This week has gone by surprisingly fast after a great long weekend helping Neil move and chillin’ at home. I’m starting to like my job more each week, and it seems I have more to do each day which makes the clock go by faster. Today my co-worker/ work friend (she was hired the same day as me and is the same age) went to the farmer’s market in Daley Plaza over our lunch hour. We both fell in love with it and plan on making the trek there every Thursday. We sampled some amazing garlic cheese, creamed honey, and just ok banana bread, but I managed to make it out with what I went in for– tomatoes and mozzarella cheese. T-Bone hooked me up with some homegrown basil this week, so I made a caprese salad for dinner.

Fergs and I just returned from our longest walk to date around the lake. I messed up my knee something awful on a run the other day so this trek was a bit painful, but the weather has been too nice to stay in and enjoy my newly installed Comcast (someone stop her– she’s talking about the weather again.) In WAY more exciting news, NPH and I are headed to the Britney Spears/ Nicki Minaj concert tomorrow night!! He got me tickets for my birthday, and I think he’s almost as psyched to go as I am. Roomies Lauren & Rachael will also be in town attending the Katy Perry show, so, you know, insert hangover here. And that, my friends, is my most recent life update. Oh, I bought a toilet brush this week after doing the math on whether I could get away with just buying one of those Clorox ones with the disposable heads (nay.)

A bajillion congrats to Kayla for winner that damn Sub-Jammers competition. I wish we could go, but I would smack you in the head if you paid $300 just to register for some sandwich convention. I will instead turn my vacation interests once again to Vegas. Like a mistress in the night, she’s been calling to me (and it doesn’t help that The Mirage keeps sending me emails. Whoever signed me up for that list, that was a cruel joke, and I love you for it.)

Yes, I’ve moved in. I’m grossly, ridiculously in love with my apartment. It doesn’t look like any other I saw, the moving in and unpacking was surprisingly painless, and apparently I’m automatically a Cubs fan based solely on proximity to Wrigley (two blocks.) I feel this location is slightly wasted on the fact I couldn’t give a shit less about baseball, but I suppose I make up for it with my enthusiasm for the other establishments in the area.

Work is, well, work. Kayla imparted some sage wisdom (she’s like 30 now, an acceptable age to start spouting life advice) when she reminded me it’s called work for a reason. It hasn’t come exactly easy which can be very frustrating to us first borns. (Almost as frustrating as typing this on my phone since my apartment doesn’t have Internet yet. My first world problems are so mentally taxing.)

I rea

I spend a lot of my time tired and hungry and rushing towards the Red Line hoping I don’t get on a car full of people ready to assault me for my iPod. It would really show those mutters though when they only get 40 songs, half of which are Spice Girls jams (seriously overhauling my iTunes is like 152 on my list of things to do.)

Oh, to end this post that in retrospect has been very whiny, I HATE having a gas stove. Not only did I set off the smoke alarm the first time I tried to use it, I am just positive that it’s slowly leaking CO2 into the air and one morning I’ll wake up dead. And of course you can wake up dead, haven’t you seen Scary Movie 3?!

A big thank you goes up to Papa K for backing up all my files before I went to Germany. The other day Neil said something about murdering me to gain possession all of my things (he was kidding… I think) which reminded me I’d drawn up a will before going to Germany last year. Sure enough, I just found it buried in my very disorganized documents folder, so will now share it with you mostly in its entirety now (edited slightly for content and to protect those who probably don’t want their full names associated with me):

12/16/09—The Last Will and Testament of Brittney, one kick-ass cool kid
In the event of my untimely death, my belongings should be dispersed as follows:
1. My car goes to Melissa B. so she can drive her own ass to Ames
2. Admiral Jim Jack goes to Geoff W. And his electrical fans. And his silver trash can.
3. My PRSSA polo and Iowa Swimming & Diving t-shirt to Natalie
4. Neil gets my dead body so he can prop me up on the couch with a beer in my hand and talk to my cadaver—essentially nothing will have changed from our living friendship
5. My fake id goes to the highest bidder. It works everywhere but Brother’s and probably Fieldhouse
6. Everything else goes to Kayla.

Can we please not talk about how at the age of 20 I apparently still wanted to be remember as a “kick-ass cool kid”? I wonder where my parents ever got the idea that NPH and I only hang out to drink together. Clearly I was just far too immature, seven months out from the legal drinking age and all.

I have the tendency to find myself and my sarcasm far too amusing.

In one on my leadership classes, we were talking about different forms of motivation one might use to entice those they’re leading.
Instructor: “What are some types of things that could motivate someone?”
Classmate: “Money.”
Instructor: “Money is an excellent example. What else?”
Me: “Food.”
Long silence from the class.
Instructor: “Food. Um, ok. Are you motivated by food?”
Me: “Of course!”
Instructor: “So like, um yeah, I guess if you wanted a sandwich, you might do something for someone…”
Me: “I would definitely do something for a sandwich.”
I thought of you during the entire exchange, Kayla.

Let’s talk about some of the things I got for Christmas:

– lots of clothes (that I picked out in advance!  And I wanted!  And that fit!  We’re making progress!)  Boots and gloves and scarves so that I won’t actually freeze to death, and sweaters that make me look like a girl, and an official Iowa tailgating t-shirt AND a t-shirt with lobstahs on it that are all speaking in Bahhhhstan accents.  “Pahk the cah!”

–money, in US dollars and Euros (because, if you’re keeping count, I’m 13 days away)

–a digital camera (you, dear reader, should be most psyched about this, suddenly you’ll be getting pics of EVERYTHINGINMYLIFE.) I will try my darndest to not get this one stolen/drop it/ lose it/spill on it… I don’t exactly have the best track record with these things.  Or with cell phones.  Oops.

–And finally, my beloved webcam to Skype everyone whilst abroad.  I’ve also discovered that it takes nothing more to keep me occupied for hours than to watch myself make faces via webcam.  While Skyping NPH last night, I spent more time looking at myself and playing with my hair than paying attention to what he was saying.  Sorry, buddy.

So uhhh MERRY CHRISTMAS– Grandma and T-Bone are currently making enough food for about 30 people even though there are only eight of us for dinner this year.  Last night we did the whole Christmas Eve church thing and there was a REAL BABY playing Jesus.  They passed out candles to light and hold while singing, but they passed em out way too early and the entire congregation was fixated on playing with their candle, trying to melt the plastic protect-y cup it was in, burn their neighbor with wax, send smoke signals up to the Big Man himself… oh wait, maybe that was just me.  Perhaps this is why Kayla says I am like a small child.  No apologies here–  if you give me flame, all other things go by the wayside, unless there’s a REAL BABY playing Jesus in the room, and then my mind is just blown.

Oh, I also got Iowa Hawkeyes barbecue sauce in my stocking.  BE JEALOUS.

A week from today will be 2010!!  Aka, I’ll be waking up with a wicked hangovah next to a hottie somewhere in the Carribbean.  Yesterday I got pretty freakin’ excited for our cruise.  Still not sure which genius planned a tropical vacation right after the calorie-fest of Christmas, but whatever (haha Dad– I kid.)  I’m sure this will be leagues better than last New Year’s Eve which involved a lot of Britney Spears music, a short-lived trip to Union and a rugby player (okay, so last years was actually fabulously boss.  What can I say– it’s terribly hard to live my life.)

Methinks I’m going to go help more in the kitchen now– I’ve already peeled a bunch of parsnips and chopped an onion and eaten a bunch of food done some dishes.  Happy Freakin’ Holidays!!

Day two = poo!

Sorry for the childish rhyme, had to get it out.

WHERE did I get so many clothes?!  The amount of shirts, jeans, dresses, skirts, shoes,  belts (<– hehe I do own some, never wear them, sorry to those of you who have been casualties of that one) is beyond ridiculous.  And if you asked me right now, of COURSE I need new clothes.  I don’t wear most of what I have, and while I often go through my closet to give stuff away, I tend to keep a lot of things for hypothetical situations that happen at most twice a year (i.e. intense cardio, high class afternoon tea with government officials, job shadowing an auto mechanic.) It is ALL currently dumped on the floor in my room (and has spilled into the hallway) and I have no plans of organizing anything before I leave (I bet you $1,000,000.50 that my mother just read that and shouted at my somewhere in the house something about ‘Get your ASS upstairs and hang up that stuff.  I’m not going through it when you’re gone.’).  There will be two piles: cruise, Germany.  Luckily I’m much more prepared for the cruise since all of my “going out” clothes for IC don’t involve much material, I have zero idea how much/what I should be packing for Europe.  I plan on just wearing my 713 shirt day in and out until people stop trying to befriend me and start whispering behind my back about “the smelly American who bursts into tears at the mention of bratwurst or Miley Cyrus.”  I’m really planning on making quite the international reputation for myself.

DO.YOU.KNOW. where I’m going tonight?  Wine Tea.  Not just any tea, THE TEA my mother attends every Monday night with a handful of friends.  They only call it “tea” because, I don’t know, they don’t want everyone to know there’s anything BUT tea flowing, and that the conversations are much more tame than “I’m going to smack my child <insert name> because they are such a <insert deragatory adjective> and while I’m at it, so is <insert name of significant other.>” (Haaa, I kid… kind of.)  My brother calls it the DMC — Drunken Mother’s Club– but that’s not very nice.  I suppose what they’re doing is no different than what NPH and I do on a nightly regular basis, or why Lauren and I get together usually once a week and bitch about our lives and our lack of male attention and ever-increasing waistlines.  ANYWAY– I’m pretty pscyhed for this because 1.) I freakin’ love those ladies.  They are bat shit crazy, in the nicest way possible.  2.) I will be getting out of this house.  3.) They will be all “Oooh fresh meat” and ask me questions about myself– and I hope you’ve all realized by now, I’m my number one favorite topic– that will probably center around “WHO is this Neil kid and WHEN are you getting married?!?!?!”  And then I will calmly answer, “Never” and then text him “It’s happening again” and then he’ll offer to drive to Adel and run me down with his car to prove to the world that, in fact, we have ne’er seen each other naked.

Well now that I’ve completely forgotten any thesis I may have been trying to conclude upon, I will leave you and go FIND KAYLA since apparently she’s DIED en route or doesn’t realize this is our ONE DAY to hang out before I LEAVE possibly FOREVER.  Or until May, whichever comes first.

“She’s blogging!  She survived the night!”

Yes indeed, you may all carry on with your lives normally again– one night down, 141 to go (yep, I calculated that when I woke up.)  Thanks to my newest best friend NyQuil, I slept 13 hours and my throat feels much better.  And I suppose I’m genuinely glad to be home (so much food in the fridge!  So many TVs!  Someone else to clean the kitchen!)

This afternoon we have Chistmas 2 of 3, this time with my mom’s dad’s side of the family.  Speaking of, I’ve scoped out the present situation under our trees and there are some for me, though not dozens as there should be (there’s still four shopping days left, I’m not too concerned) but T-BONE has TAPED the bags shut.  Ahem.  If I were really desperate (and it’s only Sunday, so I’m not ruling this out later in the week) I could cut open the tape, peer inside, then re-do it with no one the wiser (I mean, my conscience would know, but I’ve gotten pretty good at shutting it up after 20 years of questionable morals.  <– A half-joke.  You should half-laugh.)

Speaking of presents, NPH loved his.  Mine never arrived.  The bastard assures me they’re on their way and that he’ll send them to me to take to Germany.  I don’t have the heart to tell him I’m not devoting precious space in my luggage to three bottles of barbecue sauce.  Oh, and APPARENTLY my parents met each other long ago and were “friends” but my mom “didn’t like him like that” until she moved away and realized they were “actually in love with each other.”  Okay 1.) Barf.  2.) That was some heavy use by me of superfluous quotations around most of that story. 3.) Yes.  I understand this.  You the reader, Obama the president, Jerry the homeless guy in Iowa City ALL THINK Neil and I are either already dating or destined to be together or at some point in our lives be touching each other beyond the occasional drunk slapping I do of him when he makes fun of me for exchanging more than pleasantries with a kid who went to special ed in high school (if you do not already know this story, you don’t want to.  Might I just say for the record: HE WAS NOT “special.”  So academia might not be his strong suit.  BIG DEAL– he’s in college now.  Not a very rigorous one, but higher education nonetheless.)  I’ve completely lost my train of thought now… anyway, the point is: me + hot German man I’ve yet to meet = yes please  You may think I’m going over there to “learn German” because its required by “my major.”  HA.  Boy do I have you fooled.  This is really just a husband-finding mission.  NPH already knows he’ll be standing up between Kayla and Lauren in my bridal party in Vegas.  I think he’s quite excited for this, especially if I pick out bridesmaid dresses they’ll be able to wear on other occasions, for example, a mid-summer polo match.  Ooh, I should get them in red– Neil really does look best in warm colors.

My last night in IC was better than anything I could have asked for or Facebook event-ed for myself.  Magically I saw almost everyone I would have wanted to hang out with at some point in the evening which was NEAT-O.  Lots of people hugged me, and I hugged them back (I know, you’re shocked– this whole maturing thing is weirding me out, too.)  Today I had leftover pokey sticks for breakfast and Hy-Vee chinese for lunch.  The stabbing stomach pains that have resulted do not want dinner, just water and sleep.  And my THROAT hurts like a SONUVABITCH, so that’s cool– getting sick for Christmas.

Things I don’t want to talk about: saying good-bye to NPH.  Can I just say that I never cried in front of anyone during this whole going away process?  I’m quite proud of myself for that.  I mean, my car might be a different story and other drivers on I-80 tonight were probably extemely concerned that I was going to careen through a guardrail at any point, but STILL– the actual parting of ways was not that bad.  The resulting wallowing is pretty painful, at least for those around me anyway.  It’s not like anyone’s dying or anything, and I’m starting to get REALLYEXCITED for Germany, but separation anxiety is still no picnic.

Things I would love to talk about: the scholarship letter I got in the mail today.  Woo-hoo, journalism school!  By some weird miracle I applied  on time and the powers that be decided my grades and stroke-of-luck writing samples warranted a big ol’ check to help pay for college.  That’s pretty boss.

I’m home, my parents are off at a Christmas party, I’M GOING TO BED.  It’s 7 pm.  Wow, Brittney.  Your life is too.much.fun. to handle.  Hey– this little illness festering away in my nodes isn’t going to go away by itself.  Also, when one is mourning the loss of their partner in crime for five months, sleep is a much more attractive option than watching I Love You, Man with your brother because it would just remind you of the Paul Rudd poster hanging over the TV in 713’s living room and then all of a sudden you’d be bawling again and calling Kayla who would get really concerned that something actual tears-worthy had happened but you’d have to explain to her that it’s just because you already miss NPH and she’d be all “Good God woman get ahold of yourself.”  I mean, that didn’t happen.  I’m just saying… I could see a scenario like it in which sleep is always the better option.

Congratulations, you’ve been awarded a study abroad scholarship!  What a sweet way to start my day.  It’s not like I’m getting handed thousands of dollars to learn how to sprechen, but my program is throwing a couple Benjamins my way to lighten the load that feels pretty heavy given my penchant for going downtown every chance I get often.

T-Bone’s playing arts and crafts time in the kitchen currently, glueing some shit to a giant map of the world for some fundraiser for church.  If she’d like to move said map out of the way of the pantry, I could eat lunch, mmmkay?  Thanks.  Christmas carols are also wafting from the living room (Norman Rockwell ain’t got nothin’ on this family.) 

Later I will be baby-sitting my neighbor boys who I haven’t seen in eons.  They’ll probably be taller than me and think I’m the lamest person on earth, but whatever.  I changed them diapers once upon a time, ya hearrrd?  The worst part is, at least the older one has definitely learned how to tell time, so I can’t pull the old “OMG IT’S SO LATE, time for bed!” when the sun has barely set.  Yep, I was definitely that baby-sitter.  Should God have a lapse in judgment and have me bear kiddies, I will most certainly be that mother as well.

Ick, it’s basketball season.  I pure straight hate basketball. 

AND NOW KIDDOS, democracy in action.  Or at least an awesome example of where some very public bitching will get you: the hospital is canceling it’s dumb dumb dumb program to solicit donations from patients.  As avid, loyal readers of this, my dear blog baby, you are all well aware that I was not exactly a fan of the proposed plan.  I’m sure my well-thought, eloquent, and completely level-headed opinions against it were weighed heavily by the geniuses behind it.  HA.

It rained, meaning the outside of my car is clean, so I DETAILED the inside as well.  I hadn’t so much as vacuumed it since April.  There was still a bunch of grass and straw on the floor from when I mud-wrestled at VEISHEA (ohhhh boy, if I had only been blogging then!)  It also smells like cupcakes because I put in a brand spankin’ new air freshener.  So basically, I’ve been more productive today than I’ve been all week.  Go me!

I’m off to go make pie crust for the mother (she’s what one would call Pie Crus’tarded, and yes, that’s a real word.)  She’s going to make three pumpkin pies, for like, other people.  Pffffffffff.  What is this, the season of charity?!  Oh speaking of, I feel SO GUILTY when I go by those Salvation Army bell-ringers.  So I guess today I’m thankful for, you know, the stuff everyone’s usually thankful for.  Warm house/apartment, family, money, food, friends, real Charlie Brown-type stuff.  Oh, and the fact that KAYLA AND SAVANNAH are coming tonight!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  See Mom, I do have female friends.

For the time time in 20 years, I found my inner Zen at around 4 pm today.  Tomorrow will come whether my paper reaches five pages or not, whether I keep rambling about Nazis in it or not (I am sadly not kidding– somehow my Legal & Ethical Issues in Mass Communication term paper has turned into a diatribe about the undercurrent of raw emotions that surely must exist in present day Germany because of the Holocaust.  I am so not getting a decent grade.)  It will come whether I know what the O’Brien Test is (I don’t) or whether or not hidden cameras are legal in Iowa (they are… I think.)

There is a french silk pie chilling in the refrigerator, courtesy of my awesomeness, that will be devoured at a very 713/529 Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow night.  Bestie’s making the turkey and said we probably won’t eat until almost 10 pm anyway, so I can go see Adam Richman AND have an awesome time recreating the slaughter of thousands of Native Americans by greedy white people first Thanksgiving.  And then get really drunk only to wake up really early possibly still intoxicated to travel two hours down the interstate in time for an oil change at 10 am.  Gotta love the end of midterms week.

Today I am thankful for my boss.  What?  But, Brittney, you loathe your job to the very core!  Well yes, but that’s because it’s inane busy work spent in front of a computer when I could be sleeping or eating or doing really anything besides wearing business casual clothes to class when all of my peers get to wear sweatpants.  I’m super pscyhed because I’m not working AT ALL next week.  Weeeee-hoooo!!  I invision a lot of lounging and eating and sleeping and sweatpants-wearing in my future.  Happy Turkey Day to me!

Also, I hate Murphy’s Law.  While on a given day I’m usually rockin’ an attractiveness rating of a good four or five points higher than your average college student, today was an exception.  I looked like the Elephant Man.  I consciously went into public full-on knowing this, thinking I wouldn’t encounter anyone whose opinion really mattered.  Boy was I wrong.  And I paid for it in ten minutes of super self-conscious conversation, followed by a complete melodramatic over-analytic meltdown about said meeting. 

This is when having a female best friend and a male best friend really comes in handy.  While both of them were supportive and assured me that  they have both seen me look like this elusive Elephantitis creature and they’re still talking to me, their follow-up approaches to talking me down from the ledge were varied.  Kayla lied to me and told me what I wanted to hear.  Apparently other Bestie is a walking copy of He’s Just Not That Into You and told me what was up, straight up no chaser.  I am now fake mad at him for doing this.  CLEARLY he does not understand girl logic, as I told him, and he replied with, “Nope, because it’s not logic.”

Anyway (hey, Natalie!) I’m gonna go do one of the million other things on my to-do list that you would think I’d have done by now, but you would be wrong.  I have to like, plan our end of the year social?  For PRSSA?  And talk on the phone to strangers to get estimates on how much banquet service will cost ?  Barrrrrrffffff, I HATE talking to strangers on the phone.  Perhaps there was some incident in my youth regarding rejection via landline that I’ve repressed but still scars my subconscious.  Whatever the case, NOT. Looking. Forward to it.