Oh the WEATHER OUT,SIDE,IS, FRIGHT-fuuuuuul…! Really, it is. I awoke to God sprinkling powdered sugar on the Bluffs from the heavens, and I could not be happier. Not only is it snowing, but it’s snowing significantly hard and has been accumulating ever since. I’m thrilled. I might pee a little, and I’m not afraid to let people know about it.
Tinkle.
Well, last Thursday was dedicated to celebrating Marcus’ birthday, so he had a little get together of sorts at his residence. Kehly, Jeremy, Marcus, Cole, Amy and I started the night off by taking five thousand shots. People started showing up. Lots of them that I didn’t know. About an hour into the evening, I was too drunk to move, so I just sat in the back of the room and judged people. I was not nice to anyone and made zero friends, except for one girl who I declared was a mime; she didn’t seem to hate me, but I could have been reading her sign language incorrectly.
On Friday, I had planned to head out of Iowa City at approximately 3 p.m. At 5:02, I rolled out of the driveway, only after going through a very stressful session of packing. For some reason, I get serious anxiety over packing. I don’t know where to begin, so I wander nervously around my room and to and from the bathroom looking at and touching articles I may or may not be bringing with me on my upcoming excursion. The next thing I know, two hours have gone by and I have yet to even unzip my duffle bag. Eventually I realize I’m quickly running out of time, and start deliberating over items hanging in my closet.
I try rationalizing with myself: It doesn’t matter if you pack too much stuff, so just pack it. It’s worse to pack too little than too much. Apparently I think I’m going to be judged if I bring a shirt that I don’t don over the course of my trip, or that top will be destroyed if I don’t wear it. Ultimately it takes me upwards to three hours to pack enough clothing for a long weekend.
I made it from the Iowa City exit to the Council Bluffs exit in 2 hours and 52 minutes, which is mind-blowing to say the least. After playing a daredevil game of Chicken with a Galant on I-80 and weaving in and out of law-abiding Tempos and Mac trucks, I whizzed my way home without so much as acknowledging the law.
Sunday night meant drunk time. Katie, Laurel, Jamie, Rich and I went over to Dane, James, and Zach’s abode where we guzzled vodka like it was Christmas eggnog. I blacked out somewhere around 11 p.m., and woke up around 10 with my earrings stuck to a mattress and my makeup smeared down to my nose. I was drunk. I was a drunk, bitch. I couldn’t just sleep it off either, because immediately upon my return home that morning, I had to spend the next 7 hours (literally) outside with my mother, decorating the entrances to our neighborhood with holiday paraphernilia. It was horrible. My intoxication finally wore off around 2 p.m., folllowed by an unpleasant hang over. I spent 80% of the day laying on my back in the grass, being a complete pile of shit and not helping at all. Mom complained. I moaned. Monday sucked.
Tuesday, Jamie y yo shuffled into Taco John’s to roll in some dough. Said “Fat Joe,” is just that: a fat, fat man named Joe. 2:30 to 9:30 was spent shoveling refried beans and sour cream into our mouths while simultaneously ignoring customers and napping on the counters. Life is good.
Anywho, today I woke up to a winter wonderland which is still continuing. I am very excited. Ma and I are heading out to Westroads after she finishes baking pies here, where I hope to get a bundle of new attire and perhaps a new piercing.
PEACE NICCA!
“….you’re an asshole.”
Sheppard's Pie. 
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