I have nothing to write about. I could complain about how obese and unmotivated I feel, or fill you in about all of Fergus’ adventures with the family for the past week. I could (belatedly) make a list of things I’m thankful for, but I’d say my Thankful til Thanksgiving thing on the blog was a big fail this year. I finished Ozzy Osbourne’s autobiography I Am Ozzy last night– it was fabulous, as I think most drug-fueled memoirs are (besides my possibly most prized possession, a signed copy of Slash’s autobiography, I also have Steven Adler’s recent book, and Nikki Sixx’s The Heroin Diaries.)
Savannah and I went to the movie Morning Glory for her birthday on Tuesday, and it was really good. Does Harrison Ford growl like that when he speaks in real life? We finished off the night by going to some Adel bars– an, um… interesting experience that I wouldn’t like to repeat more than once or twice a year. My grandmother once again hosted a kick-ass Thanksgiving, though I’m gonna get mushy here for a second when I say both Fergus and I miss NPH something awful. We’ve been trying to put together a Norman Rockwell puzzle for over 24 hours– you’d think 1,000 pieces wouldn’t be that hard with three people working on it, but you’d be wrong.
“Are you telling them how good Fergus was? Grandpa didn’t even take the paper to him once.” –my grandfather, better known as Papa John, sitting next to me. He and my grandmother are definitely my most avid blog readers, and he’s correct in that Fergus was shockingly well-behaved the whole time. They’re probably going to be disappointed at the lack of substance in this post, but I promise a better follow-up later with photos and a better attitude in general towards being out of bed.

You know when you just know that a satellite in space can see that your ass is equivalent in size to one of those smaller chain islands in the South Pacific? Yeah, it’s been that kind of day. If you couldn’t already tell, NPH’s mom definitely delivered on the pumpkin bread, and he held up his end of the bargain with giving me the whole top slice (and most of the middle and sides, too.) She also brought a pan of lasagna (with spinach!) and extra-dark homemade brownies, but my tummy doesn’t want to discuss these things. I would also like to not talk about the Hawkeye game last night– there’s nothing to say but congratulations to Arizona and holy Lord, Ricky Stanzi– cut that hair. My time at home was successful, albeit it a bit too kettle corn laden… oh, who am I kidding, that’s not really possible. Savannah and I went to Going the Distance– SOOOOO cute, made me miss NPH (we had been apart approximately four hours at that point. Yes, I’m that person.) Afterward I had fun reminiscing with her mother, who has recently become a reader — HI, AMY!!!– and who I hope has finally tried pretzel M&Ms. Speaking of those little spherical devils, Roomie Lauren was kind enough to ration me out a baggie-ful from her party size bag, lest she come back from Maryland tomorrow to find them all gone. I decided they would make the perfect road trip treat and gave them prime passenger seat status, however got a tummyache about halfway in. To save me from myself, I threw the bag with the rest into the far corner on the floor of the other side of the car so I wouldn’t be tempted to snack on ‘em out of boredom. Well, I’m sure you can see where this is going. Speeding down I-80 near Newton, I realized those pretzel M&Ms once again had to be mine. What to do, what to do– cause a thirty car pile up even though they were clearly out of my reach, pull over, live without them? Clearly none of these. I grabbed a library book out of my backpack and used it as an arm extension to lean over– keeping half an eye on the road, of course– and flail it about, trying to flip the magical treats into arm’s reach. This actually wasn’t nearly as complicated or dangerous as it sounds, and I was able to finish those babies long before entering Polk County. Success. I’ve found I enjoy sucking on them to melt and eat all the chocolate, then enjoy the pretzel center on it’s own. It would be probably be healthier and less time-consuming to just buy a bag of pretzels, but that would ruin all the fun.

Currently, I’m chomping on some cherry Twizzler nibs, bought for me by my favorite navy-sweatered boyfriend on this very autumnal day. He has finally wised up and realized that nibs are where it’s at, and that cherry Twizzler bites are NOT the same and nearly vomit-inducing. I suppose I can’t complain, though, since he’s finally realized buying me candy is the key to my heart… or at least to getting me to shut up and do my homework. These miraculously sugared gummies are only a string of fabulous things that have happened in the four short hours I’ve been out of bed. It was most certainly a coffee morning– why I haven’t yet made very morning javaliciously caffeinated, I’m not quite sure. With German-flag mug in hand, I logged onto Facebook to read the sweetest message from my friend D-Bag (not familiar? He was my best friend in Germany) that me laugh aloud, smile a lot, miss him like crazy, and generally start my day off on the best foot possible. When roomie Rachael finally arose after hitting the snooze button no less than six times, we had a 90’s boy band dance party (or me YouTubing Backstreet Boy and N*Sync hits as she questioned my delirious mood) while getting ready because we share our first class of the day. Ten plus years post the height of both of these bands, I can appreciate a little “Tearin’ Up My Heart” and “Bye Bye Bye” every now and then. In my formidable years, however, I was a Backstreet Girl til death and refused to acknowledge JT and crew were anything more than BSB wannabes. Before that, I was– and no, this is not a joke– a member of the Hanson fan club, and had a giant poster of the brothers on my closet door where I could wake up and have Taylor’s heart-breakingly adorable face greet my day. Looking back, the kid looked like a straight up girl. Apparently I’m compensating now by dating a whiskey-swilling, fully-bearded lumberjack of a guy whose idea of cleaning his room is fitting all four corners of his bottom sheet to the mattress. His parents are coming this weekend, by the way, and I was quite looking forward to seeing them. Unfortunately, I’ll be missing out on an awesomely awkward dinner with them and instead returning home (that’s not the unfortunate part) to visit Savannah and see The Town (!!!!!!) with my dad and a refillable tub of kettle corn. Dammit, the Twizzlers are gone. I suppose I’ll get cracking on my assignment due in an hour.

As my time in Europe winds down and I prepare to say good-bye to my primary blogging focus for the past four months, I figured I’d restart things here with a bang in the form of a semi-major life announcement.  (For a second there I was going to make this next sentence have something to do with pregnancy, but then realized absolutely no one in my life would find that funny.)  About a month ago, a friend and I registered to run a half marathon in October!  Perhaps some of you just fell off your chairs in disbelief, others laughed out loud, and yet the majority of you who are Facebook friends with Emilee and I knew this was coming (and have been entertained by our “I’ll start my training to become a distance runner just as soon as I polish off this last case of beer” wall posts.)

In gym class, I DREADED running the timed half mile because what I was lacked in self-esteem, I made up for in body fat.  We always had to run in soccer, and around junior year my friend Savannah and I got the brilliant idea to join the cross-country team.  She made it through the season, I only went to the first informational meeting.  In sophomore year of college, I’d get into running for a week or two, but hangovers always trumped any fleeting motivation to jack up the ol’ heart rate.  So what makes you think you can run a half-marathon then, kid? Simply put, I really do like running.  Like, love running.  I’ve made it enough of a habit in the past weeks that it’s something I automatically fit into my day.  I’ve actually called it a night early a few times, knowing that I wanted to get up before class and run.  Mentally, it puts me in a very healthy place, not to mention there’s near-instant gratification from week to week in terms of noticeable improvement (distance, speed, etc.)  I’d thought about running a race for a while, NEVER a marathon, but kept going back to 13.1 miles as a challenging but do-able distance.  Impulsive ol’ me didn’t sign up automatically, but actually put some thought into this decision and read up on training plans before submitting my official registration (and checked to make sure the Hawkeyes are playing an away game that weekend.)

So, in addition to whatever riveting fodder I post in the coming months, get ready for some pre-race thoughts (that, let’s just be honest, might be better categorized as outright bitching.)  I’ve already had two dreams about it, and welcome any and all persons to get motivated, by what you might now feel is my complete loss of sanity, to sign up with me!

Somewhere in my house is my wallet with credit cards, multiple forms of real and fake identification, some loyalty punch cards, perhaps a stray HyVee Chinese fortune.  Unfortunately, I have no idea where in the house it is, and it’s KIND OF something I’ll be needing very soon.  Like to board an airplane.  No big deal or anything.

Mom, Savannah, and I went to see It’s Complicated today because who doesn’t love Meryl Streep (or even Alec Baldwin.  I want to hate him because he seems like such an ass in real life but WHO CARES because he’s in The Departed and him saying “Paaaaatriot Act!!!” is one of me and NPH’s favorite movie lines of all time.)  Well let me tell you– if you are one of the few 40 year old and over readers, close out of this screen right now and run small children and animals down in your frenzy to get to the movie theater.  If you are anywhere near college age or just generally don’t want to even think about what it must be like for your parents or professors to be together between the sheets DO NOT SEE THIS MOVIE.  So much old people sex.  So much fleshy Alec Baldwin.  So much divorcee humor.  So much kettle corn inhaling (oh wait, that was just me.  And Savannah– I’ll throw her under this bus, too.)

After the movie we returned THE raincoat from Christmas and got a super classy charcoal gray/black coat that I LOVE and fits like a glove and was on super sale and it just awesome.  I look so damn sophisticated in it, no small feat mind you.  Props to Mom and Savannah for putting up with my in-store antics, too much kettle corn will do that to a person (my inner five-year-old also followed us to the parking lot where I drew a swastika and male genitalia on the undefrosted windows of my mother’s vehicle.  She was not super pleased with my behavior.  OOPS.)

THEN Savannah and I were all “Wow.  Way too much fun for one night.  Let’s head into the GREAT METROPOLIS of Adel, Iowa to see what shenanigans await us.”  And do you know what we did?  Not a goddamn thing.  I hate this town.  So lame.  Nay, it’s a quaint town, methinks it’s the people in it who really just make me contemplate how much slitting my wrists would actually hurt (again, if you are a mandatory reporter– step down, apparently making slight suicide references is just a phase I’m in.)  To give you a hint, the most entertaining interactions we had were in the Kum ‘n Go parking lot which is actually a step up from our normal meeting place, the Subway parking lot.

Tomorrow we’re going to church, only this time there probably won’t be a REAL BABY playing my savior so it’ll be kinda way more lame than last time.  Today I got ALL PACKED for the cruise so tomorrow will be more packing for Germany/ tearing the house apart in search of my wallet/ trying to figure out how to get a working laptop to Germany without actually spending any money (my father says I can’t afford to pay attention, let alone buy a new one.  Excellent.  Apparently personal finances really aren’t my thing.)

I painted my fingernails today (bright pink) AND toenails (silver sparkles.)  No need to tell me how excited you are this new nugget of information.

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.

The irony is not lost on me that I HATE hospitals yet work in one.  I spent about ten hours in my place of employment today, though I went for moral support for a family member instead of a paycheck.  Holy suck balls it smells bad there.  And is creepy.  Thankfully it was nothing life-threatening and he was able to have an outpatient procedure sooner than they thought and I should be DONE with being in any medical facility for visitor/patient purposes for a while.  Luckily I brought my hospital badge so was able to save $1.69 on lunch.  Way to go, employee discount!

GUESS WHAT?!?!?!  Bestie might come visit on Saturday.  I am piss-my-pants excited.  Tomorrow my two girl besties from high school will finally return to our blackhole of suck hometown and we’ll get to go out for Savannah’s 21st birthday and have fun girl time and tell secrets and hang out in the Subway parking lot and be super awesome!  And now there’s a possibility that Bestie will get bored at home in Illinois, return to 713, then traverse to visit moi next weekend?!  Woah-uh, awesomeness overload.  Mostly we’re trying to pack as many activities (Stepbrothers reference, obviously) into our last two weeks of friendship as possible.  He would also really like to shoot guns off the back deck with my father since he’s in awe of Iowa’s lax gun laws in comparison to the ones governing our neighbors to the east.

My mother would very much like us (or even apparently just me, should he not be able to come) to attend church on Sunday morning.  Apparently it’s “the rules.”  I will not mention how “the rules” seem to change everytime I come home, depending on what “rules” she’s feeling like making up at the time.  We grew up going to church most Sundays and I’m definitely not opposed to it.  In college, however, sleeping in has trumped going to church about 98% of the time.  I am definitely more religious than the vast majority of my college friends, and this has nothing to do with my Sunday morning worship attendance.  When I come home it’s nice to go and see all the old ladies who watched me grow up, but our pastor who was BOMB-DIGGITY has left and now it’s just weird and people look at me like “Ohh the liberal from Iowa City is back, I wonder if she’s withchild.”  Not to mention if Bestie and I rolled in together, they would presume he and I are dating.  (Mom, you know me telling them “no, we’re not dating” would so not work on those Lutheran women.)  I can handle all of Iowa City and the tri-county area assuming this, but those church ladies are too much to handle.

Apparently there’s a large stink over Adam Lambert’s performance at the AMA’s last night.  I did not see said performance, a quick YouTube search doesn’t provide me with anything interesting.  He kissed a guy and simulated oral sex on one of his back-up dancers and grabbed his crotch a lot.  The first one is so Madonna and Britney, I seem to remember them getting a lot more praise than flack for that.  The third point of contention is straight outta Michael Jackson’s book, and the glove that did a lot of that very self-gropeage just got sold for an ungodly outrageous amount of money.  So really Adam Lambert just needs to get off his knees and those 1,500 angry phone calls to ABC needn’t have been made.  Personally I like the guy for some reason, and I haven’t ever really heard him sing.  His fellatio-centric stage time had to have been more entertaining than Jennifer “I couldn’t act or really sing my way out of my marriage to the most hideous man ever even if I tried” Lopez falling off the back of one of her dancers (which I did find video of online, and homegirl did a pretty good job of making it look like part of the performance.)

If you’re thinking about having kids, you should probably just adopt.  Don’t be selfish and have your own.  There’s plenty of perfectly good babies who need homes.

I’m re-reading A Million Little Pieces because I don’t know, I’m oddly fascinated by drug rehab I guess.  An excellent movie you should watch is 28 Days (with Sandra Bullock, not 28 Days Later with zombies.)  The phrase “chemical dependency” really rolls off the ol’ tongue.  I also really like the word “environmental,” in case you were wondering.