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

It’s PACKING DAY!!  Almost as fun as moving day.  Almost.  The real question on everyone’s minds is WHERE TO EAT LUNCH tomorow with the parents and NPH (that’s right people, they’re meeting.  Get excited.  My mother will fawn over his rugged Brawny paper towel man looks and my father will get deeply engrossed in conversation with him about manly things like how best to manuever my 600 pound television down four flights of stairs.  OR… he and I show up hungover and they say Oh hey, so you’re the one she’s always blogging about, thanks for helping.  My money’s on scenario two.)  I’m thinking Which Wich since I can’t leave the great US of A without one last black bean patty on wheat with avocado and barbecue sauce YUM YUM YUM excited.  Or the Hamburg Inn.  Or the Pit for some BBQ.  Dammit.  “You wanna see Brittney’s head totally spin?  Ask her where she wants to eat.  She can’t do it.” — my father.  It is true.  Indecisiveness is one of my few character flaws.

You know what SUCKS?  My milk-to-cereal ratio for lunch was way off.  I don’t oft’ buy cereal, especially not Rice Krispies (can I get a woo-hoo for Reese’s Puffs and Grape Nuts?!  Not together of course) but they were left over from baking.  And I’m a sucker for how much noise they make when you put the milk on ‘em.  Hehehe more foods should make sounds.  While I’m on this random food tangent, let me say that I have no problem with lukewarm foods.  Or cold food.  I don’t often eat hot food.  One of the ladies at work was SO. DISGUSTED. that for lunch one day I whipped a can of soup out of my bag, pulled off the top and dug right in.  Cold.  I also eat with my hands whenever possible (but not soup DUH.)  Both Natalie & NPH have commented in the last week on my um, interesting style of eating.  Namely pulling eveything apart and picking at things and re-forming them and generally treating mealtime like a toddler.  And I WONDER why I don’t go on more dates…

In the name of making this post longer while relieving myself to FINALLY PACK… (maybe)… I will now post the blog NPH penned one evening entitled “Why I’m a Weak Drinker” (apparently I don’t wish to ever have legitimate employment).  Note that his FULL NAME is in it– all his doing– so you can all go Google and Internet stalk him and show up at his house and peer in his windows and I will laugh heartily.

“Hey My name is Brittney, I’m a pretty good drinker. Let me just say however that I bow to Neil Ledford in terms of drinking. He is a far better drinker than me. I wish, every night I wish I had his ability. Sadly however, it is impossible for me to gain his ability. I can only hope!”

Thanks, buddy.  I would just like to point out the size difference between the two of us so I would HOPE the kid could put much more away than I.  We should probably work on getting real hobbies at some point…

Mom’s package came in the mail today.  If you have a hankering for triple chocolate Ghiradelli brownies anytime in the next week, I’m your girl.

I turned my journalism scholarships application in today with three hours to spare!  Deadlines are the only thing that gets my work done.  At the beginning of every semester I have great intentions to do ALLMYWORK within the first two weeks, but that always gives way to doing a shoddy job moments before everything’s due.  I see no reason to change this– I’ve operated pretty well like this for twenty years.  The early bird gets the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese.  <– I don’t know who originally said this, but I completely ripping them off.

You know who thinks it’s hi-LAR-ious to change people’s Facebook statues or tweets or blog posts when they remain logged in on an abandoned computer?  NPH.  Last night was the first and hopefully only time I have fallen victim to this.  While it wasn’t exactly hard to figure out the perpetrator (his blog post was all about his vast superiority because he can drink more than me), I do appreciate him checking the BBC’s Web site for international news mid-shenanigan and later discovering it on my computer history.

Christmas is TWO weeks away!  Roomie has informed me that Hanukkah starts tonight.  Mazel tov?  I can get down with celebrating eight nights in a row.

So I have this idea, and I think you’re really going to like it.  A rent-a-baby service.  People like babies, but don’t want to have any of their own (I’m generally going to market this to the college-aged population.)  If a mom wants an afternoon away from her screaming kid, she drops it off at my rent-a-baby service and someone can come by and take it out on the town for about an hour.  She doesn’t have to pay for a babysitter, you don’t have to pay to hang out with a baby.  But only cool babies.  If you have a boring baby, you are not allowed to have people rent it. ”Oh wow, I’m really enjoying my walk through the ped mall today, but it’d be a lot better if I had a BABY with me.”   “Oh hey there’s Brittney– and she’s hanging out with a baby!  Ohhh, what tomfoolery she’s always getting in to.”  We’ll get into the whole diaper-changing/ background checks thing later, but I’m fairly certain you’re just as sold on this idea as me.

Well folks, I’m itching for an ADVENTURE.  Most people on campus are “staying in” this weekend and “studying” for “final exams.”  These phrases confuse me.  If I end up at 713 next to Neil on the couch, I will scream.  A change of scenery is always appreciated.  Perhaps I will go paint my nails now.  Or frost some cookies.  Yep– THIS IS MY LIFE.

After 13 hours of sleep last night I woke up feeling horrid.  I don’t think that’s how it’s supposed to work, so I went to student death health where they loaded me with antibiotics for a sinus infection.  The rest of the day has been spent in bed, wondering if my head and throat could possibly feel any worse, and I have decided that no, they cannot.  NPH offered to bring me juice after class (thanks, buddy) but not only would that have thrust him far into boyfriend territory, I also have a freak love for going to HyVee and wanted to do it myself.  A carton of orange juice, some NyQuil (on sale!), a can of soup & some apple cider flavored tea later and I think I’m good to go.  To bed, that is, which I’ll be doing here in about ten minutes.  Yes, it is approximately 5 p.m.

Congrats to the Hawkeyes for making it to the Orange Bowl.  I know many people who plan on going to Miami for the game, and GUESS WHAT we’ll be down at about the same time because that’s where we fly in and out of for our cruise.

If you have a moment and want to read something far more interesting than my mindless blathering, check out this article in today’s DI.  It’s about binge drinking (BIGSURPRISE) but I liked his one much more than some of their previous.  Perhaps because if you check out the multimedia package on the right there’s pictures of people who’ve puked on themselves.  As far as remeding the situation, Greek life should definitely be wet (something ISU has over us) and students will just have to be cognizant of how much they’re drinking on their own.  Long editorials and city council meetings are obviously not changing anything, we’re all so friggin’ tired of hearing we drink too much.  Don’t they say about addicts, you can’t change them until they finally want to change?  The underage drinkers and binge drinkers of Iowa City obviously don’t want to change, and the ones who do, will.  No one’s done anything significant to impede our drinking, and if they did, we’d relegate ourselves indoors to house parties and more lame backyard kegs a la Ames to get the job done.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a date with some nasty cherry-flavored NyQuil in hopes of just sleeping this thing off.

The neti pot is beginning to fail me, thus it’s time to pull out the big guns.  Mainly, 21st century medication in all forms– Mucinex, some kick-ass nasal spray stuff (this whole process has taught me I have zero problem with putting things in my nose) and some HyVee brand cold medication and cough drops that it took us way too long to decide on late Thursday night.  (After watching me go up and down the aisle multiple times, Neil: “You know, you don’t have to have ALL the symptoms listed on the box.”  and “Contrary to your apparent beliefs, Brittney, I haven’t actually taste-tested all of the throat losenges in the greater Iowa City/Coralville area.  Just. PICK ONE.” 

SO LAST NIGHT… PRSSA ugly sweater bar crawl.  I’d like to think it was a success, mostly because I planned it, but also because with the amount of bone-crushing hugs from everyone– the ones brought on by either severe inebriation or extreme adoration– it seems others enjoyed themselves as well.  Example: I was lifted in the air twice.  Previous to last night, I would have bet money on that being a feat most of my friends could not undertake.  Well, now that I think about it, neither of them are actually in PRSSA and in fact are two of my favorite people from the 713 pool.  But I digress.

I looked bomb diggity and so did Natalie (she and I thought that tights under shorts were a good option, she wore two pairs and I wore longjohns under mine) and really everyone else did as well.  NPH came to the pizza place where we started and got to meet everyone, his own personal legion of adoring fans.  He and Natalie got on famously, she specifically asked that I mention them in my blog and how much she ”LOVES NPH” and he is “SO AWESOME” and ”GOOD JOB PICKING YOUR BEST FRIEND.”  Uh, thank you.

Natalie, me, NPH

Anyway, luckily my apartment is in freak proximity to downtown so I was able to go home and put on jeans without missing much.  The tights plus the snow on the ground really weren’t a great combo.  From there the night was a blur of red and green sweater vests, super flattering pictures, my partner in crime Lauren joining us, Natalie befriending a bartender and essentially getting a gallon of vodka Sprite for $3, perhaps a Pancheros stop, and some flailing about that we tried to pass off as dancing to “Bad Romance” with a German.  THAT’S RIGHT, folks.  Apparently the towering presence of Aryan perfection on the crawl the entire night is actually straight off the boat German, methinks visiting or studying here for a bit.  I was not informed of this until five minutes before we called it a night, but I took solace in the fact that if his fellow countrymen even look half as good as that one, next semester will be a fun time indeed.

Speaking of studying abroad, I talked to a few PRSSAers who have done it (Italy & Spain) and realized I will probably be traveling a lot more in Europe than had originally planned.  I will definitely not have class five days a week, perhaps only two or three (it’s 17 credit hours though) and they both assured me that I’ll want to stick around after my program ends to do more.  One girl’s parents gave her three extra weeks to backpack, and she told me about the super cheap airline over there where you can hop on a plane and go to a new country for like 10 Euro.

And speaking of abroad, days like yesterday when Amanda Knox was found guilty in Italy are days I am extra thankful to live in America.  I don’t think she did it.  Perhaps that’s just the American media poisoning my mind, but she didn’t.

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.

Am I supposed to take shampoo & conditioner to Germany or buy it when I’m over there.  SO MANY LITTLE CONUNDRUMS!! I got my housing assignment and boy howdy am I excited.  I’ll be in dorm-style living (own room, but sharing a kitchen/living room/bathroom… I think, I actually just made up the majority of that information) with… drumroll please… 3 males and another female.  *Cue angels singing.  On my housing information sheet, I let the peeps over in Germany aware of my penchant for getting along with guys better.  My mother says this will be excellent practice for hopefully living in 713 next year.  My father did not have much to say, except to bring me back to reality when I was SUPER PSYCHED about the super low cost of rent.  “Wow, four months to live there will cost about what I pay for only two months rent in the States!”  He then kindly pointed out that the lower sum was in Euros.  Drat.

Neil’s happy ass is speeding (correction: driving at exactly the speed limit) down I-80 towards central Iowa as we speak.  He could probably get here much earlier, but for some reason drives as if he already has his AARP card. 

T-Bone has spent the morning putting up MORE Christmas shit decorations, stringing lights on the tree, that sorta thing.  We watched the Biggest Loser: Where are they Now special which made me feel only slightly more like a beached whale than I already did after this week of holiday indulgences. 

I toats-mcgoats forgot that Friday is our PRSSA downtown social (read: bar crawl) which is kind of my job to plan.  We decided to forgo (forego?  Google says it can be either) bar crawl shirts and instead will be wearing ugly holiday sweaters.  Thankfully if there’s one thing my house has plenty of, it’s hideous holiday wear.  Now to plan the list of establishments to patron, which will really only hold up for maybe the first three bars.  After that everyone either stays or goes to their favorite place, goes home pissed off and sober, goes home pissed off and drunk, finds a hook-up for the night and abandons the crawl, gets a hankering for Mesa pizza and abandons the crawl, or gets arrested.  Not all, though some of these, have happened to me in the past.  I have never successfully been on a bar crawl start to finish.  Friday will guaranteed be no exception. 

Oh, and by the by, I MISS THE SHIT OUTTA MY IOWA CITY FRIENDS.  We have been apart for eight days.  Take that times about 15 (a conservative estimate of how many days we will be apart spring semester) and you have one extremely sad Brittney.  You know that saying, what doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger?  BS.  I heard an alternate saying a few years ago: what doesn’t kill you makes you want to die.  I’ve always preferred that one.  While not exactly applicable in this situation, it melodramatically spotlights how I will be feeling.

Now I must leave you to go “take inventory” of the amount of alcohol we have in the basement and see if we need to go buy more before the classy family BBQ tonight.  I feel a trip to the store is in order.

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.