You’re welcome, Roomie Rachael, for the U2 title. Blech.

Instead of studying for my one final of the semester that’s scheduled for tomorrow afternoon, I’m watching E!’s “Married to Rock” ONLY BECAUSE Duff McKagan and his wife are on it. Because yes, the only thing anyone who wants my attention or ad dollars has to do it is slap anything related to Guns n Roses on it (original line-up through Steven Adler being replaced by Matt Sorum line-up, not creepy Bucket Head pretending to be Slash line-up because YOU ARE NOT GUNS N ROSES!!!) Overall, the prematurely plumped, nipped, and tucked beauties featured on this show make me very sad for myself and the state of my country, but on this particular episode, AJ somebody is stressing over proposing to her boyfriend, Billy somebody, who is completely unrecognizable to me. He has an English accent, perhaps you older-generation readers would know who he is. Her three cronies, but most especially the very vocal, very annoying wife of Perry Farrell, have decided that this is a terrible idea. Because God forbid a woman not just wait around for the man to decide their next move as a couple. Which is of course now making me think, would I ever propose to someone? When I was younger, I had this thing where whenever I found my first love, I would absolutely never, ever be the one to first say those three words. You know, those. And I didn’t. I would have sat on it forever, tight-lipped and brimmin’ with love, but far too scared to tell the other person for fear they’d freak and run for the hills. As you can imagine, this was just the healthiest of relationships. I’d like to think I’ve grown a bit as a person and realized that you only live once and that if you love somebody, well dammit you should say so. (As you may have noticed, I had no particular trajectory for this post, just a lot of finals procrastinating.) Funny I still have trouble saying it to my own family members, but tell Fergus that I love him at least 20 times a day. But he’s just so damn cute.

ANYWAY– from what I can tell, this AJ girl decides to not propose to British Billy, possibly because E! was behind the camera telling her to do it all in the first place since Billy has been very “I don’t wanna get married anytime soon” since the beginning. Please stay tuned for more riveting reality show updates. (And yes, I hope that was a joke, too, mostly because I kinda need a pretty good grade on this final.)

Someone found my blog by Google searching “What to do when I’m surrounded by dickheads.” I love each and every one of my readers, but especially you, random person who stumbled up on my site.

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…

Hate: the dishwasher.  Dear dishwasher, you are supposed to clean the dishes.  Not leave weird pieces of food congealed on said dishes.  I tried to unload you today, but physically had to remove myself from the situation lest I kick you and something bad happens (i.e. I have to do my dishes by hand pff).  <– that is one of the many numeous reasons I will never have children.  I will either a.) punt kick them in moments of frustration or b.) walk off in order to calm myself from said frustration only to come back and find they’re gone.  I feel this is generally frowned upon, especially in large public places.

Love: paper towels (apparently another hate: the environment?)

Hate: I quit my job (the one I adore) yesterday due to me only working weekends and needing basically every weekend from now til study abroad off.  While I am deeply saddened, they said they’d probably take me back upon my return.  And yes, most of the “hate” about this one is the void free sandwiches will be leaving in my life.

Love: Pumpkin Spice lotion from Bath & Body Works. 

Hate: there were MUSHROOMS in my bag of frozen stir-fry veggies yesterday.  G.R.O.S.S.  Luckily I was able to pick out the vile poison before I choked to death and died.

Love: how FREAKIN AWESOMELY CLEAN our kitchen is.  Way to go, Roomie!!  Paired with my room which I cleaned yesterday, my living situation is for the first time in a while, actually liveable!

Hate: my left knee hurts.  Pretty much only when I go up or down stairs which is, you know, the majority of my day.  Also, I’m getting a stye in my eye.  Not like I’m going to a wedding this weekend where I’ll be a bunch of photos… oh wait a minute, yes, yes I am.

Love: bestie and I are going to find Halloween costumes at Goodwill tomorrow and have apple brats from Haight’s Hawkeye Meat Market.   I’ve missed him and that house of hooligans after a week of separation– how I long to live there one day (and by “one day” I mean next year– whaddya think, Pops??)

Hate: the ladies in my office apparently think that because it comes in limited edition Halloween colors, they need to buy ALL OF THE CANDY IN THE STORE and bring it to work.  If you haven’t realized by now, self-control isn’t one of my strong suits.  Thankfully I only work a few hours a day or I wouldn’t be able to fit through the door by Christmas.

In conclusion: the first half of my week is over.  It’s not all downhill from here, but whether I bomb my presentation tomorrow or if I only have one source for my article due Thursday or if I just stay in bed til Friday morning (that’s my pick, but hey, apparently my grades are dependent on “going to class”) I WILL be chowin’ on BBQ in KC come Friday night.  Be jealous.