Someone found my blog by searching “stupid blonde German bitch.” Yes.

The day of my commencement was spent not actually attending the (what was later described as) painfully long, dull three hour ceremony, but rather bathing da Fergs, festooning a strapless dress from freshman year into a passable shirt, and hanging out with multiple surrogate families. (I told mine to stay home since I wasn’t actually walking; we’ll celebrate together this coming weekend.) I tagged along with Roomie Lauren’s hilarious, wonderful kin to lunch and lots of celebratory shots. Later, NPH’s family came and we all went to dinner, ate cake, and discussed the housing situation in the greater Chicagoland area for a while. The rest of the night was spent much more tame than you’d imagine for having something so large to celebrate, but it was raining and frankly, after doing this for nearly four years, my body is quite tired. Perhaps why, after a relatively productive Monday, the first of “summer,” the first in the awkward but glorious time between school and starting work in the real world, I got sick. It hurts. I am beyond cranky. It’s some sort of sinus thing that has manifested itself in my lungs. It burns. Did I mention I’m cranky? Knowing that my mother will straight up murder me if I dare be ill during the many graduation festivities she has planned for this weekend, I’ve been taking it easy and laying around, drinking tea, and texting outrageous soup demands to NPH every hour on the hour.

I read Tina Fey’s Bossypants in one sitting on Friday, and Portia de Rossi’s Unbearable Lightness in one stretch yesterday. I cannot wait to get my grubby little mitts on Steven Tyler’s autobiography that just came out this month.

See, Roomie Lauren– I didn’t even once mention your hot older brother in this post!

One million apologies to my most dedicated of followers who have been anxiously awaiting any sort of post while I’ve been gallivanting around town, avoiding this blog as well as most things reminding me that I’M LEAVING soon. Some slightly large news: as of 10:30 this morning, I am officially a college graduate! I only had one final this year, and while I probably could have failed and still passed the class, I in fact did pretty ok and am fairly confident I will be receiving my diploma. I’m not walking at commencement (something about my dad saying, “I’ll pay you to not make me sit through that ceremony”) so all that’s left is quite a bit of celebrating. Things are looking pretty fantastic on the career front, though I’ll save that for those of you who know me beyond my sarcastic Internet persona which is surely a front for my paralyzing insecurities.

I suppose I could update you on how I went home for Mother’s Day or how NPH had quite a successful birthday on Tuesday, but at this point: I’VE GRADUATED, BITCHES– and that’s really all that matters. If you are looking for a gift, please send cash, checks, yen, gift cards, IOUs, and spare change to my home address. I will also consider it a gift if you never ask me, “What are you doing after graduation?” “Ooh, what does that company do?” “Where are you going to live?” “Who’s going to take Fergus?” “What’s Neil doing?” or, possibly my favorite, “Are you two going to stay together while you live in different cities?” I’m quite seriously considering printing out the answers to all of the above frequently asked questions on index cards and passing them out at the graduation festivities my mother has planned that will span all three days of next weekend. Seriously, just say “Congrats” and pass me a beer. You automatically win the game.

For my last week of classes ever as a college student, the River Room has decided to serve almond chicken, my favorite. On my last journalism assignment, I was one of only two students who received grades in the A range. I will have a week off between my last class this Thursday and my first final next Thursday, and then one more at 7:30 a.m. on Friday. I would say something about the university sticking it to me one last time, but I’m just so excited about whatever comes after it that I’ve remained pretty unphased.

Currently I don’t feel like posting much about Bin Laden’s death– you can find my tweets for my play-by-play thoughts last night– though I can say I’ve never felt prouder to be a journalism major than last night. The same can’t go for being an American because quite frankly I was embarrassed by the reactions of many people, but as my professor this morning said, “Emotions aren’t right or wrong, you can’t help the way you feel in a particular moment.” So no judging, just dissimilar reactions.

For those of you who aren’t keeping track– yesterday marks ONE MONTH UNTIL MY BIRTHDAY, and today is Fergus Jackson’s nine month birthday. As his present, he will get his monthly heartworm pill. He really likes it. I have a feeling he will celebrate as he does all other days of his life: sleeping, looking out the window, and trying to catch that damn squirrel in the backyard. I’ll never tell him his legs are too short to ever catch it.

Did I watch the royal wedding live? No. Did my boyfriend? Yes. He texted me at 5:28 am “I think you’re gonna like her dress.” NPH knows me well then, I suppose, but then again I haven’t read a single bad thing about it. Kate/Catherine/Duchess of Cambridge looked HOLYCRAPSTUNNINGGORGEOUS. I’ve watched what I need to online and now feel sufficiently royal wedding-ed out. I’m not a fan of the people going out of their way to be downers about it. It’s ok that you don’t care, but this is big doings to an estimated 1/3 of the world’s population, so shut your pie hole. The bride is gorgeous, they look truly happy together, and I hope the press leaves them alone. But it’s British tabloids, so that won’t happen.

Wednesday was my last PRSSA meeting ever. I’ve been involved since the first chapter meeting of my freshman year, so it’s a bittersweet sigh of relief. We went to Hope Lodge last night to make dinner for the guests, tonight is our “downtown social”, and Wednesday is our final banquet where we exec get to pass the torch to the newly elected members and run for the hills.

Speaking of sprinting away from things: I have five classes and two finals between now and when I’m officially graduated. Let the festivities begin!

I suppose it had to happen sometime. Honestly, I was expecting it long before this, but it still blindsided me nonetheless: the graduation freak out. I completely blame Spring Break for this (and the fact that the shorts I wore often in Vegas in June won’t, um, be packed for this trip) because I finally did some math and realized that when we return from the magical land of neon, In-n-Out, and yard-a margaritas, there will be only eight weeks left until the end of the semester. To be fair, our lease isn’t up until the first of August and the job I have will gladly keep me until then, but still. To prove your grown up-ness, you’re really supposed to have a job waiting to greet you on the other side of the stage. Well, the proverbial stage. I will not be walking across the literal one for a bevy of reasons, only one of those being that we have to be at the ceremony at 8:15 a.m. Oh and that they’ll be reading like 4,000 names. After some speeches. And a lot of picture taking. Yikes.

ANYWAY– back to my life revelations– I was in my room, throwing WAY too many clothes and shoes for a one week trip (no, I won’t tell you how many pairs I’m taking) into a giant suitcase, listening to some Kanye, then Gaga, then slowing it down with some Coldplay and Smashing Pumpkins. All irrelevant, but scene-setting, go with it. I don’t know what sparked this pity party, but all of a sudden I start thinking of good-byes and one of Neil’s roommates going to San Francisco for the summer and wait, I won’t be in ‘Frisco for the summer, which means we’ll be apart, which means none of us will know what to do because if there’s a walking definition of “codependent,” it’s me and them 713ers. Well, some of ‘em. My brain is a terribly anxious place to live. What are NPH and I to do when we both get fabulous job offers in two very different places? Fergus likes me far better, though I’m much less patient with him than Neil. Is there some sort of canine custody agreement we’ll have to enter into since ever living anywhere but Iowa City didn’t seem to cross our minds when making quite a snap puppy decision in Petland?! (Actually, Neil did think of that before we got him. I’m taking the dog. Cat’s, er, puppy’s outta the bag.) Yeah, yeah, I realize everything will be fine and this stuff happens to everyone all the time and that a public blog is probably the last place I need to be airing these very self-centered grievances, but alas, here I am. It’s probably not going to get much better from here and will in fact get much worse. Probably tears will be involved, yikes. Thankfully boot camp will be over so I can resume my Thursday night drinking. And Tuesday and Sunday. That was a joke, Mother.

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.