Today feels like a Wednesday. It is, in fact, a Tuesday. Fact: this is the first week I’m working a regular 8-5 M-F work week. Due to weekend conferences, holidays, and afternoons off, I’ve never worked one of these at my job before. We do have a potluck tomorrow so perhaps I can pretend it’s a ragin’ party. I made pesto pasta salad, and I don’t know about you, but that was always one of our requirements for a damn good time in college.

Speaking of college, tomorrow’s date is 7/13. For anyone who ever had the pleasure of stepping foot inside the glorious place with the same address, we ask that you observe the holiday by getting black out drunk wherever you are. Unfortunately for everyone who actually had to live there, we all (and yes, I’m included myself as a resident) have big kid jobs and might have one light domestic beer before calling it a night.

I feel absolutely terrible for bemoaning my long distance relationship when there are thousands of military families out there living without their loved ones for very scary years on end, but occasionally I do get very sad, self-pitying and overall wallow-y about being apart from Neil for at least a year. My father might take this as an indication that we have moved up a Defcon (yes, he seriously inquires about our relationship as if it’s some sort of defense maneuver by the Armed Forces) which it probably is, but there’s no need to discuss that in the privacy of our own home when I can just announce it on a very public yet sparsely-read blog. I’m mostly upset about the hundreds of miles between us because I’m the sole caretaker of one Fergus M. Jackson, Esquire who, pardon my French, has been an asshole lately. It’s like he always wants to play with me or hang out on my lap or needs to go outside to pee or be petted and loved and fed. The nerve.

This week has gone by surprisingly fast after a great long weekend helping Neil move and chillin’ at home. I’m starting to like my job more each week, and it seems I have more to do each day which makes the clock go by faster. Today my co-worker/ work friend (she was hired the same day as me and is the same age) went to the farmer’s market in Daley Plaza over our lunch hour. We both fell in love with it and plan on making the trek there every Thursday. We sampled some amazing garlic cheese, creamed honey, and just ok banana bread, but I managed to make it out with what I went in for– tomatoes and mozzarella cheese. T-Bone hooked me up with some homegrown basil this week, so I made a caprese salad for dinner.

Fergs and I just returned from our longest walk to date around the lake. I messed up my knee something awful on a run the other day so this trek was a bit painful, but the weather has been too nice to stay in and enjoy my newly installed Comcast (someone stop her– she’s talking about the weather again.) In WAY more exciting news, NPH and I are headed to the Britney Spears/ Nicki Minaj concert tomorrow night!! He got me tickets for my birthday, and I think he’s almost as psyched to go as I am. Roomies Lauren & Rachael will also be in town attending the Katy Perry show, so, you know, insert hangover here. And that, my friends, is my most recent life update. Oh, I bought a toilet brush this week after doing the math on whether I could get away with just buying one of those Clorox ones with the disposable heads (nay.)

A bajillion congrats to Kayla for winner that damn Sub-Jammers competition. I wish we could go, but I would smack you in the head if you paid $300 just to register for some sandwich convention. I will instead turn my vacation interests once again to Vegas. Like a mistress in the night, she’s been calling to me (and it doesn’t help that The Mirage keeps sending me emails. Whoever signed me up for that list, that was a cruel joke, and I love you for it.)

Today was the first weekday in a long while with nice enough weather for me to finally eat lunch by the lake. It’s only two blocks from where I work, so I had plenty of time to hang out next to Lake Michigan, eat lunch (greens with tomato and marinated tofu today– so classy, I know) and watch people run, rollerblade, walk & swim by. To the people who are out there in their tri-suits, swimming against the waves: GO YOU. I also discovered a completely adorbs Farmer’s Market only a block from my building, right outside the contemporary art museum which also happens to have free admission on Tuesdays. Between my work’s free gym and the surrounding areas (H&M, I’m looking at you– sorry, paycheck) there’s plenty of things to keep me occupied for my full lunch hour.

And on the days it rains and I’m too lazy to get into the gym? You can bet I’m looking up flight prices to Vegas like a FIEND.

I’m not sure about myself, but Fergus Jackson is settling into Chicago just fine. Every walk outside the front door is an invitation for dozens of passersby to stop, pet, ogle, coo, squeal, or just do a double-take at this handsome hound. I get asked if he’s a “hot dog doggy” or a Dachshund at least daily, and grown men bend down in intersections and call him “Baby.” After we walked past a group of people on our daily walk to the lake yesterday evening, a man yelled out, “Girl, that’s a pretty dog!” Another guy said he was sure he’d seen Fergus in commercials (don’t think I haven’t looked into it.) I greatly enjoy that it’s more often men who melt over this 10 month-old ball of terror (he’s mellowing, I swear) much more than women do. What they don’t realize is that the last thing this basset needs is more attention. He knows he’s a pretty/beautiful/baby hot dog doggy, and walks around strutting his overly-long stuff accordingly. Luckily, we live in a very dog friendly area, so he’s made lots of friends. There’s many on the block and in the building, and we’ve met a lot of old pooches. Yesterday it was a 15 year old beagle, and today a 15 1/2 year old Scottie (I think?), neither of which wanted anything to do Fergus. My favorite so far is Mack the bulldog, because Mack is severely overweight and seeing the two of them together is just humorous. Well, humorous now that I’ve become one of those people who dedicates entire blog posts to her dog and makes sure it’s lights out by 10 p.m. I might hang up some wall mirrors I got from IKEA before I hit the hay, though. Oh, and I’ve switched from taking the L to taking the bus to and from work. If you were looking for exciting life updates, you’ve got the wrong girl.

Yes, I’ve moved in. I’m grossly, ridiculously in love with my apartment. It doesn’t look like any other I saw, the moving in and unpacking was surprisingly painless, and apparently I’m automatically a Cubs fan based solely on proximity to Wrigley (two blocks.) I feel this location is slightly wasted on the fact I couldn’t give a shit less about baseball, but I suppose I make up for it with my enthusiasm for the other establishments in the area.

Work is, well, work. Kayla imparted some sage wisdom (she’s like 30 now, an acceptable age to start spouting life advice) when she reminded me it’s called work for a reason. It hasn’t come exactly easy which can be very frustrating to us first borns. (Almost as frustrating as typing this on my phone since my apartment doesn’t have Internet yet. My first world problems are so mentally taxing.)

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I spend a lot of my time tired and hungry and rushing towards the Red Line hoping I don’t get on a car full of people ready to assault me for my iPod. It would really show those mutters though when they only get 40 songs, half of which are Spice Girls jams (seriously overhauling my iTunes is like 152 on my list of things to do.)

Oh, to end this post that in retrospect has been very whiny, I HATE having a gas stove. Not only did I set off the smoke alarm the first time I tried to use it, I am just positive that it’s slowly leaking CO2 into the air and one morning I’ll wake up dead. And of course you can wake up dead, haven’t you seen Scary Movie 3?!

Alive? Check.

Functioning? Barely.

Hugest, weirdest, craziest, most stressful time in my life? You betcha.

…and I still haven’t even moved into my apartment yet! Soon, though. My name is officially on a lease– I’ll be in before next week after some maintenance is finished.

I’ve essentially become best friends with NPH’s family. The only part I don’t like is how long of a commute it is from their suburb into the very touristy part of the city where I work.

Until I move, my life is a cycle of getting up super early, riding the train, working, riding the train, eating, sleeping, repeat. I know, so glamorous. Afterward, it will be less riding the train and more… TV watching? Far too exciting to handle, beware.

NPH and I are getting fat. I suppose the ladies’ magazine term is “love chub,” though let’s just call it what it is here and deem it “beer and pizza.” The winter months were not kind to us, nor were we particularly kind to ourselves during that very long period of hibernation. We’ve reached the point where we’re no longer trying to impress each other (at age 21, wow– this bodes well for the rest of my life) and the most chivalrous thing he could now do for me is take Fergus out without being asked. (My ploy as of late has been speaking to Fergus loudly enough for Neil to hear, “Oh what’s that, Fergs? You have to go outside? Gee, I took you for that long walk today. Hopefully Neil can get his shoes on before you pee all over the carpet.”) Passive aggression is really my strong suit.

Luckily, we both recognize that we aren’t exactly the sylphs we once were and are completely cognizant of the lifestyle changes that would be necessary to reverse this plumping trend. However, as Neil pointed out last night, we have about five weeks left before the real world bitch slaps us good and proper across the face, thus we’re going to continue riding this wave of unhealthy living while we can. Perhaps you’re all familiar with one of Facebook’s more useless features where they recommend old photo albums of yours to peruse through when you should instead be doing a myriad of other actually productive things? Yesterday the ol’ Book wanted me to look at my prom pictures from junior year which were hilarious and frightening and sad all at once. Apparently back in the day my collarbone could poke your eye out (I’m not making this up– I would put up a photo but it’s a group of ten of us, and I assure you at least eight of those people don’t want themselves associated with this diatribe of self indulgence.) Somehow in five years, my collarbone has gotten lost in a sea of cheese fries and booze calories, leaving it debatable as to whether I have a skeletal structure or am merely being held up by pudding and mashed potatoes.

As per one of my New Year’s Resolutions, I’ve been getting more culinary as of late. Time spent in the kitchen is oddly fun to me, and it’s also a way I can sneak less saturated fats and more veggies into NPH’s life a la one of those sneaky moms in the Manwich commercials. I suppose the homemade beer-battered onion rings weren’t exactly a step in the right direction, but I made burgers out of ground turkey instead of dead cow, so they kind of balance each other out, no? An unforeseen consequence of this Emeril-esque adventure was that my hands will now forever smell like onions, and everying I own reeks of stale frying oil. The kids in class this morning definitely stared. After a meeting at work, I informed a co-worker that I was going home to shower, and she laughed like I was joking even though one look at my general appearance could have told her I was not. And my hands still smell like onions.

There’s no more denying that school is officially back in session, and it seems I’d forgotten how jam-packed busy the first couple weeks of each semester are. I only have two classes Monday-Thursday, none on Fridays, which I haven’t since sophomore year. I’ll only have to work four days a week in the real world, right?! Those aren’t very difficult as of yet, homework is minimal, and to say that I’ve gotten faking concentration, skimming, and summarizing down to an art form in this last semester would be an understatement. The thing that’s got me feeling exhausted only two weeks in, however, are my extracurriculars (and no, I’m not talking about those that involve elevating my blood alcohol content.) In addition to class, I have a job, an internship, and am on the executive board of a pretty big student org on campus. I realize there are scads of my peers who are in the same boat, if not even more busy, but these three things demand a lot of my attention a lot of the time. Thankfully, things for PRSSA will die down after the large event we’re putting blood, sweat and literal tears into gets over with in February. Sometimes I feel bad that my time isn’t spent focusing as much on my marketing internship as it should because I’m so busy at my actual job where I’m busy promoting our newest program, planning events, and sitting on a team to create and implement a very big pledge campaign to be revealed this summer. (And no, this isn’t meant to be bragadocious, I’m just keeping my grandma all up to date on what’s going on with my life.) I find myself not only being excited for graduation just because I’m still under the illusion that I’ll magically feel like an adult come May, but because once I do get a full-time job, there will be only one big picture item on which to devote my energy. I’m not really complaining about all the various projects I’m currently filling my time with– if anything, it’s a really great feeling to check lots of things off my to-do list every night and see concrete results once something is finished. Just letting you know, that’s what’s on my my mind.

…and for all of you Millenials over there, head on over to The Next Great Generation where it’s 90s week and you can read cool posts about Hey Arnold and stuff. I really, really liked Hey, Arnold!

I’m certainly no food blogger, though I follow quite a few of them. (Stop on over and stalk Iowa Girl Eats if you want to check out the best food blog around.) Food is probably my favorite thing in the world, and one of my resolutions was to stop spending so much money on eating out and get more culinary at home. After my first day of class (uneventful), I went to Aldi for giant shopping trip since all my bare cupboard held was oatmeal and an odd amount of marshmallows my mother sent home with me after Christmas.
ALDI IS THE BEST STORE IN THE WORLD!! Price-wise, that is. You all know NPH and I are loyal Hy-Vee fans til we die, we go at least five times a week for random things he thinks he needs. However, I bought a load of food (I won’t bore you to tears by documenting it all, but it included produce, breakfast stuff, sandwich stuff, coffee, etc.) all for $33! Thirty. Three. Dollars. I was over the moon. I came home and fired up the oven to roast some vegetables (see, Rob, I’m counteracting that coleslaw in my arteries with loads of Vitamin A and potassium.) I’ve never actually roasted vegetables before, but my favorite salad at Micky’s is loaded with roasted broccoli and cauliflower, so I tried to recreate it at home. Now, when I make my next statement, some of you may be outraged, some may be filled with disbelief, but I’m going to go ahead and announce it anyway: roasted broccoli is my favorite food. In the world. I could eat it every single day for the rest of my life. I don’t think you understand this love affair. It. Is. Perfection. Sit back, ruminate on that, maybe take a minute to try and understand where I could possibly coming from.

…oh, one of my co-workers made cake balls for the office today. No, you read that right: cake balls. Little balls of cake. Dunked in almond bark. There were two kinds, carrot & red velvet, I obviously went with carrot (and perhaps had a red velvet later.) There are a few different recipes out there, but here is the best, the one I had the privilege of trying today. I’m pretty sure there’s also crack cocaine missing from that recipe, that’s how good they are. I may have referred to them as Devil Balls a few times. So really, roasted broccoli is my new favorite savory food. Cake balls can be my new favorite dessert. Because they’re BALLS of CAKE. Feel free to snicker.

I’ve mentioned weddings on the blog before– they were a part of my internship this summer and my apartment certainly has no shortage of ladies already thinking about theirs. Perhaps it’s because an uncanny amount of my peers seem to be getting hitched, but I’m just gonna put it all out there when I say I’ve been thinking about weddings a lot lately. I don’t feel it’s necessary to insert the disclaimer about being only 21 and hell NO my current relationship is not anywhere near even possibly the iota of a thought near anything resembling a semi-serious event involving a clergyman, but there it is for you, just in case. It’s just that– and I realize I’m playing up gender stereotypes here– I’m a girl and dammit weddings are pretty. They’re fun to look at it, they’re fun to think about, and I know for a fact I’m not in the minority on this one. Natalie and I had a classy sushi date last week, and the subject of our respective eventual nuptials came up. From what kind of ring we want, to how we want him to propose, to who we’d have in our wedding party if we were to have a ceremony tomorrow– we’d both already both put a lot of thought into it and had some pretty entertaining thought processes leading up to our decisions.

I’ve had a Knot.com account since shortly after my freshman year of college (stop laughing. I had a job that required a ridiculous amount of free time on the computer, and you have to register if you want to see all the dresses!) This summer, it became far more legitimate for me to have had this experience since I got my place of employment to be advertised as a ceremony/reception venue. One of my roommates also has one just for fun, and she gets at least one postcard in the mail a week related to wedding photography, bands, etc. I won’t rat her out, but she knows who she is. Lately, in order to prolong the inevitable, painful post-graduation job search, I’ve found myself spending shameful amounts of time on 100 Layer Cake and Green Wedding Shoes, poring over elopement posts (the way to go) and having mini-freak outs at every single cake (the CAKES! and pies… and cupcakes.)

Don’t even get me started on following real people who are planning their weddings. A classmate of mine recently tied the knot after being engaged for what seemed like forever– you can bet I did a shameful amount of Facebook stalking throughout the ordeal (but seriously, where are her honeymoon photos?) I’ve only recently discovered people who are blogging about their wedding planning experiences, for example Mary, who’s having BBQ at her wedding (perhaps I’ll have to go un-vegetarian for my reception. There WILL be German food served.) I need to stop, or perhaps just channel my obsession into something profitable. If you’re in the wedding planning business, I certainly have a large amount of free time coming up around May.