Trick of the Trade.

Hi.

It’s been a few moons, I realize. I have finally recovered from my hang-over from hell, and I’m up and running again. Last night was the first Wednesday Night Kegger since winter break, and MY was it a great night. Everyone wets their pants at WNK. That’s how we do, baby. Somehow I always get way more intoxicated than I think I am, and in no way is that depressing.

Funny story about Wednesday night actually: Beth and I were secluding our drunk selves in a bedroom where we had discovered a Catch Phrase game. Naturally we became very excited and tinkled ourselves, and decided to spend a decent amount of time playing with it. Some time later, two girls come in and steal our Catch Phrase and start playing it. Beth and I were not happy. I decided to become proactive about the situation. I ran over to the door and go, “HEY GUYS, DO YOU WANNA SMOKE SOME WEED?!” to which they replied in an excited manner, “Well we’ve never actually done it before!!” I go, “You wanna try it?!” They were delighted and said sure. “THERE’S FREE WEED OUT THERE!!” This was not true. This was a completely fabricated idea I came up with on my own. I enthusiastically point to the living room and continue to look over-excited. They drop the Catch Phrase and bolt out the door. I go, “Yeah, go to the kid in the green shirt!!!” Then I slammed the door and locked it, and Beth and I continued to play Catch Phrase by ourselves.

There was no kid in a green shirt in the living room, just as a side note.

Anyway, in other news, I’m currently sitting in the ITC COMPLETELY alone. It’s kind of nice. The air conditioner is being loud and obnoxious like before, on the other hand. I’m drinking a fruit punch Gatorade. Speaking of which, they are so good. There is nothing more refreshing than a fruit punch Gatorade, and I will stand by that til the end of days.

Dr. Pepper still kicks ass, however.

The other night I had a dream that I got arrested for riding a shopping cart down the interstate. I was flying, too–at least 55 miles per hour. That’s nothing to joke about. Also in my dream, I tried to distract the cops from arresting me by pretending to be preoccupied with feeding ducks in a nearby river. I still got put in the tank though, so keep in mind that the duck-feeding trick apparently doesn’t work.

So you know how at wild and crazy parties, people get way too tanked and then just start destroying things? Lamps get tipped over and shattered, drapes are ripped down–people just turn into destructive barbarians. What if, instead, people started just furiously cleaning when they were wasted? That would rock. A) You’d wake up to a party that has cleaned itself, and B) You probably wouldn’t remember the cleaning process, which would also rock. Let’s try to get drunkards excited about cleaning. Maybe it’ll work, maybe it won’t.

Maybe I’ll win the Nobel Prize.

Probably not.

I’m going to do some homework. Boo.

Tomorrow: Class, Ames, Drunk, Hangover, Sleep, Eat, Drunk, Hangover.

I LIKE THE AGENDA!!!

Call a hearse.

I’m dying.

I drank somewhere north of eight gallons of Absolut last night, and my digestive system hates me today. I also ate an abundance of sushi during the drinking fiesta which I paid for horribly today. For some reason, everything I smelled smelled like fish and made me vomit. My fingers would not stop smelling like sushi, and it wasn’t because of my vagina–it was because of sushi.

I threw up 6 different times throughout the morning/afternoon. It was terrible. I couldn’t move. I was strongly considering committing suicide to end the pain, but then there wouldn’t be anyone around to annoy Kehly, and we can’t have that. I was seriously going to strip down and lay naked in the bathtub with the shower running and poop and puke on myself, because there was nothing I could do to improve my situation. However, I’m feeling much better 12 hours later.

In other news, there is no other news. This is due to the fact that I spent 98% of the day in bed and the other 2% running to the toilet to throw up. I’m going to go back to bed now. Peace.

“HE’S HITTING MEEEE! HE HITS ME ALL THE TIIIIIME!”

Eeeeet’s Niiiiice!

HOW

….Do you do?

I just changed my song on my MySpace to “O Kazakhstan”, otherwise known as the Kazakhstan national anthem, from Borat. I’m quite pleased with myself. Hehehehehe. Watch eleven people copy me. I’ll slice throats. I’ll tranquilize your mother and NOT apologize. Watch me.

Anyway, I’m just sitting here in mi casa waiting for my biological mother to return. We’re gonna hit up Valentino’s where I will stuff my digestive system with more lasagna than a gorilla could comfortably handle. I can’t wait.

In other news…tonight I will be engaging in a little fiesta of sorts at my friend and co-worker Jordan Gillespie’s humble abode. We’re….probably gonna get naked. We’ll see how the weather pans out.

“Justin Timberlake is on my list of things to do.”

Taco Tuesday, a.k.a. “Holocaust.”

WELL, today was another “mundane” day at work. I was supposed to work from 4 to close. I woke up at 4:12. I’m such a winner. People have just learned to stop reprimanding me though, because it’s useless. Work was extraordinarily busy, seeing as it was Taco Tuesday. People get really nuts about Taco Tuesday at Taco John’s. Stay at home mothers and the elderly become uncivilized, savage barbarians and attack the counter with unleashed fury. I’m not ready for that kind of violence–I’m only a kid.

Anyway, today marks the 6th day in a row that I have not washed my work uniform. Not that anyone could notice; the smell is indistinguishable at work. I could easily blame it on the mop sink, or Kehly. I could honestly make a taco salad out of all the food that’s stuck to my pants, though. I guess that’s kind of sick. Depends on your definition of “repulsive” or “unsanitary,” I suppose.

My internet is running extremely slow, slower than Kehly on a treadmill. I hate it when this happens. I get into this furious clicking fiasco, which is obviously counter-productive, and instead of letting my computer process whatever it is that’s making it run like a kid with down syndrome, I confuse it more. I start clicking and refreshing and furiously pounding my keyboard, eventually losing track of time and backhanding my monitor. Maybe someday it’ll work.

Probably not.

Meanwhile, I head back to the ol’ Iowa City on Saturday. I can’t wait! ME GUSTA UNIVERSIDAD! If I didn’t have to go to class, college would be the greatest thing to ever happen to me besides Dr. Pepper and powder-free latex gloves. P.S. I just joined a Facebook group called “Enjoy it now, because after college it’s called ‘Alcoholism.'” Hahahahah…yesss.

“SOMA SOMA!!! …you forgot to yell ‘Soma, soma.'”

Case of the Mondays.

I don’t know why people hate Mondays so much. Today was one of the better days I’ve ever had at Taco John’s, and I give the day of the week “Monday” full credit for it. There were literally no more than fifty cars in the parking lot when I arrived. Even if I had WANTED to park far away, I couldn’t. If someone had pitched the first handicap parking idea on a day like today, they would have been mocked and ridiculed on worldwide television.

Dangit.

As a side note, my keyboard is being a road whore again tonight. It doesn’t respond to certain keys, making a lot of backspacing necessary, which I do not appreciate.

Anyway, we served probably somewhere south of 10 people all day, of course until closing time arrived, and as expected, a thousand people stormed the fort to ruin our lives. This army came in the form of a Harlan boys’ team of some sort, I didn’t care to investigate. All I knew was that I wasn’t going to let them enjoy their brief encounter with me or my place of business. I became loud, outwardly angry, semi-violent, and even began personally attacking some of them.

It began with a stupid, unfortunate looking red-head who ordered a Six Pak. He was more or less provoking me by ordering such a large platter of food that I would be forced to make. I stared at him for a few moments until he felt uncomfortable and then plainly told him that I refused to make his food. He was dumbfounded at first, but eventually copped an attitude with me. If he was hot, I wouldn’t have cared, but he was ugly, so I did. Before handing him his food that I took my sweet ass time with by the way, I informed him that I licked many of his items and that he could find fun in guessing which ones had my DNA in them. He was less than amused.

Later, after much more violent outrage toward the Harlan team, the coach came up, backed by the entire team who loomed over the counter with frowns and unhappy faces. He asked for a refill, and I was a sweet heart to him because he wasn’t a 16 year old fag. He says, “These boys are saying that you’re really mean, but you’ve been nothing but nice to me!!” Ugly red goes, “YOU’RE NOT NICE!!” and I quickly and flatly respond, “You’re not cute,” and simultaneously hurled a handful of ice at him.

hahahaha.

He whines to his coach, “CAN I PUNCH HER!?” I smiled smugly and mockingly at him. “LOOK WHAT SHE DID TO ME!!” The coach simply goes, “…It’ll dry.”

hahaha. Oh…Oh me.

True story.

“Pipe down, retard.”

Tomato, Tomahto.

HEY THERE. What’s up. Sweet, I don’t care.

I just got home from the ol’ taco stand where I mainly sat around and stuffed my face as usual. The other day at work was pretty stimulating: Kehly made a gamble that I couldn’t eat 6 tomato halves, and if I did, she’d pay me five bucks. I love tomatoes, so I figured I’d be a fool to not take that challenge. It proved to be much more difficult than I anticipated, but I got through it eventually.

It was sick. I wanted to vomit. It was worth the five dollars though, and plus Jordan said she’d take a full shot of super hot sauce if I succeeded. I was more than motivated. For those of you who are ill-informed, super hot sauce is a sauce made of whole jalapenos that we simply blend up into a liquid form.

It’s hotter than hell, and WILL burn a hole in your esophagus. I met the challenge, succeeded, and Jordan held up her half of the deal. I have two entire photo albums dedicated to these events if you dare to take a gander.

Days at work like that tickle my fancy. Other days, like today for example, make me want to engage in full-blown mass murder. Today I was about two seconds from shooting everyone in the mall and putting a bullet in my brain. I hate people. I hate the Mall of the Bluffs. People wait for the very last second before the mall closes and all rush to the counter to order $35 worth of Mexican cuisine that I will not hesitate to sneeze on by the way. Watch yourself. Normally under these circumstances I become loud, violent and vulgar, and sometimes it helps to frighten off the nervous customers. Other times it damn near gets me fired.

Either way I don’t care.

I was watching television the other day when I saw another Fruit of the Loom commercial. Now, I consider myself an educated person, otherwise known as “not retarded,” and I am entirely confident in my ability to identify elementary things such as colors and, say, fruits. On Fruit of the Loom commercials, they’ve got two sets of grapes, an apple, and a mystery fruit that appears to me as Chewbacca. One of these fruits is not like the other:

I don’t understand. I don’t even have an inkling, or a shot-in-the-dark idea as to what the furry “it” with teeth is, and if I ever saw it hanging from a tree, I would NOT eat it. Explain, FOTL. Explain.

In other news, I don’t know if I already mentioned that we finally sold our house. Unfortunately the people who are buying it are lunatics and want everything we own, like our furniture, lamps, childhood photos, souls—I think they actually added my first-born child into the contract. Freakaleeks.

If I hear Fergalicious 13 or 14 more times, I’m going to punch a grandma. Not mine though.

OH the weather outside is frightful.

HI THERE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!111

I just returned home from a chillish evening with Amy and company. Not a bad time. Rolled a lot of dice, watched a lot of Wii. On to more important matter:

Colorado was sweet as tits, as you might imagine. The second day we were there, a large blizzard ensued, blanketing the mountain with a foot of fresh powder. Unfortunately for me, this knee-deep powder sneakily concealed hills with moguls, so I spent 80% of that day tumbling down the mountain and inventing ways to shatter my tail bone. I was displeased. Then another day I fell off the lift. I also got jack-hammered in the face with a ski pole by an old man who should be on Medicare, not on a mountain:

The ski lift fiasco: WELL, literally ten minutes before the situation, I off-handedly mentioned to my brother how I would hate to be responsible for stopping the lift due to falling off. Now, most people let their board hang while they’re on the lift, but it hurts my knees, so I just prop it up on the chair and hold it with my right hand til I get to the end. About 10 feet from the end of the lift, I swing my board off the chair to get ready to slide off, when apparently the momentum of my board was a lot stronger than I anticipated. I did the ol’ head over heels number and flipped off face-first into the snow. About a five foot drop, no big deal. It was embarrassing. The lift stopped. The mountain went silent.

I slithered off into the crowd after a snowy scuffle in trying to avoid being nailed by the chair behind me that was approaching rapidly. Fade into the background, that was my M.O.

P.S. I hate skiers on cat walks. They think they own the place because they have poles and can decide to stop and go as they please. F’ers.

Another little anecdote you might enjoy occurred with my broseph while sitting in the snow before hitting a trail. First of all, I have grey snowboarding boots and my brother has black ones. We’re sitting there, and because I’m mentally retarded I was investigating my boots. I go, “My boots remind me of an elephant.” My bro goes, “Why…” I’m like, “I don’t know, they just remind me of an elephant.” Richard: “Why, just cause they’re grey..?” I’m silent for a moment. Then I say, “Your boots remind me of Martin Luther King.” Hahahahaha.

That ah…that’s all.

We ran into an apocalypse-type blizzard that occupied the entire state of Colorado on our voyage home. We decided to leave a day early to try to beat the storm, but the storm was kniving and beat us like a white trash husband. It took us 17.5 hours to complete what should have been a 10 hour drive. The “Icy Conditions May Exist” signs really got me during that time. Ha. We also came across an interesting gas station franchise called “Loaf N Jug.” I don’t know if they were insinuating that they sold bread and milk or what the deal was, but I was intrigued. I peed there, no big deal. Also on my trip, I passed a field that had a big “BEEF: IT’S WHAT’S FOR DINNER” billboard SURROUNDED by cows. Hahah. I chuckled.

Christmas was nicely spent in the mountains. New Year’s was spent con la familia de Laurel Freemyer. I love her family members, and there are fifty of them to love. Nice. In other news, I worked last night and tonight, meaning I showed up, stuffed my face, and got paid to do it. Actually, yesterday I was supposed to work at 11, but I moseyed in at 4 because I do what I want.

I’ll never get fired either, is the irony of it all.

My skin is so dry. Some unknown force is sucking all the moisture out of my body and placing it elsewhere on planet earth. That’s why we have rain forests: Mother Earth is stealing my moisture and depositing it in the Amazon. Selfish prick. Get a hobby. A hobby that’s NOT stealing.

My keyboard is being a whore.

…so, my keyboard is being Kehly.

“Hoooow ’bout FUN DOTS?!”

Well we ARE in the ROCKIES.

Greetings earthlings. I used to know a song when I was little on a Smurfs cassette that I had that went, “My, name, is, Puuurple, Peeeeter, from Mars–they don’t come sweeeeeter, I’ve come to see what’s going on on Earth; My, name, is, Puuuurple, Peeeeter, no fear–I’m no Smurf eeaaaater, I’ve come to see what’s going on on Earth: (lots of weird alien noises).” It was a good song.

I just returned home from Holstein, Iowa were our sweet ass cell-mate from prison Kelli Beyer lives. Yes, Kehly, Kayla, Midge and I went on a two night/day excursion. The town is about the size of a football field including a sketchy grocery store no larger than a garage, a 2-in-1 gas station/movie rental place, multiple farms, and lots of cow-patterned things like ATMs, plant pots, walls, you get the idea. If cow print were camouflage, you wouldn’t see the town. It was a pretty good time, however. We played a lot of board games, including, but not [I just violently sneezed all over my left arm. There’s a lot of snot and spit. Gross] limited to: Sweet Valley High (from the 80s; Represent, Ma), Trivial Pursuit (that game is damn near impossible) and a bunch of card games where the main objective was to make me lose and look stupid.

It was fun.

ANYwho, I’m leaving in about…oh…T-Minus 15 hours for Vail, Colorado where I will hopefully break some bones and maybe come back with some sweet injuries that I can brag about for a snowboarding trip con mi familia y familia de Johnny. I CAN’T WAIT! I look forward to this trip more than I look forward to Christmas morning. Lucky for me, they’re both at the same time. I’ll probably get over-excited like an over-stimulated retard and throw up on myself. OH BOY!!!!1234

56789

…10

“FIVE!!!! …you have terets.”

Nocturnal Affairs.

Well, I woke up just in time for supper just now: 4:12 p.m. Haha. I’m such a waste of human life. Amy and I went to bed BY choice at 5:00 a.m. this morning, meaning I got a solid 11+ hour block of sleep last night/today. We were awake when the newspaper guy delivered the newspapers (friggin Daily Iowan). I am officially nocturnal. I’m going to begin to lose friends because our schedules conflict. I’m sleeping while they’re eating/studying/drinking/having fun/sexing. Then while I’M eating/studying/drinking/having fun/sexing, THEY’RE sleeping. What are the odds. I’m gonna have to start making friends with furry, mite-infested, nocturnal rodents if I want a social life from now on.

..Kehly.

Seriously though; my activities are going to have to change from doing homework and partying to rummaging through garbage in the moonlight with the coons and possums. Seriously, by the time I wake up every day, the sun is setting and it’s getting dark already.

Back to bed.

Just kidding, I have to study again.

….and by “study” I mean get crunk.

and by “get crunk”….I mean study.

Wakey wakey, hands off the snakey.

Before I dive into more important matters, I just want to lay it out there that I actually received a message after my last post that asked if I hated Asians. Hahah. That person will remain unnamed and dear to my heart.

And yes, I do.

Just kidding.

Guess where I am: a) the ITC, b) the ITC, c) the ITC, or d) the computer lab (otherwise known as the ITC).

Wrong. It’s B. Why would I ever be in A or C? I can MAYBE see D, but my god. Fags. Go to school.

Today started off NOT by waking up on the wrong side of the bed, but by not waking up period. I set two (2) (dos) alarms on my cell phone, one for 12:30 and one for 12:45, both of which I either a) disregarded, or b) failed to hear, resulting in me damn near missing my lit final. Laura came in and woke me up once and asked me when my final was. I said “2:15” in an irritated manner, because I imagined it was around 10 a.m. at that time, and I dislike being woken up. I plummet deep into a slumber again.

Some time later, Nick comes in and wakes me up, again asking me what time my final was. “2:15!! God, what do you guys want?” Unless you have cooked me a breakfast feast of epic proportions, do NOT, under any circumstance, disturb my REM cycle. He responds, “Becca, it’s 1:44.” I stare blankly, attempt to comprehend what he’s saying, and then fly into a full-fledged panic. “ARE YOU SERIOUS?!?!” My final was in the EPB which is a lightyear away from Mayflower. The next bus would come at 1:52, and that wouldn’t be fast enough. I jump out of bed, brush my teeth, put on some pants (I think), and thankfully Dani offered to drive me there in the NICK of time.

P.S. the final was dec. (“dec”ent…short for “decent.” Get real).

Anyway, the rest of the day is going just swimmingly. I did some hardcore kitchen cleanage with L-Bomb, ate some microwaveable burritos con sour cream (me hungry) and actually put my contacts in. I’ve been far too lazy the past, oh, two months or so to ever put them in, and it’s been affecting my performance. I’m blind as a bat. Without my lenses I couldn’t tell Kehly from a hippopottamus, not that I could before.

hahahah.

But seriously, I can’t.

Welp, I’m in a studying bonanza again now. With one final down and two to go, I’ve just got Espanol y Quimica left. That’s “Spanish and chemistry” for the layman, otherwise known as English-speaking American.

“Let’s bake mabies. I mean make babies.”