesterday, today, perhaps the whole month of June.  I also just returned from a rather fabulous weekend in Iowa City where I got to celebrate with all of my friends over there (and be severely letdown by like NOWHERE being open for my birthday dinner with NPH because of Memorial Day.  I had my heart set on sushi and still lay awake at night craving it, ahem Formosa.)  Lauren and I saw Sex and the City 2 and then racked up quite an impressive bill at The Vine in honor of the last time I’d ever use my fake i.d.

AND, let’s not forget– I met Neil’s parents. They were lovely.  His sister even came along, and the five of us had a perfectly pleasant dinner and conversation.  His mother made the  world’s best chocolate chip cookie bars AND lasagna (which we later ate with our hands because 713 doesn’t have any forks.  Just imagine how much even better it would have tasted if we had microwaved it and used the proper utensils.)  Both NPH and the lil’ sis informed me later that I was positively loved by all, and if anything they find me a bit saint-like for putting up with the hygiene habits of most members of the house.  Now I’m counting down the days til Lollapalooza (GAGA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) just so we can stay at his house and his mom can feed me for three days.

I’ve returned home from Iowa City one night earlier than scheduled, due to an oncoming wretched cold/ my cousin’s graduation party tomorrow.  While I of course enjoyed myself, it was an interesting glimpse into some growing pains I’m sure to encounter over the next three months.  Wednesday was my first day of, “What a lovely American visit this has been, get me back to Germany now.” Once I start my internship (MONDAY!!) my mood is sure to improve because quite frankly, I’m bored outta my gourd.  NPH’s birthday party was a rousing success– I introduced a few of the well-dressed attendees to German beer, and the cake and cupcakes were merely a memory shortly after the last bars of “Happy Birthday” were flatly sung.

Yeah, it was Funfetti. Feel free to hire me for your next party

The two-hour drive between Iowa City and home is sure to be the bane of my summer 2010 existence.  Come to think of it, so will the drive to and from my place of employment– completely on the other side of Des Moines, a journey that will often be made with the other 9-5ers trucking into the city from the suburbs.  (Ok, I’m KINDA really looking forward to being one of these under-caffeinated, overly aggressive commuters, but I feel it will quickly get old.)  Maybe I’ll become an avid player of morning radio show contests.  I’m also entertaining romantic daydreams of wearing professional office attire, then fielding many text requests from various family and friends to meet them for post-work dinner or drinks.  This glamorous dream-life I’ve created for myself is helpful during instances like today’s commencement exercises at Iowa.  The campus was overrun with seniors in their caps and gowns, parents looking horribly out of place and furtively glancing about like, “I’m in Iowa City, I could get puked on at any moment.”  Most of my friends have made several comments about how that’s going to be us in a year: Ohmygod we were just freshman yesterday/ I’m not ready/ let’s all drop out, grow beards, and start an alternative community in one of the lesser-populated Western states.  Surprisingly, I have not yet joined them in their panic, and am instead quite excited to become gainfully employed immediately post-college (because don’t you know, journalism majors are in such hot demand right now …) and start my shockingly cosmopolitan life in an equally cosmopolitan metropolis somewhere.  Oh, Sex and the City, you are so setting me up for quite the slap in the face later from the real world.

When people use the word “rage” outside of it’s intended meaning, I think less of them. According to the always trustworthy Dictionary.com, rage means: angry fury, violent anger. An acceptable use of it in a sentence would be, “She was filled with such rage, Brittney ran down all the pedestrians with her car.” An idiom of this word could even be used in the phrase “all the rage,” though that’s usually only accepted if you’re an AARP member. Unfortunately, some people are now using this four-letter word to mean get really drunk and party.

“Ohmygod we should totally rage this weekend.”

“I’m gonna get my rage face on and party.”

“We totally raged.”

No, you did not. You probably acted a fool and drank too many Bacardi Raspberry Coolers and ended up at Pancheros long before bar close. I can’t point to one particular reason as to why turning this noun into a horrible verb irks me, but it does. Along with it, I’d like to add overuse of the word “epic.” I blame whoever started labeling circumstances as an Epic Fail.  Not everything in your life is epic, please stop referring to it as such. I’ve known a skater/native Californian or two who legitimately refer occasionally to something great as being epic. Hey, that’s fine– it’s much different than Miss Midwest in her Pink VS sweatpants describing her slice of Mesa as epic, and then her amount of homework as epic, or, God forbid, “We raged last night and it was so epic.” The gun to head motion goes here.

Day: I’ve lost count.  Mood: get my happy ass on a plane PRONTO.

We made it over the river and through the woods to Grandma’s in time for a dinner of CORNISH GAME HENS last night.  You know, the mini chickens that royalty ate a lot in the time of castles and kings and moats and arranged marriages?  Needless to say, I was quite excited.  Apparently one is to eat these with a fork and knife, cut meat, eat it, repeat– you know, like a regular meal.  I however took this new culinary delight as an excuse to go balls to the wall and tear this beast apart with my hands, silverware, ice pick; really anything to get to the deeeelish stuffing inside.  Unfortunately my grandparents had not only the neighbors over as dinner guests but also their pastor and wife.  None of the newbies talked to me much, just kind of politely nodded as my mother explained that she tried her damndest to raise me as a lady, but something malfunctioned along the way and I can now burp louder than NPH and sit as though straddling a cruise ship.  My bad.

We’ve been drinking bloody mary’s since about noon, putting together another God-forsaken puzzle a la Thanksgiving.  Finally about  three hours and only 10 pieces in we looked at each other and said, “WHY do we do this again?!” And no one could come up with a valid reason so just said Fuck It.  (Correction: my grandmother did not say “fuck” anything.  I am the only one who curses like a sailor.  This is a bad habit I should at some point address.  One time at my job  over the summer the most stonerish, strung out, greased up, dropped out kid I worked with turned to me and goes, “You swear more than anyone I know.”  SORRY.  I will now try to weave “frick” into my vernacular for the new year.)

My grandfather is now trying to pass my grandmother a chocolate covered cherry via his mouth.  You may be barfing, but really, I was thinking about this today: they are an excellent example of keeping the spark alive.  These two touch lips more than any over-20 couple I know.  He says he’s going out to the store, she tells him how much she’ll miss him while he’s gone and then they do some slightly stomach-turning PDA in front of the grandchildren.  When I’m their age (which is still really quite young) I only hope to be half as in love with my significant other as these two are.  It probably helps that they spend three months of every year in Hawaii, doing nothing but I don’t even wanna know in a condo on the beach– I know I’d be more pleasant to those around me if my happy ass was soaking up the sun in the dead of winter.

OH GUESS WHAT my grades came in today.  As always, I am an academic rockstar.  This whole college thing really isn’t as hard as it’s cracked up to be, or at least most of the time I’m too not sober to care.  Today one of my loyal readers told me my blog would make an excellent movie.  Well DUH.  Who would play me?  Me, of course.  Or maybe Lindsay Lohan.  I love her.  While the rest of America has given up on her, I’m still gunning for a comeback that would put Britney to shame (don’t even get me started on her– while I love her, that “comeback” is nothing more than the most contrived, puppeteered, record some whiny cat-sounding sounds over a too-heavy dance beat and call it a hit media circus bullshit to happen since the first time she had a Number One.  BUT I DIGRESS.)

Happy birthday to my aunt, Sheila– should she be reading.

Happy Christmas, kiddos– I’m off to PLAY MONOPOLY with my family, how FREAKING jealous of me are you?  Ooooh I’m sure there’s Christmas cookies somewhere.  Perhaps if I disappear to the “garage” to get “Monopoly pieces” and I come back covered in crumbs they won’t suspect anything…

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