“BLOG, BLOG, BLOG, BLOG… please?” At least @nataliedubs loves me.

I’m pretty excited about this week for many reasons. Tomorrow is my chance to redeem my less than stellar midterm grade because we’re having another one. Afterward, there’s a BIG EVENT for another of my classes– the thing we’ve been working on all semester, the thing I’ll be quite glad is over. After that, not to jinx myself, it will be smooth sailing until my one final in December. I’ll have regular homework and stuff for both of my jobs, but the big projects will be done-zo.
This weekend I went back to where I interned for the summer and put in some mad hours at their annual Halloween event. I was surprised to come back and find Fergus had grown a lot in like 72 hours. He’s taking to running/bounding/careening from room to room since his legs have finally grown a bit. I have zero interest in Halloween this year, but it’s the last weekend I’ll be in Iowa City until… December? so will make the most of it. I’ll half-ass a costume last minute at best.
OH and I got a B+ in one of my classes that just ended. While normally I wouldn’t be psyched about this, it’s pretty high for the amount of effort I put into it which was next to nothing (it was for my major which was now a minor which I chose to finish out only because it was just an eight week course.)
There you go, Natalie– not exciting, but a post nonetheless. Time to do my readings for my test tomorrow… ha… nervous laughter.

“Well, we’ve lost ourselves a puppy,” NPH announced when he looked up from his GRE studying. Indeed, Fergus has finally passed out after entertaining himself with his various chew toys from Auntie Lo (her moniker, not mine) for far longer than you’d expect something of that size could keep going. The most adorable part was watching him make his bed (a Spongebob blanket of mine that now solely belongs to him) before settling in for what will likely be hours. Bryce just walked through with a basket of laundry and declared “Fergus Jackson is the most well-rested dog in all of Iowa!” He does sleep a lot.

Fear not, this blog will definitely not turn into Fergus Has Something to Say, and I certainly won’t become one of those dog people who starts buying him outfits and creating him a Facebook and wearing basset hound charm bracelets. I will clue you in some more, however– the dog belongs to both Neil and I, but he lives at 713. We are not “parents,” Fergus Jackson is not our “child”. Sweet Lord in Heaven I do not call myself “Mommy” to him or tell Fergus to “go play with Daddy!” when he needs to hang with NPH. My roommates have deemed themselves aunts and Natalie has called dibs on godmother status, which is all fine. But this is in no way a trial run for future children (if anything, this only reinforces the fact that I will never have them) and Fergus is much more cared for by the boys of 713 who have really stepped up, whereas I get to go home to a dog-less, squeaky toy-less apartment whenever I please. …but that’s usually pretty hard because he’s SO CUTE.

In non-furry news, t-minus only two full days before DC– pretty crazy since I’ll be going non-stop until then and be hitting the ground running immediately upon my return. The weekend after, I’ll be returning to Des Moines to help out with an event at the zoo, and the weekend after that is Halloween. No word on a costume yet– I definitely won’t be putting in as much time and thought as last year, although I do still have the costume and might just use it again since there isn’t any photographic evidence of me ever wearing it.

I’ve never been an avid viewer of Discovery Channel specials or Animal Planet, but today I got my first real look at what I imagine those documentaries on life in the wild are all about. Our campus’ fall job and internship fair was held today, and I luckily made it out alive with only three major blows to the ego and a few flesh wounds I was able to lick silently in the corner of the Student Hospitality Suite (aka free water and brownies.) Perhaps we were being secretly filmed the whole time because really, the entire premise sounds like it’s ready for a C-list celebrity host and prime time slot on Bravo. Picture half a generation of Millenial students who were raised to think they could be anything only to be barraged with unemployment statistics for the past three years, give ‘em one semester before the real world, outfit them in their most uncomfortable, itchy attire “I haven’t been this dressed up since I was at my grandma’s funeral” (actual quote by Natalie) with little black binders full of freshly printed and bullshitted resumes, stuff ‘em in a sweltering ballroom full of potential employers and GO. As you may imagine, it’s not a pretty scene. Roommates turned on roommates. People you’ve shared classes with for four years were suddenly waiting at your back with a butcher knife should you deliver the better elevator pitch. The stench of hungry, angry desperation clung in the air while undergrads gnashed and clawed their way to recruiting tables… only to be told to apply online or that they simply had no use yet for students graduating in May. Welcome to the working world, seniors– do you like your first taste?
To be fair, there were at least two places I wouldn’t mind working at who also didn’t seem generally annoyed with my presence. One even asked for my resume (after I learned that shoving it in the face of the recruiter right after the introductory handshake was perhaps not the way to go…) Thankfully Natalie and I had entered the front lines together, thus were able to wrench ourselves from the trenches in semi-decent shape and remind each other We don’t need silly job fairs because we’re obviously more fabulous than everyone else and they will be seeking us out in due time. That was a lot of italics. And a lot of BS. But it sure does make me feel better.

The Vine. My favorite place in all of Iowa City, not only because it has a four-hour long happy hour daily, or because it often has $1 domestic pint night, or even because it is conveniently (dangerously?) one block from my apartment. I can’t pick out just one reason, but perhaps the events of last night will give you a glimpse as to why it’s earned my unconditional love…
I was having a less than stellar day, and bless Natalie’s heart, she texted me just as I was getting out of class: “Vine?” Of COURSE. That lucky bitch lives directly across the street from it, so she could literally tuck ‘n roll out of her front door and land belly up at the bar. Me, I have to walk approximately 1.5 minutes and cross two streets. Burns more calories, I guess. We met, sat down, Shiner Bock for me, Boulevard Wheat for her. Drinking and laughter ensued, said hi to some friends (because I only associate with people who also frequent bars on Monday nights) and then, the inevitable. The Cheese Fry Dilemma. Usually my roommates and I put in our order of piping hot, Colby-Jack covered fried potatoes immediately with our drink order, but Dubs and I have a separate ritual that involves splitting an order of boneless Maple BBQ wings. While this may or may not have already happened, an unfinished order of wings (just weren’t hitting the spot) does not a meal make. Also of note, I’ve had a ridiculous tomato-based-sauces craving lately that can’t seem to be satiated with any amount of ketchup or pizza sauce or actual tomatoes. Thus I finally put the phrase out there, those two dangerous but delectable words: “Cheese fries?” And because I only associate with the coolest of cats, Natalie responded with the requisite “Of course!” Now, cheese fries are kind of a commitment. This is not a Happy Meal portion of fries with a bit o’ greasy topping– this is a full on NEST of food that quite frankly can’t be consumed by two people. And if you’ve ever tried boxing up and reheating them later, well you’re just high.
Enter: the booth of gentlemen sitting behind Natalie. I’d seen these guys come in, they were around the age of 27, nursing beers and wings and… cheese fries. They had clearly been pushed to the side of the table, but only perhaps half the plate was eaten. I think you can see where this is going, and I can’t tell if I’m either really proud or really ashamed of what happened next.
Brittney: “They have cheese fries.”
Natalie (not at all masking the fact she’s now staring at their half-eaten app): “They have bacon on them.”
Brittney: “I’ve never had them with bacon…” (because let’s be honest, readers– when you’re already eating cheese fries, bacon would just be the nail in that coronary coffin.)
Both of us: “I wonder if they’re going to eat them.”
What happens next is purely the work of my Vine compatriot– I would like to put IN WRITING that I was not involved in the conversation that ensued.
Natalie, to one of the men with the fries: “Is bacon good on those?”
Guy: “Yeah!”
Natalie: “We were gonna get em, but didn’t know…”
Guy: “You want these? We’re not gonna finish them.”
Natalie: “I mean, uhhh…”
Guy: “I didn’t slobber all over them or anything. For $20 you can have em! Haha, kidding– here.”
And then, the cheese fry handover happened. Like some sort of magical, levitating UFO, the giant plate exchanged hands and landed between Natalie and I only to be INHALED within minutes. To be fair, I did say something about “Oh, we should give him like, some money…” but the guys literally did not look at us or worry about their fallen fried comrades at any other point in the evening. After this incident, which may from now on be referred to as “The Cheese Fry Incident of 2010,” we decided it was probably time to high-tail it out of there, and not just because our waitress had definitely witnessed the whole thing (we’re already THOSE girl at The Vine, we don’t need the reputation of those being those girls as well.) In conclusion: good work, Dubs. If this is already what we’re accomplishing as seniors, imagine the shenanigans we’ll get into as roomies in Boston next year. Only not in the Charlestown area of Boston because I saw The Town this weekend and I’d quite prefer to not take up muling Oxy up Nashua way on the weekends.

P.S. To any relatives reading, click here to visit The Vine’s website. Two words: gift cards.

Apparently I’ve forgotten what it is to be a student. I may have texted multiple people today that I was dropping out (it has yet to be seen if that was a joke.) I had a job interview this afternoon so wore a dress all day, leading passersby to believe I was dress-wearing excited for the first day of class which couldn’t have been farther from the truth. The amount of reading I have to do before my European Integration class tomorrow is insane and should be illegal, this is syllabus week people! On a brighter note, my roommates are awesome, and I’m not just saying that because they assigned each of us nicknames and I am now only referred to as “Bitch Duck.” Dearest friend and future Boston roommate (yes, we decided this last night– if you know of PR places in Boston looking for two shockingly good-looking employees in about nine months, keep us in mind) Natalie has been reintroduced to my life. And yes, I only added that because she asked for a blog shout-out. Not only have I made homemade sweet potato fries tonight, I actually said the sentence “I wish Jersey Shore was on every day” out loud and don’t really feel that bad about it. The DI had an article today on how freshmen have taken to literally roaming the town in search of house parties now that they’re banned from the bars. My business acumen tells me there’s a mighty big money-making market for those of us of legal keg-buying age, we’re all pretty excited about it.

It’s PACKING DAY!!  Almost as fun as moving day.  Almost.  The real question on everyone’s minds is WHERE TO EAT LUNCH tomorow with the parents and NPH (that’s right people, they’re meeting.  Get excited.  My mother will fawn over his rugged Brawny paper towel man looks and my father will get deeply engrossed in conversation with him about manly things like how best to manuever my 600 pound television down four flights of stairs.  OR… he and I show up hungover and they say Oh hey, so you’re the one she’s always blogging about, thanks for helping.  My money’s on scenario two.)  I’m thinking Which Wich since I can’t leave the great US of A without one last black bean patty on wheat with avocado and barbecue sauce YUM YUM YUM excited.  Or the Hamburg Inn.  Or the Pit for some BBQ.  Dammit.  “You wanna see Brittney’s head totally spin?  Ask her where she wants to eat.  She can’t do it.” — my father.  It is true.  Indecisiveness is one of my few character flaws.

You know what SUCKS?  My milk-to-cereal ratio for lunch was way off.  I don’t oft’ buy cereal, especially not Rice Krispies (can I get a woo-hoo for Reese’s Puffs and Grape Nuts?!  Not together of course) but they were left over from baking.  And I’m a sucker for how much noise they make when you put the milk on ‘em.  Hehehe more foods should make sounds.  While I’m on this random food tangent, let me say that I have no problem with lukewarm foods.  Or cold food.  I don’t often eat hot food.  One of the ladies at work was SO. DISGUSTED. that for lunch one day I whipped a can of soup out of my bag, pulled off the top and dug right in.  Cold.  I also eat with my hands whenever possible (but not soup DUH.)  Both Natalie & NPH have commented in the last week on my um, interesting style of eating.  Namely pulling eveything apart and picking at things and re-forming them and generally treating mealtime like a toddler.  And I WONDER why I don’t go on more dates…

In the name of making this post longer while relieving myself to FINALLY PACK… (maybe)… I will now post the blog NPH penned one evening entitled “Why I’m a Weak Drinker” (apparently I don’t wish to ever have legitimate employment).  Note that his FULL NAME is in it– all his doing– so you can all go Google and Internet stalk him and show up at his house and peer in his windows and I will laugh heartily.

“Hey My name is Brittney, I’m a pretty good drinker. Let me just say however that I bow to Neil Ledford in terms of drinking. He is a far better drinker than me. I wish, every night I wish I had his ability. Sadly however, it is impossible for me to gain his ability. I can only hope!”

Thanks, buddy.  I would just like to point out the size difference between the two of us so I would HOPE the kid could put much more away than I.  We should probably work on getting real hobbies at some point…

Bomb: -noun

1. Military. a projectile, formerly usually spherical, filled with a bursting charge and exploded by means of a fuze, by impact, or otherwise, now generally designed to be dropped from an aircraft.

…a few alternate definitions, then

6.  Slang.

or, one might use it as a verb in this example: “Brittney completely bombed her final.”

Yep.  Ouch.  Painful.  And I studied.  I really actually opened the textbook (kind of a big deal for me) read and re-read the notes, made a bunch of flashcards, memorized em… but the 7:30 am time got the best of me.  I know I know more than I knew, but it just wasn’t coming to me.  Four pages of matching– complete clusterfuck; multiple choice about the FCC and cable and who owns what and does broadcast TV use coaxial cables under which Broadcasting Act from what Decade– I’m supposed to KNOW this?!; and then the essays.  Oh baby the essays.  If anything, I might have actually done my best on those, or at least in comparison to the rest of that horrid pile of filth and dribble I turned it after 1.5 hours of pure, horrible mental torture.

ANYWAY.  So then I went home and slept.  And slept some more.  And woke up going BOW HOWDY now if I only had some boxes and some motivation to pack the rest of my apartment, I’d just be super prepared for moving out on Friday!  But nope.  I am currently doing the only thing (well, besides blogging– per threats suggestion from Natalie– and excessive drinking, that’ll come later) that I know to do in these times of severe pseudo-crises… baking.  HEY– I’m legitimately using up many of the ingredients I’ve amassed over a year of living here so really, it’s all working towards the goal of pullin’ up my roots and headin’ out.

Speaking of Natalie (Girrrrl, your name just got mentioned twice in a post) she and I met at the always fabulous Mesa Pizza yesterday because 1. It’s awesome and 2. She had a present to give me.  I KNOW.  How great is she.  Anyway, she FORGOT the present at home, so we noshed on our faboooooosh slices and flirted a bit with the behind-the-counter guys and then she brought me my gift later which I can’t really tell you what it is but it’s a-MAZ-ing.  I will wear it often.  It is a shirt.  That I wanted.  That she got for free through her super secret hook-ups.  She really swims her way into people’s hearts <insert uproarious guffawing here for inside jokes.>

Also, I figured out what NPH’s gift to me is the other day.  Because I am a snoopy bitch.  And because he made the mistake of telling me where one of them came from, and when the source is a town of about 800 people in Iowa, it’s not that hard to Google and figure out the only thing they manufacture there.  (Hint: it’s Wall Lake, Iowa if you’re that interested.)  There are two other similar things, but they are shipping from farther SOUTH– so you know they’re gonna be good.

It’s probably dinnertime where you are, but thanks to my extreme inability to deal with even remotely unnerving situations well, all I’ve been able to pick at today is Rice Krispies.  If you think this is causing me to become fabulously thin, well then you are WRONG, Mister.  Roomie made scrambled eggs and methinks I’ll make some myself, there seems to be a rumbly in my tumbly (Winnie the Pooh reference– GOD I’M MATURE.)

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!!

The neti pot is beginning to fail me, thus it’s time to pull out the big guns.  Mainly, 21st century medication in all forms– Mucinex, some kick-ass nasal spray stuff (this whole process has taught me I have zero problem with putting things in my nose) and some HyVee brand cold medication and cough drops that it took us way too long to decide on late Thursday night.  (After watching me go up and down the aisle multiple times, Neil: “You know, you don’t have to have ALL the symptoms listed on the box.”  and “Contrary to your apparent beliefs, Brittney, I haven’t actually taste-tested all of the throat losenges in the greater Iowa City/Coralville area.  Just. PICK ONE.” 

SO LAST NIGHT… PRSSA ugly sweater bar crawl.  I’d like to think it was a success, mostly because I planned it, but also because with the amount of bone-crushing hugs from everyone– the ones brought on by either severe inebriation or extreme adoration– it seems others enjoyed themselves as well.  Example: I was lifted in the air twice.  Previous to last night, I would have bet money on that being a feat most of my friends could not undertake.  Well, now that I think about it, neither of them are actually in PRSSA and in fact are two of my favorite people from the 713 pool.  But I digress.

I looked bomb diggity and so did Natalie (she and I thought that tights under shorts were a good option, she wore two pairs and I wore longjohns under mine) and really everyone else did as well.  NPH came to the pizza place where we started and got to meet everyone, his own personal legion of adoring fans.  He and Natalie got on famously, she specifically asked that I mention them in my blog and how much she ”LOVES NPH” and he is “SO AWESOME” and ”GOOD JOB PICKING YOUR BEST FRIEND.”  Uh, thank you.

Natalie, me, NPH

Anyway, luckily my apartment is in freak proximity to downtown so I was able to go home and put on jeans without missing much.  The tights plus the snow on the ground really weren’t a great combo.  From there the night was a blur of red and green sweater vests, super flattering pictures, my partner in crime Lauren joining us, Natalie befriending a bartender and essentially getting a gallon of vodka Sprite for $3, perhaps a Pancheros stop, and some flailing about that we tried to pass off as dancing to “Bad Romance” with a German.  THAT’S RIGHT, folks.  Apparently the towering presence of Aryan perfection on the crawl the entire night is actually straight off the boat German, methinks visiting or studying here for a bit.  I was not informed of this until five minutes before we called it a night, but I took solace in the fact that if his fellow countrymen even look half as good as that one, next semester will be a fun time indeed.

Speaking of studying abroad, I talked to a few PRSSAers who have done it (Italy & Spain) and realized I will probably be traveling a lot more in Europe than had originally planned.  I will definitely not have class five days a week, perhaps only two or three (it’s 17 credit hours though) and they both assured me that I’ll want to stick around after my program ends to do more.  One girl’s parents gave her three extra weeks to backpack, and she told me about the super cheap airline over there where you can hop on a plane and go to a new country for like 10 Euro.

And speaking of abroad, days like yesterday when Amanda Knox was found guilty in Italy are days I am extra thankful to live in America.  I don’t think she did it.  Perhaps that’s just the American media poisoning my mind, but she didn’t.

I’ve tried blogging a few times today and it just wasn’t happening.  The amount of food I’ve consumed (yes, I eat more the day after Thanksgiving than on the actual holiday) has apparently inhibited words from forming.  It was bound to happen someday.

My last DQ pumpkin pie blizzard of the season was had on the ride home from Grandma’s house.  There were too many crust pieces in it, but that’s kind of like saying there was too much money in my bank account– not actually a real problem. 

Going back to my apartment can’t come soon enough, though I’m SUPER PSYCHED for our VISITOR and BARBECUE tomorrow!!!  He will be here for less than 24 hours, but in that time I feel Bestie will be force-fed an inordinate amount of food by my mother.  His agenda seems to be shooting guns and drinking (perhaps together, whatever– it’s rural Iowa.)  Kayla is NOT coming over because she’s a butthead.  Yes, I called my best friend a butthead.  No, I have no used that term since approximately the third grade.  Some sort of familial obligation– whatever.

If you put up pictures of yourself on Facebook, that’s fabulous, but your tongue should be sticking out in less than 1/3 of them.  Anymore than that and you’ve just got real problems.

Carbs… hurting… brain.  Hopefully I sleep til noon tomorrow and Bestie comes shortly after.  You  know what?  His name’s Neil.  I’m done calling him Bestie.  Natalie calls him Neil Patrick Harris (and no, they’ve never met, that’s just how much he comes up in everyday conversation.)  So maybe I’ll just call him NPH from now on.  He doesn’t read my blog anyway (asshole) so there you  have it.  Bestie’s real name is Neil.