One million apologies to my most dedicated of followers who have been anxiously awaiting any sort of post while I’ve been gallivanting around town, avoiding this blog as well as most things reminding me that I’M LEAVING soon. Some slightly large news: as of 10:30 this morning, I am officially a college graduate! I only had one final this year, and while I probably could have failed and still passed the class, I in fact did pretty ok and am fairly confident I will be receiving my diploma. I’m not walking at commencement (something about my dad saying, “I’ll pay you to not make me sit through that ceremony”) so all that’s left is quite a bit of celebrating. Things are looking pretty fantastic on the career front, though I’ll save that for those of you who know me beyond my sarcastic Internet persona which is surely a front for my paralyzing insecurities.

I suppose I could update you on how I went home for Mother’s Day or how NPH had quite a successful birthday on Tuesday, but at this point: I’VE GRADUATED, BITCHES– and that’s really all that matters. If you are looking for a gift, please send cash, checks, yen, gift cards, IOUs, and spare change to my home address. I will also consider it a gift if you never ask me, “What are you doing after graduation?” “Ooh, what does that company do?” “Where are you going to live?” “Who’s going to take Fergus?” “What’s Neil doing?” or, possibly my favorite, “Are you two going to stay together while you live in different cities?” I’m quite seriously considering printing out the answers to all of the above frequently asked questions on index cards and passing them out at the graduation festivities my mother has planned that will span all three days of next weekend. Seriously, just say “Congrats” and pass me a beer. You automatically win the game.

For my last week of classes ever as a college student, the River Room has decided to serve almond chicken, my favorite. On my last journalism assignment, I was one of only two students who received grades in the A range. I will have a week off between my last class this Thursday and my first final next Thursday, and then one more at 7:30 a.m. on Friday. I would say something about the university sticking it to me one last time, but I’m just so excited about whatever comes after it that I’ve remained pretty unphased.

Currently I don’t feel like posting much about Bin Laden’s death– you can find my tweets for my play-by-play thoughts last night– though I can say I’ve never felt prouder to be a journalism major than last night. The same can’t go for being an American because quite frankly I was embarrassed by the reactions of many people, but as my professor this morning said, “Emotions aren’t right or wrong, you can’t help the way you feel in a particular moment.” So no judging, just dissimilar reactions.

For those of you who aren’t keeping track– yesterday marks ONE MONTH UNTIL MY BIRTHDAY, and today is Fergus Jackson’s nine month birthday. As his present, he will get his monthly heartworm pill. He really likes it. I have a feeling he will celebrate as he does all other days of his life: sleeping, looking out the window, and trying to catch that damn squirrel in the backyard. I’ll never tell him his legs are too short to ever catch it.

You’ll be pleased to know I actually was able to move about today and wasn’t nearly as sore as I thought I’d be… until like an idiot I decided to do Lauren’s new Biggest Loser cardio DVD plus the same Jillian yoga set. Um, no. I’m sorry quadriceps, I’ll never put you through such hell again. Imagine a million lunges plus fire plus death plus more lunges, that’s how my legs feel when I go from sitting to standing. If there is one motivator to get me to the kitchen, however, it would be the “low fat, low cal!” brownies aforementioned roomie just made that smell di-viiiiine. I haven’t given class starting on Tuesday much thought; my general attitude toward this last semester is YEEEESSS!!! Go for it. Carpe diem. Let’s get it over with. You get the gist. Oh, in other big girl news, I applied for an internship in Boston today that I would be over the moon, peeing my pants with excitement, sobbing in thanks if I got called for an interview. It’s with an amazing company with some pretty cool people, so I’ll keep you posted. While I’m on the talking-up-myself train, not only was there a buy one get one free Blizzard coupon from Dairy Queen waiting in my Gmail inbox when I got off work, but so was a congratulations from the career center that I’ve been nominated for a leadership award! How about them apples? I won’t find out if I got it for a while and have to submit some answers and letters of recommendation, but you know what they say– it’s nice to be nominated. (But seriously, Lauren, you’ve let those brownies cool long enough. Fork, napkin, my face– now!)

OH! Because I’m an idiot, I never cancelled my Deutsche Bahn card (train pass thing that never actually gave me a discount because as far as I’m concerned, the German rail system was invented by Lucifer himself) before leaving Germany, and on the 19th they’re set to charge me 57 Euro to automatically renew it. Awe. Some. If I had my PIN I could log in to my account and cancel it, but of course I never received a PIN because they apparently can’t figure out how mail works (or maybe me. But no, this part is definitely their fault.) So now I’m one passcode away from logging into my account and getting the whole fee taken care, but alas, they’re “sending” me a new PIN to my “German” address (which no longer exists and would never get there in time.) Thus, I’ve resolved to writing an email. That will probably start with something like, “Es tut mir leid, aber mein Deutsch ist schlecht” and then just laying the whole thing out in English. I see about 20% chance of this plan working, but that’s really all I’ve got right now. Unless I email my old program director who I guarantee will say, “We told you like 80 times before you left the country to cancel that damn thing,” and I will say, “I KNOW, but I’ve been waiting for my PIN!!!” But to a German, that is no excuse. Le sigh.

Say hello to Brittney “Journalism & Mass Communication major, International Studies minor.” It feels pretty good, not gonna lie, mostly because I get to drop my dreaded linguistics class. Cue the parting of the clouds and the Hallelujah chorus. In order to make up for some of those lost credit hours, I’ve added an online money management course and some as-yet-to-be-determined one hour fitness class that will start in mid-October, but really anything is so, so much better than subjunctive clauses. In other news, I fly to D.C. in two weeks. I most definitely thought this was at least three weeks away, but at least I still have time to rummage Target’s racks for multiple super-professional outfits before departure. There are plenty of things to look forward to until then, namely Roomie Rachael’s 22nd birthday on Sunday. Luckily for our livers, she’ll be out of town for most of the weekend doing a Buddy Walk with her adorable nephew, but she’ll grace us with her presence just in time on the actual day to enjoy Happy Sunday sushi and perhaps a viewing of The Social Network. Apparently this movie is just beyond off the chain (does anyone still use that phrase anymore? No?) though I have a feeling I’m going to get supremely creeped out by it. (Also, Wordpress is telling me that “creeped” is not actually a word. They are so, catastrophically mistaken.) I apologize this wasn’t a riveting, gut-busting post (yes, I’m still under the assumption there a few of these on here) but I wanted everyone updated on the fact that I was not on a bridge somewhere and have gotten my academic life under control, for now at least. In the meantime, I get to hand in that glorious drop slip and then perhaps literally skip to work. Happy-it’s-essentially-the-weekend!

“Well it’s over,” I told Kayla about five minutes post-first midterm of the semester. “And by that I mean my academic career.”

Ok, so it wasn’t that bad (though I guess we won’t know til I get the score) but it was pretty bad. So bad in fact, that one of my short answers literally included “…clearly I’m drawing a blank. Sorry.” The question, or rather given phrase we had to elaborate one was “Conciliation Committee.” The course is on the European Union, so I knew it was part of one of three legislative bodies. I started to write that it was part of the council– crossed it out– put down that it was part of the European Parliament (the correct answer, though to get full points it would have needed a lot of back-up information that was most likely in the assigned readings that I chose to think were optional) then crossed even THAT out and wrote, “The conciliation committee is part of the commission… clearly I’m drawing a blank. Sorry.” My other four short answers weren’t leagues better, and my essay answer was possibly worse, especially since I referenced how “the leader of Luxembourg was probably a nice guy” in the early 1950s. For the record, the course does not at all cover or care about the demeanors of EU member state leaders.

My professor bid everyone a cheery “See you Thursday!” when turning in their exam since he’s the same masochist who sent us a good luck email about two hours prior to the exam. After glancing at mine though, he added, “Wow, you have nice penmanship.” Duh, sir– I’ve been writing for pleasure since the age of five. I thought of bidding him a sarcastic, “At least you’ll enjoy the handwriting while you read those shit answers!” or telling him up front that my oft-practiced print/cursive combo was the only semi-decent thing he’d have to say about my test. Perhaps later I will get the opportunity to explain myself: “My handwriting’s so pretty because I’m a journalism major who’s never taken a political science course before, but apparently thought I could run with the big dogs in your upper-level, nearly graduate school level course just because I needed some credits for my second major and this was the only class that didn’t meet on Fridays.” Hopefully if that opportunity does present itself, I’ll learn how to breathe through the run-on and smile charmingly.

“Whether you think you can or or you can’t, you’re right.” –Henry Ford.

Well I can’t do it. I was apparently being optimistic when I ballparked my inevitable mid-semester breakdown to come sometime during October. It’s happening now, and it makes my brain throb, and it makes me want to hurt people and kick things and scream and cry and stay in my room forever. It’s not my job or my internship, those are currently existing in a wonderful symbiosis under the category of Thing I Care About. Things I do not care about however, things I just can’t care about are my classes. Specifically my international studies ones, which cover topics I have zero interest, that my brain simply can’t and won’t wrap itself around. I’ve given far too much of myself academically in the last seven years to keep trying in these last two semesters over things that will 100% not matter once I enter the job market (no seriously, I’ve been told that by multiple people in my job market.) I originally wanted to minor in International Studies, but my passive, doormat self let my advisor upgrade it to a major. Looking back and at my schedule currently, my college life would be a hell of a lot different if I’d stuck with my original plan. Granted, I wouldn’t have gone to Germany (because I wouldn’t have needed to for my language requirement) and it’s not too late to just take the minor, which I already have. I’m just burnt out. There are more important things in my life right now that don’t deserve me having to split their needed attention with Languages of the freakin’ World aka “What kind of embedded/ subjunctive clause do we find in this little-spoken language recently discovered in a small South Pacific island?”

I realize I’m complaining and wallowing and could definitely do it, but I don’t want to.

I’m blogging from class, so shoot me. The most painful, dreaded class of my schedule just because it’s so gosh darn BORING. It’s a linguistics class (mistake) in which we learn about sentence order and prepositional phrases and postpositional phrases and relative clauses only we learn about them in languages no one has heard of. Did you know there are over 4,000 languages in the world, but no one can know for sure? Have you heard of Madurese? Don’t worry, it’s a traditional Subject Verb Object sentence order just like good ol’ English. I couldn’t tell you for $50 where in the world speaks Madurese without some Google searching, but alas I’m painfully suffering through 1 hour and 15 minutes of a woman who still writes on a chalkboard in two thousand freaking ten. (Rant over, for now.) The roomies and I have officially begun our change jar in the kitchen for Vegas Spring Break 2011, made only that much more exciting by Lauren’s birthday being on St. Patrick’s Day which is the Thursday of that week. (Ok, I said I was done, but the professor just said “We’ll be looking at a language I can’t pronounce.” Then WHAT is the point. Clearly no one here can speak it, WHY does it matter?! For the record, the language is called Hixkaryana. Apparently it’s spoken in Brazil. No, I will not be participating in this part of the class exercise.) Other big news is that it’s Beat State Week on campus. Activities leading up to our annual Cyclone ass-kicking include free t-shirt giveaways, a slip-n-slide on campus, and speed dating tonight that I’m SO pissed I can’t make it to, but alas have a meeting. Tomorrow is the IA/ISU rugby game, um– yes please. I will wear my one Iowa State t-shirt for that since my loyalty lies not with my school, but with the attractiveness of the boys on the team. Our tailgating plans for Saturday are essentially the same as last week’s trial run, though perhaps with more vigilant peeing in the woods since the dickhead Iowa City police (no, I’m not apologizing for that adjective) were handing out public urinations in literal droves last weekend. I did my first big grocery shop of the year yesterday– yes, my Costco run from the parents lasted that long– and am sososo excited because I got bread ‘n butter pickle slices which are the BEST snack/breakfast/dessert/accent on really anything. First of all, Aldi is the absolute best thing that’s ever happened to my wallet and secondly, HOW GOOD are bread ‘n butter pickles?! I used to be a dill girl (SNOOOOKI!!!) and I’m not adverse to them, but the b-’n-b’s have suddenly taken strong hold of my heart and tastebuds. And there’s your random, unnecessary fact for the day.

There are many times per day I question my mental health, though perhaps never as often as I have in the 48 hours I’ve been back on campus. As an International Studies (and Journalism!) major, various foreign countries are mentioned during the course of my classes multiple times a day. Apparently I never realized before how much Germany is slipped into even the most casual of lessons, though you can bet post-foreign study I now pick up on every even hint of a whisper of any mention of anything I ever even kind of encountered in my four months there. I need to go back to Germany. And this isn’t just “The beer is better there! Maybe I’ll backpack across Europe post-graduation.” In the spirit of full disclosure to my loyal legion of 5-13 readers: I was fighting tears in my European Integration class today. That’s right, people– my professor’s mention of the Defenestration of Prague in which he explained that “defenestration” means to throw someone out the window got me all misty-eyed because DID YOU KNOW that “fenster” means “window” auf Deutsch?! I need to go back. I need to learn more of the language, I need to show the people I love back home how amazing a country it is. It’s like my culture shock upon American reentry has laid dormant for a few months and is rearing it’s ugly and apparently overly emotional head now that I’m surrounded by people who still think “Nazi/Hitler/war/bad” when they see the red, black & yellow. It’s not that I miss the people in my program; save for a few close friends, I’ve hidden/ defriended most of them on Facebook. It’s rather some, I don’t know– primal need? Like four months wasn’t long enough, or I should be looking for some incredibly lucrative job that could support me living there six months out of the year. Perhaps you think I’m being overly dramatic, but I long ago stopped giving a shit what people think about me when I start to have feelings. So as to not leave you on a completely Debbie Downer note, I have no class tomorrow and generally like all my courses this semester. Yea for rays of sunshine!

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.

Yep, I said it. I feel old. Today is the last day of my last summer vacation ever, and I’m not sure it even counts because I have a meeting later for which I’ll have to at least shower and leave the house. Iowa City is once again overrun with just bodies: bodies in the streets, bodies in droves pouring out of the liquor stores, tomorrow bodies getting lost, meeting for Mesa, cramming the Cambuses. I refuse to believe I’m one of these bodies, that I’m some how removed from the masses and am better than their mundane summer stories and 21-ordinance griping. I have a very “been there, done that” attitude, and I’m secretly kinda let down that I’m old enough to buy my own beer. We’re now entering the Get a job, get a job, get a job phase– no, thanks. If I’m told one more time that the job market has us all fucked from the get-go, I will scream and secure my sleeping bag space under the Benton Street bridge. I hadn’t given class starting tomorrow even a minutia of a thought until I had an inbox full of emails from professors with attached syllabuses. There’s so much reading. One of my professor is taking attendance. I have to give a speech on my first day of class tomorrow. Apparently I’m quite enjoying the bold HTML function today. Quite frankly, I feel completely overwhelmed. Three months of carefree summer loving has been beaten to a bloody pulp by course packs, a schedule already full of appointments, and general chest-gripping panic attack-inducing anxiety. So basically I’ve gone from feeling old (yes, I wrote the first part of this post this morning, pre-wheretheeffdidsummergo breakdown) to feeling incapable and infantile and stressed. I promise that was my last bolded word for today.