May I just point out the irony of waking up at 5:00 am on a day I was supposed to have a 7:30 am final, but said exam was deemed optional by the professor, thus if there was one day I was planning on sleeping in, today would have been that day?

I don’t even care if that’s not actually irony, or the fact that was one of the more run-on-ish sentences you’ve ever seen in your life. I’m delirious with exhaustion, yet can’t sleep. As evidenced by my overuse of commas and the made up word “run-on-ish.”

Making coffee was probably also a poor choice.

Why am I the only person who answers in lecture when the professor asks what beastiality or necrophilia is?  (It’s a class on the First Amendment, we were defining “prurient interests”…)  Apparently I have no problem shouting “Sex with animals!” and “Sex with dead people!” in a roomful of 100+ people.

Did you hear about the former Miss Argentina who DIED during her recent cosmetic surgery?  The not even 40-year-old mother of twins had a pulmonary embolism during her butt surgery.  She died for the perfect ass.  So, so sad.  I am quite anti-plastic surgery, for myself.  Friends have had it and it was great for them, fabulous.  While I wouldn’t mind a magic lipo fairy (or if I were to wake up with boobs that could actually be discerned from an adolescent boys’), those things are pipe dreams, and I’d never actually pay for them or put my life in danger for a better body.  Most of my issues are in my head anyway, so those thousands of dollars would be better spent on a shrink.  There’s a documentary Killer at Large about America’s obesity epidemic, and it opens with a TWELVE-YEAR-OLD girl undergoing liposuction.  She gained it back.  Went across the border to Mexico for lap band surgery.  I’m going to change the subject now, lest I begin an unstoppable diatribe on healthy eating and GETTING OFF YOUR ASS and playing outside at the ripe old age of 12.

We are now listening to George Carlin’s “Seven Dirty Words” bit in class.  My professor loves writing “bad” words on the board.  Hey, it keeps us from falling to sleep (and yes, I’m blogging during class.  I have faith that if George Carlin is on the final, I’ll be able to come up with a few of my favorite obscenities to put in the short answer section.)

Today is my half birthday.  Give me presents, I don’t care if they’re half presents.

It is also World AIDs Day.  90 people get the swine flu & everyone wants to wear a mask; millions of people have AIDs and no one wants to wear a condom.  In the words of my wise mother, wrap it before you tap it.  Or erm, get tapped?  There is free HIV & AIDs testing on campus today.  I will not be taking advantage of this, mostly because you would need a male figure to at least look in your general direction once a century to have some sort of sexually transmitted disease.  Also, I give blood on the reg and I would hope the ol’ blood center would have called me up by now if my donated fluids were killing people.

You know what I can’t do anymore?  Sleep.  The ol’ gray matter cannot shut off, racked with anxiety over how I will move out of my apartment, if the girl who’s “90% sure” she can sublease it will ever e-mail me back, where I’ll put all my furniture, how underprepared I am to go to Germany, how I have Christmas presents for only one of my family members, how I have no money to buy Christmas presents for the other family members, on and on and ON.  Also, the new Weezer song was stuck in my head.  And that horrible “3″ song by Britney Spears which sounds like someone recorded a damn cat in a microwave.

Dear Brittney, when you have class for over an hour, DO NOT DRINK lots of coffee beforehand.  10 minutes left.  Either the clock or my bladder will win, and at this point, I really am not sure which.

My uncle drove up to surprise his mama, which I thought was very nice.  I was the only one made privy to this information ahead of time– I’m actually very good at keeping secrets if I think they’re legitimate.  Myself, I don’t have that many secrets, I’m like a gd open book, but as my older brotherly figure in 713 once told me, “I feel you know all this stuff about everyone, but you don’t share it.”  Really it’s just because I’m a stalker.  And also fabulous at picking up little bits of info about people and then storing them in my brain and whipping them out at random times.  Also, my mind is like a steel trap with dates.  Like, creepily accurate.  The other day someone needed to know what day of the week November 12, 2007 was.  It was a Sunday.  We won’t get into how I knew that.

I’ve been telling you what I’m thankful for over the past two weeks, so I feel I don’t need to dedicate a whole Thanksgiving post to it.  If I were to make a post about the things I’m not thankful for, that would just be bitchy (and in no way out of character) and I’d probably jinx myself and then BAM!  She said she’s not thankful for her bad complexion and suddenly she has rosacea… so I just won’t go there.  Though I will say I am not thankful for my new ability to not sleep more than eight hours at night.  I’m sure this would come in handy if I were some sort of Eagle Scout and needed to develop an internal clock for a patch on my sash or whatever, but as a college student, I’d like to sleep past 8 am. 

This all started with the second to last home football game, when I got approximately 45 minutes of sleep one night then just went about my day tailgating, then working, then hanging out at 713 and finally going down at about 2 a.m.  I am no rocket scientist, but that’s not much sleep (stop yelling at the computer, Mom– I KNOW, I’m an idiot.)  My theory as to my superhuman ability to stay awake is in the form of a little yellow caffeine pill (available at Walgreens, people, PERFECTLY safe) from one of my friends.  He said it was equivalent to one cup of coffee.  Methinks it was equivalent to a few hits of meth.  Since then, my sleeping has just been a little off.  I’m sure the staying up, mind racing with anxiety each night over all the shit I have to do before Germany doesn’t help.  “MDMA got you feelin’ like a champion/ this city never sleeps/ better slip you an Ambien.”  Ahh yes, thanks Hova.  I knew you’d make it into my holiday post somewhere.

ANYWAY, the last of my thankful posts… Thanksgiving 2009, I am thankful for being single.  (No seriously, follow me on this one.)  We’re coming up on the anniversary of me getting dumped on my ass whilst speeding down I-80 back to school after Turkey Break last year.  At the time I was all Whatever, small bump in the road, I give it three months tops, and everyone who knew us was like Que horror! If this dynamic duo can’t make it then for the love of God WHOOOO CAN?!?!?  (Apparently I have some very melodramatic friends.)  But, we were all wrong and we split ways never to so much as pat each other on the back again.  And it has been one freakin’ fabulous year.  Sure, the first month or so wasn’t exactly rosy, I recall there being a lot of crying and de-friending then re-friending on Facebook.  (The lack of appetite though was ballin’– when you can only eat a few bites of oatmeal each day for a week, those jeans pushed to the back of your closet suddenly make your ass look bangin’.)  But once I got over that, I had some A+ friends waiting in the wings to take me out and introduce me to being single in college.  In the words of my man Borat “Eeets niiiice!”  (<–that sounded creepy.  I swear I did not take my newfound singledom as a ticket to sexual predator-dom.) 

It appears that I’m rambling (and I hear some elevated, aggravated voices from downstairs– it wouldn’t be a proper family gathering without) so I will cease.  I will also shower today, since it’s a holiday and I feel like being generous to those who have to spend the day around me.  And oh look, IT’S NOT EVEN 9:30 AM.  For the love of potato pancakes, I’m gonna need a nap.

WHYYYYYY, Cruel World, did I wake up at 6:15 this morning?!?!  It’s certainly not that I went to bed at any decent hour (second 21st bday celebration of the week was a success…)

An example of the power of Twitter: last night at work I was about to pass out with tiredness, so tweeted from my phone “Someone bring me coffee at work, I’m fading fast.”  Not too long after, @codyhromidko brought me a double vanilla latte from his place of employment.  I love him.  You should love him.

Roomie’s alarm just went off at 8 am.  On a Sunday.  Roomie, you are crazy.

After the game yesterday, some Web site said something about the Hawkeyes having a chance at the “Rose Bowl and beyond.”  What is beyond the Rose Bowl??  And I will eat my hat, nay, I will eat ten hats LITERALLY PUT TEN HATS IN MY MOUTH, CHEW & SWALLOW THEM if the Iowa Hawkeyes make it to the Rose Bowl this year.  It just ain’t happenin’.

I think my eyes are bleeding.  Sleep needs to return to me like now.  On one hand, I’ve never done a Powerpoint presentation before 7 am before, but I can check that one off my bucket list.  On the other hand, the amount of extreme bitchiness that I will rise to before this day is over if I don’t get more sleep is quite dangerous.

THERE ARE PEOPLE SHOUTING OUTSIDE RIGHT NOW.  Children… squealing.  This is my nightmare.

Update: Engaged & Underaged is on.  Suddenly being awake is so worth it.  There’s nothing I love more than watching my peers ruin their lives on situational reality television.