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.

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 my mama’s birthday, e’erybody– let’s give up a big HAPPY BIRTHDAY, T-BONE!!!

Yesterday NPH and I traveled to the GIANT METROPOLIS of Hills, Iowa and rented me a storage facility to move all my stuff into on Friday.  He knows my personalized gate code to get into the facility, has a key to it and is one of the alternate phone numbers should something go wrong with my stuff while I’m away.  Yup– we’re pretty much married.

Do you know what song and video are ABSOLUTELY ridiculous?!  “Video Phone” by Beyonce and my favorrrrrrite Lady Gaga.  It’s a song.  About a video phone.  No, Brittney.  But surprisingly… yes.  Gaga’s lookin a bit more tranny in this one, and now I can’t even watch the video with a straight face after seeing the following parody of it:

In other GREAT NEWS: Melanie (my German language buddy– come on people, keep up) 1. Added me on Facebook, and 2. Told me they eat LOTS OF BREAD there.  I had inquired about the food situation.  Her first response: bread.  “Hundreds of types.”  Plus lots of other carbs.  So while I might require two plane seats on the return flight, these next four months are looking to be pretty boss.

In about an hour here I have a Mesa pizza date with the always lovely Natalie (she just squealed with delight, my number one fan.)  Then I’ll be wandering aimlessly about town studying all afternoon until I meet my former boss for coffee later this evening.  Then I probably might actually read some notes or crack the textbook (HA– okay, that was a giant lie) and study til whenever I want since the final’s at 7:30 am.  And then DONE, BITCHES.  Go figure, NPH’s only final is also at 7:30 tomorrow morning, so you can imagine the kinds of shenanigans we’ll be getting into afterward.  And perhaps I should focus on packing the rest of my apartment at some point.  You know, just a thought.

Oh, and… drumroll please… in honor of my mother’s birth AND the fact that I have to go into public soon… today I’m going to shower!!

Dad just asked why exactly I’m going abroad again.  “You won’t be able to see this face for five months!”  Well, it’s more like four…  My impending exit is on many people’s brains lately– when I go back to Iowa City I will have THREE WEEKS to find a subleaser, pack my apartment, finish classes, take a final, and say peace out to those I love most.  So you know, piece o’ cake. 

Barring natural disaster or terrorist attack, Bestie will for sure be having the sheer privilege of visiting on Saturday.  He and Lauren are the two people I will miss most in Iowa City.  She will be in my wedding, one of those classy bitches I can see being in my twenties with, swirling martinis and complaining about the lack of men in our lives whilst lamenting the size of our upper arms. 

My mother has officially turned into her mother.  Christmas vomit has covered every inch of our house, including the bathroom off the kitchen where a patriotic Santa the size of a toddler is just hanging out next to the shower and it scares the BEJEEZUS out of me everytime I go to relieve myself.  Neither of the trees are up yet and I plan on not being in or near the house when it gets to be that time.  I’ve seriously contemplated converting to Judaism because I am so that person who has a tree up 365 because I’m too gd lazy to take the thing down.  I feel that eight pronged candelabra thingy would be much easier to stuff in a closet.

Two days til Thanksgiving which means today I’m thankful for heat.  This elusive element is something I’ve heard other houses have, but apparently we haven’t caught on yet around here.  Supposedly there’s one of those fabled “heaters” in the basement, but it must be broken or something.  I mean, why else would could we hang meat in the living room like it were an effin’ butcher shop?  I think I’ve experienced this feeling called “warm” sometime during the summer, but my brain is half-frozen so it’s hard to remember.  Perhaps Grandma’s house will be liveable without socks, longjohns, and a down parka.

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.

It will be a miracle if I make it through this week.

If you put up entire Facebook albums of your cats, I judge you.

Thanksgiving 1 of 3 was a success.  Lots of food.  My french silk pie was bomb-diggity.

I had my first dream last night about leaving for Germany– I was saying good-bye to my friends and sobbing.  Excellent.  Let’s hope the actual parting of ways will be much less of a shitshow. 

There is something in my contact.  It has been there all day.  I hope it’s not a hair like last time.  There was an actual HAIR from my HEAD in my EYE.  When I finally discovered what it was and pulled it out and showed it to a lady at work she was all “Ewwww” and I was all “This is the coolest thing everrrrr.” 

The guy from Man vs. Food, Adam Richman, is coming to town on Thursday to, I don’t know, talk about himself and food I guess.  I have a ticket though I’m not sure that I want to go.  I don’t know anyone else going.  And if he’s not eating then… whatever.  We’ll see if I even make it to Thursday.

The good news of going home is that Mom gave me a loaf of bread.  Our apartment already houses a toaster, and now I have bread?  I think you know what this means.  Saturday morning’s toast fail will be long forgotten tomorrow morning. 

Have you heard the new duet by Boys Like Girls and Taylor Swift, “Two Is Better Than One”?  BLLLEEEECCCHHH.  Yes, cruel world, I realize two is better than one.  What if you can’t have two though?  What if you are destined to only be one forever?  I mean, I sooooo enjoyed no less than four relatives today asking if I was dating anyone, how my “love life” is, and then one going, “So really?  No love life?”  Yep.  None.  Zero. Dead in the water.  Complete asexual– THAT’S ME.  Or perhaps– and follow me on this, I realize it’s a far stretch– I’m a junior in college and not actually looking to put on a ring on it anytime soon.  WOAH-UH.  I know, your mind was just blown. 

Bestie told me the other day that I had “spunk”.  So today I am thankful for… my spunk.  You probably don’t have spunk like I do.  That’s okay– I’ve been working on mine for awhile.  Maybe I was born with it, maybe it’s Maybelline.

Roomie would like you to know that “Brady and Moss together are ridiculous.”  Which means good.  She is from that Satan place Massachusetts and thus is a “Pats” fan (that means Patriots).  Tom Brady isn’t exactly hard to look at.  Hehe.  Hard.

Our trip to Des Moines was a rousing success, minus not doing so well with all the one way streets, not realizing there’s a difference between 6th and East 6th, and parking near where we believed KCCI was located, but having to actually run up a hill in heels because we were nowhere close.  Running a 5K in jeans and now footraces in formalwear?  Hold your applause until the end, please

Last night’s continuation of “I don’t even know who turns 21 this weekend but I’m following a large group of people downtown under the promise of lots of pitcher” involved me getting to wear a cardboard crown from Burger King in public.  I was the Burger Queen.  The Burger Queen was pretty proud of herself that the crown made it unharmed the entire night and was still on the couch this morning.  At some point I also acquired a medium-sized stick which I used to conduct a roomful of people in a melodious rendition of “The Twelve Days of Christmas.” 

A friend and I decided this morning that toast is perhaps the most underrated food in the history of the world, so we set out in search of some.  Did we grab some bread from the kitchen and put it in the toaster?  OF COURSE NOT.  We went to a diner neither of us have ever been to and got omelettes because they came with toast (and hashbrowns!  And fruit!)  It generally did not bother me that every single other patron, mostly middle-agers or nice families, was openly staring at me.  APPARENTLY my scarecrow-esque hair and raccooned slept-in eye make-up and bright green t-shirt that’s supposed to look like doctor’s scrubs (complete with stethescope and fake blood)  provided some early morning entertainment for my fellow patrons.  That or they were just really afraid that Homeless Meth Addict Girl was going to steal their food.   I should have worn my crown.

The toast though…. wtf.  You know exactly what kind of toast I was expecting– the perfectly buttered, crunchy piece cut into triangles.  This toast was CHEWY.  Like, not crunchy.  Ch-EW-y.  There was a choice between white, wheat, rye or an English muffin.  I ordered the white– I never order the white.  Perhaps THIS TOAST is the very reason I never order white.  So disappointing.  I even tried to put some jelly on it, but to no avail.  The toast and I had to part ways.  You probably don’t need two guesses as to what I’ll be fixing myself tomorrow morning.

Continuing my thankful ’til Thanksgiving challenge, today I am thankful for… my mama because she’s currently working on the (approximately) ten loads of laundry I brought home with me.  I will be working as some sort of indentured servant tomorrow to prepare for Family Thanksgiving #1 though, so really, it all evens out.

We saw 2012 today and holy blecccchhhh.  I was hand-to-mouthing kettle corn the entire time, though, so the three hours we  spent in the theater were not in vain.  It was cliched from beginning to end– the phrase “whenever we’re together, that’s where home is” was even used.  You can tell it wanted to be Armageddon but NOTHING CAN BE so don’t even try John Cusack… don’t you even try.

I get to go make a french silk pie now.  BE JEALOUS.

The main library is approximately 200 degrees.  This is in no way an exaggeration.  I’ve gotten here long before the rush, but don’t worry—I still won’t be productive for at least another two hours.  I am currently enjoying Mediterranean salad, hummus & a pita from OASIS, the best best best falafel joint in the world!  They also happen to package these little lunch packs for convenient purchase with a swipe of the ol’ U-Bill at the library café downstairs.  The students who are here sneered at me like the complete imposter I am when I rolled up in my jangly airplane sneakers (note to self: do not wear these shoes when carrying out sneak attacks.)  I have found a nice two person table to myself in the corner and I SWEAR to all that is holy if someone comes up and sits across from me, completely overstepping personal boundaries, I will cut a bitch.  Unless said bitch turns out to be an attractive male between the ages of 18-25, preferably with dark hair and an affinity for bucking authority.

Do you think people judge me when they see me smelling my food before I eat it?  Most of you probably did not know that about me, but alas, I am one of the 2.7% of Americans who lives with the uncontrollable urge to sniff their food before consuming it.  Yeah, be grossed out.

In other way more important news… MY PLANE TICKETS ARRIVED TODAY.  They are so going under my pillow so I can talk to them before I go to sleep every night.

Oh my sweet golly—can I have my wedding cake frosted in this hummus?!  I saw they also are selling sweet potato chips downstairs.  Someday, if I ever have a terrible break-up or something, please refrain from bringing me a pint of ice cream & a spoon—bring me Oasis hummus and those sweet potato chips to dip in it.

My mom just dialed me on her cell phone with her butt or something and didn’t realize it.  I’m now listening to a sweet voicemail of her tap dancing or being eaten by wolves—it’s all quite muffled.  Hopefully she’s not in some grave danger and her split-second decision to call her firstborn proves to be her untimely demise.  Sorry, T-Bone—I’ll make sure they serve this hummus at your funeral.

Shout out to Falbo’s for giving us FREE SODAS and someone else’s slightly messed up pizza for only $5 this weekend. You guys are the shit.  So are your spinach/tomato/garlic slices.  Your 25 cent surcharge for the use of a debit card is kind of douche-y, but we can work past this.  Oh, and you can’t hold a candle to Mesa Pizza, the best by-the-slice place in all the land.

Now I shall put on my movie critic hat.  Have you seen Seven Pounds with Will Smith and Rosario Dawson?  If you said yes, I’m sorry.  I’d like those two hours of my life back as well.  If you’ve managed to keep said piece of shit film out of your life so far, I’M JEALOUS.  The most boring, plod-along, contrived, can see the end coming a mile away, not in the least bit interesting movie perhaps ever made in the history of time.  As Bestie summarized: Guy inadvertently kills seven people.  Guy gives life to save seven people.  Two boring plot sentences turned into two UNBEARABLE HOURS!!!

I have been at the library for an hour now and done… absolutely nothing to get me closer to my deadline.  This story will not get published anyway (the whole point of this freelance class, apparently).  I choose practicality over blind optimism anyday.

First off, why my mother is better than yours: for breakfast I had toast made with homemade multigrain bread she made and topped with homemade grape jelly she canned.  For dinner I toasted up two slices of that bread again & made bruschetta with some of the homemade sundried tomatoes she gave me.  Those babies tasted like a restaurant dish– lots of garlic and… other stuff that you put in sundried tomatoes.  Way to go, T-Bone!

I did a bit of Halloween costume browsing today– luckily my friends calmly explained that $60 for a German beer girl costume was one of the more ridiculous ideas I’ve had in a while, so I checked out The Second Act and HOLY SMOKES am I glad I did.  SOOOOO many costumes, you could never imagine them all.  A bunch for rent, too– bestie and I are going after class on Wednesday because browsing those racks requires a bit of a time commitment.  We. Will. Look. Awesome. come Friday & Saturday nights.

And now, for an interesting op-ed featured in today’s DI: http://www.dailyiowan.com/2009/10/26/Opinions/13877.html.  This professor proposes that if a UI student is charged with an alcohol-related offense, that student should be forced to leave the university.  OH OKAY.  I will now try to calmly and rationally explain why I think this man is a moron in the wrong…

Mr. Poe is complaining that the university can’t do anything about our illegal off-campus activities because of the code of conduct.  Oh wait, what was that?  Off-campus, you say?  I guess that was the whole point

He acknowledges that the “UI already has a bad national reputation” because of its lax stance on underage drinking.  I’m sure that’s the only reason anyone would be hesitant to send their child here– it certainly couldn’ t be because of the current budget clusterfuck and the piss-poor leadership for which the students will have to pay out-of-pocket.

“They — and I specifically mean students who violate the law while under the influence — are not hard to identify. The DI gets a list of them from the police every day. You’d think the university could do the same. Once identified, they could be dropped from the roles and told to go away until they are mature enough to be members of our community.”

Why should the university give two shits about what we’re doing in our free time?  It’s not their job to haul someone from the police blotter into an office Monday morning and say, “Well, Timmy, I see you used your brother’s i.d. at Brother’s Friday night.  You are clearly an alcoholic asshole who has no redeeming value, so we’re gonna have to ask you to pack your bags.”  What sort of gross stereotypes is this guy implying?!  Yes, people who get drunk and commit crimes should be punished– by the proper channels of the law, not by the dean of their college. 

The proximity of downtown and campus is usually seen as a good thing, but people need to remember that they are separate.  Not everyone downtown goes to the university, many UI students have never set foot in a bar downtown.  This guy is living in such a warped reality if he believes that one drunken mistake  is grounds for expulsion.  Never mind that this student could, for example, be a straight A student, on student government, scholarship recipient (fill in the blanks, really) and was out celebrating her 21st birthday– heck, this scenario could even be the first time she ever got drunk.  She stumbles on the walk home, police notice and give her a public intox ticket.  THROW HER OUT!!  GOD FORBID Mr. Poe was ever a young adult or ever had a lapse in judgment.  While that hypothetical situation is few and far between, it illustrates the absurdity of his grand idea.

It is not the university’s business what I do outside of my time on campus.  As long as they are receiving my tuition checks, they do not care if I attend class, take notes, turn in assignments, study for finals, or was dancing topless on a bar last night.   Just because I happened to be a stone’s throw away from the Pentacrest, my actions downtown are not at all correlated with my job as a student.  I realize many people let their weekend (and more often than not, weeknight) activites get in the way of their academic success, and that is 100% their choice.  The whole point of “going to college” and “becoming an adult” is that one day you’re going to wake up with a pounding headache, having skipped a really important class and have that “Holy shit, I need to get my act toether” moment.  It’s part of growing up and it sucks, but the university nor any of it’s crack-pot professors can force that moment on us.  If we were to be expelled everytime we made a mistake, not only would people really, really resent this place, but it wouldn’t have any students.

He’s targeting alcohol because yes, Iowa City = drunk students, if we had to put it simply.  And yes, being drunk makes people do some dumb, regrettable things.  According to the opinion piece, however, alcohol is the only thing that keeps us from acting as “fortunate students.”  Nevermind drugs, then– if there’s something in the police blotter for possession or intention to sell, I guess those kids can stay.  Driving with a suspended license?  Ehh that’s fine.  Assault, abuse, jaywalking?!  All petty crimes compared to that drunk kid taking a leak in the alley!  You realize I’m exaggerating, but come on, Sir– what did you really hope to gain by writing this piece???

In conclusion, I’m hoppin’ mad from re-reading all of it.   His opinion forces such gross generalizations on a very wide population of people and when it comes down to it, makes no sense.  Don’t spend your time in class trying to find the kids cheating on tests, become a slave to the police blotter and kick my Dean’s List ass out of your institution for having a little too much fun with my friends Saturday night OFF CAMPUS. You’re an idiot.