Things I don’t like: sunsets.  They make me sad.  Not like boo-hoo cry sad, but you know, sad.  Sunrises and I are a-ok, but their nighttime counterpart and I have some beef.  Methinks this is because when I was a little kid, I had a freakishly early bedtime during the summer.  It would often still be light out (the damn sun was starting it’s horrid setting) and I’d sit at my window and hear other kids playing and thinkof all the stuff I was missing out on and be really upset.  I’m one of those people who has zero problem with it getting dark out at like 5 pm now that it’s not Daylight Savings Time.  The sun sets in like two seconds– HA!  Take that, dusk. 

Man am I gonna be sore tomorrow.  From the GYM, get your mind outta the gutter.  My aunt is a personal trainer (or as one could call her, a freak anomaly in the sea of ”not-exactly-what-you’d-call-active/ could-I-just-get-a-trough-instead-of-a-plate”-ers who hail from the same gene pool.)  She honored us with the privilege of getting up at a single-digit hour in the morning to sweat out yesterday’s shameful show of How Many More Ribs will Brittney Eat Before she Actually Passes Out?  Which I’m glad she did because the answer to that question is a much higher number than even I was expecting.  So, an hour on the elliptical followed with some fun ab/arm/leg contortions will leave me feeling absolutely peachy tomorrow.  Don’t worry– I know you’re all probably quite concerned– I’m eating jerky as we speak.  (Oh, PS Mom, I found some jerky in the fridge.  Hope you weren’t saving it for anyone else.)

We have returned from the land of the south, and after about two minutes in the house I realized I was going to be here for a week.  A WEEK.  Do you know the last time I spent a week at home?  Uhhh maybe Christmas Break freshman year?  Oy vey.  When grumbling about this aloud to the one they call T-Bone, she told me I could separate the laundry for her.  HA.  What is this “laundry” you speak of?  And I certainly can’t figure out why anyone would “separate it”– isn’t it just a dump in magic machine, pour three cups of pretty blue soap on, hit a button & pray for the best activity?  Uh-oh, the jerky’s gone.  That doesn’t bode well for the rest of the week.

Today I’m thankful for… airplanes.  I hatey-hate-HATE flying, but damn it’d be a long walk to Germany.  (For those of you counting at home, t-minus 45 days until departure.)  Oh wow, so this is what hyperventilation feels like.

As many of you know (partly in thanks to an after-bar post that you can read here) a classmate of mine passed away ONE YEAR AGO today.  So I went up to hang out with him in the cemetary today, seeing as I have a WEEK here and all.  It wasn’t really sad, Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas is You” was on the radio and really that song’s so awesome it could bring war-torn nations apart, so I was in no Debbie Downer mood.  Someone had brought flowers up there today, but there was also a new pack of Swisher Sweets (the kid smoked em like they were going out of style, long story).  This was in addition to the OLD pack of Swisher Sweets someone had put there.  On top of the MULTIPLE DOLLARS IN QUARTERS that are just chillin there.  Am I missing something?  Is this some sick joke and Boner’s gonna come back, need a bunch of smokes, and have a shit ton of dirty clothes to clean at a Landromat?  He’s dead.  First of all, if you’re making wishes with coins (which I always thought there needed to be a fountain involved, but whatever) wouldn’t pennies be more of a recession-savvy coin to use?  Also, anything tobacco-related ain’t cheap anymore, go ahead and save yourself the couple dollars on the smokes for the dead guy because I guranTEE some high school hooligan from ADMHS will lift those babies within a week.  Those were just my thoughts. 

Methinks tomorrow I will accompany my mother to “tea” with her friends.  I have not been invited, but feel it would be kosher pickles if I showed up anyway.  Those crazy pre-menopausal vino-freak ladies are the shit.  I baby-sat for most all of their kids who were younger than me, and I illegally drank in barns, cornfields, and parent-less houses with the ones who were my age or older.  Ahh, the unbreakable bonds of the Tea Kids.  Perhaps we’ll get a cheaper rate on group therapy.

While’s Thursday’s Thanksgiving won Best Holiday Meal Ever award for overall quality of awesomeness, today’s Thanksgiving/Christmas combo in KC wins for Holy Best Tasting Food in the History of Ever award.  My uncle smoked 13 racks of barbecue ribs, we had the best baked beans from Jack Stack’s BBQ restaurant, green bean casserole, cheesy hashbrown casserole, and this cheesy corn stuff (so you know, all really heart-healthy fare.)  Don’t even get me started on dessert and booze.

It of course couldn’t have been a Christmas combo rendezvous without PRESENTS!!!  The highlight was a package of pastel-colored pencils that at first I was like, “Oh wow, lame.  Pencils.  I only use pens and Sharpies in college.”  But upon further inspection, I realized these babies said BRITTNEY on them.  That’s right, people– personalized pencils.  The reasoning behind this is because apparently last time we were together I was complaining (I know it’s a stretch, but just imagine me being discontent about something and speaking up about it) that when I was younger, I could never find anything monogrammed because my name is spelled different than your average Brittany.  “You know, like pencils at Disney World and stuff.”  So now, 20 years after being birthed and my uncle saying, “If you spell it that way, I will call her ‘Britt-AN-y’ all of her life”, I finally have pencils with the correct spelling of my name on them.  I can die happy.

Apparently the rest of my family is down ice skating at the outdoor across the street from the hotel.  HA.  Like I ice skate.  Like I can even move from my current prone position to go spectate their ice capade-ic endeavors.  I probably should, but food baby would throw a fit and food baby always gets what it wants (simmer down, Cletus!)

In the unfortunate event I should ever procreate, I would want it to be a boy.  Should I decide that this being is worth keeping around for a while,  I would dress it up in all sorts of ridiculous outfits and make it go out in public with me.  His name would also start with a Z.  I’m pretty sure I made up this name, and if I told you right now what it is, you would laugh and be like wow, she’s done a lot more drugs than I thought.  Methinks I’ve only told one other person this kick-ass name that will probably never get used, and I don’t think he’s going to steal it for his own.  He’d probably name his kids something dumb like, I don’t know, Dumb Face. 

Since I’m just so worldly and all, today I was reading an intelluctual Web site about our generation.  It said that we (I guess we’re Generation Y?  Or Millenials?  I vote for Generation Dumb Face) are the first to not rebel against our parents, are poised to make less money than our parents overall, and value experiences over things.  I definitely agree with the latter (well, and the first, but hopefully not the second).  “They don’t aspire to have a McMansion of their own, to have the latest car or any car if they can help it. What they do want to do is travel, eat out, and nurture their passions.”  (See the full post here.)  So you’re welcome, you now have something halfway intellectual to bring up around your holiday table instead of telling your grandparents about how you’re cyber-stalking this slightly nuanced, completely self-absorbed girl you happen to go to college with who uses fancy words like “nuanced” in completely the wrong context.

I guess I should go find my family.  They’re probably all “Where is that moody one who’s always lurking about the perimeter of the kitchen, ready to pounce on whatever food we happen to cast away?  She’s so nuanced, and such a Dumb Face.”  Or they haven’t even noticed I’m not present.  I vote door #2– there’s plenty of other shenanigans that I, if you can believe it, am nothing out of the ordinary when we all get together.

Yeah, Minnesota– keep turning it over to us. 

We’ve rendezvoused in Kansas City with my dad’s side of the family after a fun-filled three hour road trip.  If you should ever get the chance to be a fly on the wall during one of these rides, you should really jump at it.  Think a lot of group sing-alongs (Salt ‘n Pepa’s “Push It” is a crowd favorite), air-guitaring to 80s hair bands, really inappropriate conversation thanks to the college students in the back, and some reminders to not “be dumb and do drugs” courtesy of Mom.

It’s noon, I think the first draft of my story was due at 10 am.  Or midnight.  I don’t really remember, obviously let’s keep our fingers crossed for the latter.

GREAT NEWS: I’ll be living at 713 next year.  It has been decided.  This is essentially already where I live; the only difference is I can have my own bed instead of always passing out falling asleep on the couch.  Now Pops, I realize you may be reading this thinking, “Dream another dream, this dream’s over.”  (That is actually a phrase he uses– for more oft’ sung phrases, check out the Wisdom from my Father tab at the top.)  But I will prepare a PowerPoint and some Excel documents to show exactly this is my best possible living situation.  Reason #1 of course being the washer and dryer in the basement instead of saving every blank-blankin’ quarter I can get my hands on.

Hmmm what should I be thankful for today?  At our Thanksgiving on Thursday I suggested we all go around and say one thing we’re thankful for as our prayer, but apparently everyone had done that at work earlier (oh, if you didn’t know, my friend pool is quite incestuous and they ALL work at the same place, I am one of maybe three of us who’s out of the loop.)  One of my friends said he was thankful for seedless grapes.  Another said crayons.

So today I’m thankful for… dishwashers.  How freakin’ awesome are they?!  Dishes are NOT my thing. Well, housework in general really isn’t, but I’d rather kill all the trees on the Earth for my paper plates than do a sinkful of dishes every night.  I’ve lived in apartments that like, didn’t have a dishwasher.  I know!  I’m not quite sure how I survived either.  To think that like… in the dark ages… when our parents were like, not super old… they didn’t have such modern conveniences.  Oh… my father has just informed me that there were dishwashers in the ’80s.  So now there is really no legitimate reason for me not to build a time machine and travel back to when Guns n Roses were touring at their peak.

In my many years of roaming this Earth, I’ve had more holiday meals than I can count.  This is partly because I have three sets of grandparents and we celebrate holidays separately with each of them.  But it’s mostly because our family really likes to eat.  With so many under my belt, I realize what I’m about to say is a pretty bold statement, but follow me here:

Last night’s Thanksgiving dinner with my friends was the best holiday meal in the history of time.

Everyone ’round the table agreed.  It. Was. Perfect.  Before seeing Adam Richman (which we’ll get to a little while later) I dropped off my b-e-a-UTIFUL pie at 529.  You can all imagine what this house usually looks like; it’s residents are four 20 & 21-year-old males.  One of their entire walls is a shrine of empty beer cans and a rainbow of empty Smirnoff bottles, with a Jack Daniels flag over the whole thing.  It is not unusual to step over bodies when over for a visit.

So imagine my complete shock when I walked in and the place was sparkling.  We’re talking counters so clean we could have eaten off ‘em, nary an empty alcohol container out of place, they’d put leaves in their dining room table and it was SET– complete with real silverware and folded napkins.  I almost cried.  The four boys who live there were wearing khakis, dress shirts, and their shirts were tucked in.  It was the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen. 

When I returned for dinner, Bestie had the turkey all ready to go.  I HAVE NEVER SEEN SUCH A BEAUTIFUL TURKEY IN MY LIFE.  You so think I’m exaggerating, but I took a bazillion cell phones pics and will prove it to you.  The best part was it actually tasted fantastic.  This bird was ridonculous.  And he was just all, “It’s no big thing, I just Googled ‘turkey recipe.’”  In addition, the 529′ers had made mashed potatoes, gravy, deviled eggs, rolls, and corn on the cob (box potatoes, pre-made throw in the oven rolls, and Hy-Vee deviled eggs, but STILL!!).  We had a salad and cranberry sauce and held hands and said grace and everyone was nice to each other and there was Christmas music in the background and it was so, so awesome.  As someone around the table said, “I love you guys so much right now.”  SO. TOUCHING.  It’s okay, go ahead and grab a tissue.

The best part was probably the “cider wine” that was concocted– aka, a box of Franzia white wine mixed with apple juice and some cinnamon.  You know, real classy shit.  And then we had pie (which was a super big hit– I am so getting the bid for the room in 713 opening up next August), so by the time it was all said and done, we were ready for bed.  But we watched Training Day instead.  Everyone helped clean up and talked about how this was way better than any holiday dinner we have with our families because we could yell “Penis!” as loud as we wanted (I would like to point out I am not the one who made this discovery, but it did keep some people around the table entertained for way too long.  Yeah, yeah– so we’ve discovered there’s a difference between classy and mature.)  And then one of my friends went to go carve the rest of the turkey because “If I don’t do it now, no one will” and everyone in unison said something about that’s EXACTLY what their mothers say on Thanksgiving (only usually about dishes or putting away leftovers.)  They even packed everyone take-home plates  because “There’s just so much food!” 

Bee tee dubz, I’m home alone right now and have discovered the Christmas candy Mom has made  to go to Kansas City with us later this afternoon.  Helllooooo, peanut clusters.  And peanut butter balls.  And chocolate-dipped pretzels.  I also found the veggie tray, but eff that noise.

ANYWAY– so Adam Richman.  This engagement was NOT about Man vs. Food, to the chagrin of at least half the people in attendance, most especially the three bros behind me.  The beginning was B-O-R-I-N-G, he repeated himself over and over talking about all the different cultures in Brooklyn and how they all bring their own stories to the food we eat, and we all have our own story, and don’t let anyone tell you your story sucks, and he grew up with an awesome story, and shuuuuuuuuuuuuuut up.  Yeah, I get it.  People from China eat different food than the Norse.  MOVE ON.  Then he started talking about the history of certain foods, and I mean DETAILED history.  Like, he knows dates and places and names of rulers that most history majors don’t know, which is way cool for some people, but I had classy cider wine drinking to do, you know?  Though if I’m ever on Jeopardy and get asked what country the bagel originated in, I will leap over my podium, assault Trebek with my buzzer and yell “WHAT IS AUSTRIA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”  (And you thought it was Israel.)

Anywhoodles, then he moved onto to the “cooking demonstration” portion of the evening.  He was sweating “like R. Kelly at the Kids’ Choice Awards” (his words, not mine) during this entire thing and wiping his sweat on his hands up through his hair, no biggie… til he went to make spaghetti carbonara… and didn’t wash his hands.  I’m certainly not the germ police, but even I was like ew-uh.  The dish smelled insanely awesome though, and now I have a super fast and easy recipe should I ever need to make gourmet semi-Italian food in a dorm room.  Then he did a Q&A portion with the audience and then it was done.  Would I see him again?  No.  Would I recommend people go see this?  Probably not.  This might even make me a bit turned off to Man vs. Food.  I don’t know why, I just wasn’t super feeling him.  But he did refer to himself as “Jewy McJew Pants” more than once, and I laughed.

Today I’m thankful for my dear brother (who I may or may not have just accidentally ratted out to Mom that he’s hungover and now he’s gonna be all mad at me SORRY, I’ll throw myself under the bus for you sometime.)  Sorry for all those times when we were super young that I’d physically hurt you then tried to make you laugh so you’d stop crying and wouldn’t tell on me.  I was such a bitch in my elementary years.

So, off to KC I guess.  Still have a first draft due… anytime now.  Might be opening presents tomorrow, typing away in the corner.  Blllech, my tummy hurts from all the stolen treats.  T-Bone’s home now, though– at least she didn’t seem to mind me drinking milk directly from the gallon.

The chocolate curls that top our Thanksgiving pie are perhaps some of the best I’ve e’er made.  I just felt like sharing that, perhaps evidence of my freakish  passion for baking (yes, I said passion, people!  I mean business!)  Someone better bring a camera tonight before it gets devoured because the world needs to see this pie.

You’re probably wondering how today, D-day of my semester, went.  I woke at 7 a.m. and was quite certain that my eyes were bleeding.  Getting to work was auto-pilot one foot in front of the other, the ladies at work were quite concerned that I had been hit by a car en route.  My term paper ended up being ONE SENTENCE over five pages, nevermind that I increased punctuation to 14 pt font and my thesis had the word “Holocaust” in it and it concluded with the phrase “…that’s what make our democratic society great!”  IT’S. DONE. 

I owned that midterm– bent it over and made it my bitch (I will not say I “raped” it, though I’ve been known to use that phrase.  How do you think rape victims feel when we say that,  HMMMM??!?!)  I was the first person done in a lecture of well over 100 students, either a good sign or a very, very bad sign.  This happened to me all the time K-12, and I am so the person who will sit there and pretend to check my answers while waiting for someone else to get up first.  Not today.  I had to pee CRAZY bad, so could spare no time. The professor actually asked if I had a question when I handed it to him and then realized I was finished.  Either I am crazy or a genius, we will soon find out.

The very best part of all of this is that I still have shit due this week.  I will be working tomorrow after I am home, composing a first draft of a story I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about for my reporting & writing class.  Aren’t you just so jealous of me?!  Very soonly, however, I will be heading off to test my comfort zone (yeaaaaa for being an adult) and go to see Man vs. Food guy alone.  Best case scenario, he’s hotter and younger in person and picks me from the audience to be his bride and we travel the world together eating ourselves to death. 

While I’ve never read the books, I’m not completely blind, deaf, and dumb and thus not immune to the fact that New Moon opens at midnight tonight.  Two words: Taylor Lautner.  Holy sweet niblets of underage deliciousness, that kid is H-O-T hot.  Probably because he has the face of a two-year-old.  It’s learn about Brittney time: she likes them baby faces.  My laptop desktop has in fact been changed from Slash (GASP! HORROR! GLASS-SHATTERING IN THE BACKGROUND! SUICIDE!) to this 17-year-old kid that plays a werewolf for all of 36 minutes onscreen in a Twilight film (and sadly, I did not make that statistic up, Perez told me.)  And yes, I’ve caught more than just a little flack for doing so. 

Do you know what I haven’t done today?  Showered.  I’ll probably do that here soon, what with Adam Richman falling in love with me at first sight and all.  Then it’s off to 529/713 Thanksgiving (thus named because those are the addresses of the people attending, for those wondering– I am of the 713 camp OBVIOUSLY) where I’ll conveniently show up for the booze portion of the evening and skip all the turkey/mashed potatoes made by college kids shenanigans. 

Oh, so today I’m thankful for… my scholarship because I get early registration each semester for classes.  This semester it’s pretty moot since I only have to register for study abroad, BUT I get to “register” for classes that will be full by the time my-less-than-academic friends’ registration times roll around.  I’m currently enrolled in some pretty obscure art and English classes next semester (you both SO owe me now).  Really I just do it for the hilarious texts, like this one, from my least favorite 713′er: “Thank you, lady.  Your benevolence knows no bounds.”  What can I say, he adores me.

For the time time in 20 years, I found my inner Zen at around 4 pm today.  Tomorrow will come whether my paper reaches five pages or not, whether I keep rambling about Nazis in it or not (I am sadly not kidding– somehow my Legal & Ethical Issues in Mass Communication term paper has turned into a diatribe about the undercurrent of raw emotions that surely must exist in present day Germany because of the Holocaust.  I am so not getting a decent grade.)  It will come whether I know what the O’Brien Test is (I don’t) or whether or not hidden cameras are legal in Iowa (they are… I think.)

There is a french silk pie chilling in the refrigerator, courtesy of my awesomeness, that will be devoured at a very 713/529 Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow night.  Bestie’s making the turkey and said we probably won’t eat until almost 10 pm anyway, so I can go see Adam Richman AND have an awesome time recreating the slaughter of thousands of Native Americans by greedy white people first Thanksgiving.  And then get really drunk only to wake up really early possibly still intoxicated to travel two hours down the interstate in time for an oil change at 10 am.  Gotta love the end of midterms week.

Today I am thankful for my boss.  What?  But, Brittney, you loathe your job to the very core!  Well yes, but that’s because it’s inane busy work spent in front of a computer when I could be sleeping or eating or doing really anything besides wearing business casual clothes to class when all of my peers get to wear sweatpants.  I’m super pscyhed because I’m not working AT ALL next week.  Weeeee-hoooo!!  I invision a lot of lounging and eating and sleeping and sweatpants-wearing in my future.  Happy Turkey Day to me!

Also, I hate Murphy’s Law.  While on a given day I’m usually rockin’ an attractiveness rating of a good four or five points higher than your average college student, today was an exception.  I looked like the Elephant Man.  I consciously went into public full-on knowing this, thinking I wouldn’t encounter anyone whose opinion really mattered.  Boy was I wrong.  And I paid for it in ten minutes of super self-conscious conversation, followed by a complete melodramatic over-analytic meltdown about said meeting. 

This is when having a female best friend and a male best friend really comes in handy.  While both of them were supportive and assured me that  they have both seen me look like this elusive Elephantitis creature and they’re still talking to me, their follow-up approaches to talking me down from the ledge were varied.  Kayla lied to me and told me what I wanted to hear.  Apparently other Bestie is a walking copy of He’s Just Not That Into You and told me what was up, straight up no chaser.  I am now fake mad at him for doing this.  CLEARLY he does not understand girl logic, as I told him, and he replied with, “Nope, because it’s not logic.”

Anyway (hey, Natalie!) I’m gonna go do one of the million other things on my to-do list that you would think I’d have done by now, but you would be wrong.  I have to like, plan our end of the year social?  For PRSSA?  And talk on the phone to strangers to get estimates on how much banquet service will cost ?  Barrrrrrffffff, I HATE talking to strangers on the phone.  Perhaps there was some incident in my youth regarding rejection via landline that I’ve repressed but still scars my subconscious.  Whatever the case, NOT. Looking. Forward to it.

This will be super quick because I have about two of my five page term paper done and that’s just not enough yet.  Though it was recently brought to my attention that this paper is 8% of our grade where as our midterm (also on Thursday, THANKS FOR THAT, Dr. Eko) is 30% of our final grade.  Less BS-ing about the differences between Article 5 of the Grundgesetz and the First Amendment and more memorizing the over 100 legal cases that will be on the test.

Do you know how I sit?  Like a boy.  This is not new, but I feel the people walking by are like Girrrrl, close them legs.  I do it completely unconsciously, it’s just comfortable to sit like I’m straddling a horse (oh God, this really is not sounding as I meant it to).  I’m am the opposite of a leg-crosser.  My 713′ers used to point it out when were still new in our relationship, just like I used to point out when their right hands would all be gratuitously be hanging out in their pants when watching TV.  It’s a comfort thing, not an advertisement thing.  Shame on you for your mind going there.

I am conflicted.  As you know, Thursday night I have a ticket to see Man vs. Food guy.  Alone.  That part doesn’t really bother me.  What does bother me is that I am IMPULSIVE and was all, of course I want to buy this ticket!  Without thinking about how it’s at the end of this hell week, when the last thing I’ll want to be doing is sitting in an auditorium alone listening to this guy talk about how much he can eat.  I have been invited to a lovely college-kids-trying-to-be-grown-up Thanksgiving that I’d prefer to go to, but alas I have this non-refundable ticket.  I am trying to re-sell it via Twitter.  If you, dear blog reader, are reading this and are all HEY!  I’ll take it!– you just let me know.

Oh!  Before I go back to my RIVETING paper (that is on a topic that wasn’t actually approved so really, I could just be writing for myself here and get a big fat “F” on it for that reason alone) I have to tell you what I’m thankful for.  Since I said one parent earlier this week, it’s only fair if today I’m thankful for… my dad.  I’d be thankful for him even if I wasn’t trying to keep things even– Papa K’s the bomb.  He’s scheduling our cruise excursions around our inevitable New Year’s hangovers, AND he always refills the kettle corn when we go to movies even though I ALWAYS finish at the exact point when the movie’s about to start.  That’s the definition of a stand-up guy.  We won’t even get into who I will miss most when I go to Germany (hint: it’s him)– I’m sure some sort of drunken home-from-the-bars post will come about sometime later and I’ll  be all GAAAHHH I’ve never been away from him (or really anyway) for four months, how will I survive.  And I just know how much you are all looking forward to that.

Slash was on Lopez Tonight last night.  Holy. Slashgasm.  He looked super sexy fine, as per usual, and it would have been even better if George Lopez hadn’t been there and they’d just let Slash play and be on camera.  He’s put together a big charity show for the Los Angeles Youth Network next Sunday, le sigh.  Such a humanitarian.

You know what’s fabulous?  Curly fries.

You’ll be pleased to know that I finally have a topic for my paper AND half a page written. …who am I kidding, that’s not noteworthy at all.  Tomorrow night, I’m just being realistic when I say I’ll be getting little to no sleep.  Or I could just bomb the midterm and study extra hard for the final?  Oh college, how you’ve prepared me to make completely realistic life decisions.

It’s going to rain today.  G’ood thing I found my umbrella after thinking my old roommate had taken it for a few months, but then cleaning out the front closet and discovering it buried under a bunch of blankets and boxes of Valentine’s Day boxes.  So I shall remain dry!  Brittney 1, Mother Nature 0.

Holy schmoligans Lil Wayne will be in anything.  Apparently he’s on the new Shakira song– I’m not a huge fan of hers, though Bestie l-o-v-e LOVES that damn “SheWolf” song so I’ve become partial to it as well.  If/ when he goes to prison I. will. just. die.  Luckily his DOCUMENTARY “The Carter” (it’s already won a bunch of Sundance awards, no big thing or anything) is coming out so I’ll be able to watch it every day until his release.  So today, I’m thankful for Lil Wayne (do not make fun of me.)  He is just so great.  And hilarious.  And is addicted to prescription cough syrup.  But just awesome.

My horoscope yesterday: You can talk your way into anyone’s heart — but where’s the beef?  OH OKAY.  I think that means unrequited love.  That’s pretty much what everything in my life means.

Molly is doing a crossword puzzle and just asked me what mountain Noah landed on.  I said “Sinai.”  Apparently that is the incorrect answer.  I was not aware there were multiple famous mountains in the Bible.  I’m going to have to go home and figure this out.  Now she just asked me who plays at City Field now.  Oh, I’m sorry @mkburke, I didn’t realize I was an encyclopedia.  Like when you asked me earlier how many students are enrolled in the business school.  We are children of the 21st century, Google it.

I should absolutely not be blogging right now.  I STILL have not nailed down a topic for my term paper due Thursday which I have to get done before then because the MIDTERM for that class is the same day.  Imagine Wednesday night for me just being spectacularly fun.  Perhaps if I start writing nonsense on the blogosphere, my creative juices for Legal Issues in Mass Communication will also start flowing. HA.

Last night Bestie and I discovered the movie The Ten with Paul Rudd in it.  That’s correct– Paul Rudd has starred in a film that we DID NOT KNOW even existed.  We were really upset with ourselves over this fact, but mostly just really excited because the movie is all sorts of fucked up AND he does a musical number at the end.  There is a poster of Paul Rudd in 713’s living room, a shrine, if you will.  When I asked Bestie to articulate exactly why they’re all so gung-ho over Mr. Rudd, he replied simply, “Because he is hot.”   I concur.  He reached his hotness peak in Wet Hot American Summer, but like a fine wine, he really only gets better with time.  I mostly like him because his awkwardness level in I Love You Man almost rivals mine in real life.

In other GIANT LIFE-ALTERING NEWS: Slash will be on the George Lopez show on TBS tonight!!!!!  Giggity goodness, people.  SLASH will be on the TELEVISION and I will be WATCHING HIM.  My suicide over this week’s workload so just got postponed until tomorrow.  Charlie Sheen will also be on, and anyone with half a brain or who has read the should-be-award-winning autobiography Slash (I have an autographed copy, because I know you were wondering) knows that those two are way good buds.  They go way back. Kind of like me and Slash… in my fantasy world where I spend most of my day. 

Perhaps I will go make myself a ham sandwich.  Or eat some soup out of a can.  Or run into oncoming traffic– really anything to keep me from this effin’ research paper.  If there’s one thing I hate in this world more than people who invite themselves to me (because really, isn’t that everyone’s number one pet peeve?) it’s RESEARCH.  People who do it for a living are in a whole other realm of crazy to me.  Who CARES?!  If the information is already written down, why do I have to find it and re-word it and stretch it out into a bunch of pages and spit it back to you?  I’m quite certain my professor is much more well-versed on Article 10 of the European Convention of Human Rights than I am, so perhaps he should be writing a paper for me on it.  I’d probably at least skim it.  (<– Ok, that was a dirty, dirty lie.  I would throw it away recycle it.)

Oh, and since we’re rockin’ a little over a week until Thanksgiving, today I am thankful for… the hospital workers who were putting up Christmas decorations today.  Because you know what that means: they’re going to replace the normal muzak in the halls to CHRISTMAS MUSIC pretty soon and then I will have total permission to walk with a spring in my step when pushing my God-forsaken cart of charts all over the blank-blankin’ hospital (did you know that beast is 1/4 of a mile from one end to the other?  And you wonder why I’ve suddenly developed the athletic prowess of an indigenous African…)

In closing, Roomie has concoted what smells like macaroni & cheese if Jesus himself were to make it.  I shall go investigate.

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.