we are the world

sup.

things i am loving: fernando. princess by vera wang. ankle boots. khloe kardashian. twitter. my spring 2010 schedule. being done with idl FOREVER. red velvet cake with baby kerrys homemade cream cheese icing. tasty world. my kiddies at biblioteca pinewoods. charter on demand. guac. bedrock. diet dr pepper. flannel. AVATAR.

I will refrain from going into my love for avatar for those of you who have yet to see it. Not because I am afraid of giving away anything, but because if you haven't seen it you will most definitely judge me. You will probably think I have spiraled into a deep depression and should be on suicide watch, but I can assure you that neither of these things are true. Let's just leave it at this: if you have yet to see avatar, you must see it. MUST. Do not pass go, do not collect $200. RUN, don't walk, to your nearest cinematic venue. NOW.

It has come to my attention that pre-nursing is not my calling. As I was sitting in my first Childhood and Family Development class, the professor began to list off the topics that we would be covering over the course of the semester. She began to list off subjects such as child rearing, family counseling, mate selection. WAIT. MATE SELECTION?? I looked around the class at the 100+ girls on the verge of creaming themselves at the prospect of being taught how to get their MRS degree without the trying task of actually having to obtain a degree. It was at that moment that I be came so fully at peace with the idea of purging pre-nursing from my life. The professor went on to tell us how many emails had been flooding her inbox of prospective students that couldn't enroll in the class because it had filled up so fast. I could not wait to get as far away as possible from that perfectly coiffed woman and her army of bimbo TAs. And so I did. I went straight home and dropped that "class" from my schedule, along with my short-lived dream of becoming a nurse. Chadios medicine. Helloooo rando liberal arts degree and misguided optimism about life after college.

Please do not take my lack of blogging as a lack of awesomeness in my life. My life freaking rules, rest assured. A couple of examples, completely gratuitous:

-NYE: the new year was rang in with party sneaks, lbds, and andre. and rum and vodka and white wine and beer, but who's counting? I woke up in the morning with an assortment of clues as to what had happened the night before. For one, I was in bed with Betsy. Score. I did not drunkenly invite any penises into bed with me. Next, I couldn't gather enough saliva to swallow. Although my head was suggesting that I had perhaps been in a three-car pile-up or a freak train accident, I felt it was safe to say that drinking was to be held accountable. Upon standing, I suddenly was in desperate need of a receptacle to catch fluids. With my head engulfed in porcelain, it was made clear that I had only consumed clear liquids. I took this as a good sign. When I regained my strength, I exited the bathroom and was greeted with an array of neon stickers along the living room and dining room walls. Definitely a clue, but I couldn't quite place my finger on the origin of 1979's new wall art. The beverage fountain was still full of cheap white wine, so I couldn't have drank too much of that. NICE! The kitchen was covered in a carpet of bar tar. Legitimate bar tar. In my kitchen. I knew exactly what that clue meant--1979 throws badass house parties!! I discovered more clues when I went to change out of my dress.. party wounds: two twin bruises the size of golf balls on either side of my lower back, one the size of a tennis ball on my left thigh, and a debatably broken nose. Easy--these clues all point to BADASS NYE! Nancy Drew ain't got nothing on this.

-CHARLIE WEEKEND: THE WEEKEND THAT COULD. Tasty world was host to the perfect storm of eurotrash and rage on Friday night, and of course we were at the heart of it all. I am a sexy bitch. Charlie is a sexy bitch. We were fist pumpin like champs and we lived happily ever after. Saturday night 1979 hosted a rousing round of edward forty hands, the game where everybody wins. Somewhere between finishing the forties and wine pong, I morphed into that girl. After passing out at the dining room table, Scott carried me to my bed. I rallied to play catchphrase LIKE A CHAMP but then passed out on the couch. I woke up on the OTHER couch, wishing helplessly that the hangover fairy would bring me a diet coke and brush my teeth.

And the countdown has begun: 26 days until the princess turns 21. Oh my gaga.

peace love and avatar

mountain weekend

Through a series of random events, I found myself Charleston-bound on Thursday night. One horrendously filthy lie, a number one from Wendy's, and four glorious hours of my ipod on shuffle later, I had arrived in the All-American City. Holly Berry and I had a date with Conan but then PTFO in expectation of the weekend full of debauchery that awaited us in Fontana, North Carolina. Friday morning Hol had class (sucka!) so the Notorious V.I.C. and I hit up King Street for some breakfast. Majestic Grill was good to us--but not good enough. After our first breakfast, we headed next door to see what Breuggers had to offer. Yikesss. An hour before I was supposed to meet Hollis back at her apartment (I had her keys), Victoria decided to send us on a wild goose chase for the paddle she was supposed to have made for her initiation that weekend. So off we went--the blind leading the blind--to the closest Michael's. A half hour later, tomtom announced that we had reached our destination. I slowed the car so that Victoria could tuck and roll, made a victory lap around the parking lot, then swung back around and rewarded her timeliness with a full stop. She jumped into the car, beaming and flailing her XL paddle around, so proud of herself for sticking it to the man (the mini-version of her paddle was apparently $50 when bought through zeta, but V's XL version was $7 from Michael's. Lisa would be SO proud.). She wasn't even phased when I inquired about how exactly she was going to decorate it, since I so astutely noted that she hadn't purchased any letters or crowns or the like.. Not a problem, apparently. Whatevs. We didn't quite beat Hollis back to her apartment.. oops. I blame zeta.

We dropped little V off at class and then headed over to Pi Kapp to pick up our bitches. Us + dates + one dipshit pledge = cruel and unusual punishment for a six-hour ride up to bumblefuck, NC. ESPECIALLY hungover on the way back, but we'll get to that later. So Friday afternoon we got on the road and as soon as I got the okay I busted out one of my trusty PBR's. The princess needed to stop frequently from that point on.. oops. The Peebers made the ride endlessly more enjoyable, and before I knew it we had arrived. Lie. The final 20 minutes of the drive were HELLACIOUS. Szalez thought it'd be really cool to drive double the speed limit along the windy mountain roads in the pitch black with no road lights. SUPER FUN. Douchebag.

We dumped our bags in our cabin then made our way up to the designated party cabin for the weekend. I sipped on my wine because I'm a woman of class, then danced my ass off because you can only be a woman of class for so many minutes in one night. It was a bangin time. I made lots of new friends and maintained a perfectly acceptable level of drunkenness. Night one = great success.

Day two... success evades me. There is a strict Saturday itinerary on mountain weekend, which consists of waking up, binge drinking, the brothers/pledges football game at noon, followed promptly by more binge drinking. Breakfast was easily the best meal of the entire trip. The six of us consumed THREE POUNDS of bacon. ew. We paired our bacon with eggs and toast and mimosas and bloody marys. Mmmm. By the football game, we had transitioned to beer and margarita buckets (traditionally consumed out of a coffee pot with a straw). Then I took a power nap and rallied with the remains of my wine. Then bourbon and ginger. Then vodka and half of a gallon of cran-grape light. Then Gaines's moonshine paired with whoever else's drinks I stole and mixed with Gaines's moonshine. Needless to say, night two was wildly unsuccessful. We needn't speak of such low points in my drinking career. I can now tell you from firsthand experience what it feels like to wake up looking at a gun. I was assured that its name was "security," but safety and security and the like were not thoughts that crossed my mind.

Sunday was the biggest struggle of all. I spent the entire day in the car hating life. Our pledge was a chain smoker, so that was awesome. Also, he's a giant bitch who has terrible taste in music and has the audacity to say that everyone else in the car has shit taste in music. Oh and he repels women. Way to go, Pi Kapp. Way. To. Go.

Sunday night me and Victoria hit up Jim N Nicks for dinner, where I was attacked by a bottle of barbecue sauce. Appropriate that I left with battle wounds after attacking my bbq pork sandwich and mac the cheese. Lucky for me, Victoria ran into some basketball players she knows on the walk back to her dorm so I got to show off my awesome tye dye job. I'm slightly pissed that I didn't get my froyo on, but it was high time for me to hit the road to make it back to the classic city. Traveling always makes me appreciate Athens so much more. I love you, Athens. So much.

Today I started my new job. CHADIOSSSS slave labor-- HELLOOOO baby seat in the back of my jeep! Woop woop! I also started my volunteering position tutoring Spanish-speaking kids through the local library system. Today I tutored this little boy who was cute as anything, but had a baddd case of the crazies. Homeboy broke three pencils in the span of thirty minutes, then we switched to reading books. Sometimes I'd read to him--in Spanish and in English, and then he followed my lead and read me some books--in an incomprehensible melange of Spanish, English, and pig latin. Greatest rendition of Goodnight Moon that I've ever heard.

And on a final note: MTV: JERSEY SHORE: a dream come true.

peace love and mountains

As I watched Pam’s big strong hand coming toward my face, I saw my entire life flash before my eyes. And guess what…I have 4 kids…And I have a hover car…And a hover house. And my wife is a runner and it shows. And Pam and Jim are my best friends…and our kids play together. And I’m happy. And I’m rich. And I never die. And it doesn’t sound like much..but it’s enough for me.

-Michael Scott

who let the dogs out?

haiiii blogsphere. i have missed you so. have you missed me? who am i kidding? of course you have missed me.

I am currently infatuated with the color purple, Ke$ha, zamzar, nose rings, spicy tuna rolls, MLIA, honeycrisp apples, cardigans, transmet caesar salads, and all things fall. duh.

Never have I ever celebrated fall more fervently than I have this year. I am legitimately cracked out on fall. 1979 has become a shrine to the season, and I must say--autumn looks nice on you, 1979. Last week, Kerry and I went pumpkin hunting. Baby Kerry raised hell over at Kroger, rummaging all up in their bins until we found three perfect pumpkins. We also managed to find the very last pumpkin carving kit at Joanne's, 50% off. Our wildly inappropriate ruthlessness paid off. GREAT SUCCESS. Now the front porch is decorated with an ostrich pumpkin (mine/catalinas), a dragon pumpkin (sarahs/baby kerrys), and a squirrel/ penis pumpkin (gresHAMs--no help from anyone! no stencils! swine you are worthy of our praise!!! all hail SHAM WOW!).

This weekend smel and I RAGED on fall edibles. I'm talking chili. cornbread. caramel apples. smores. pumpkin bread. candy corn pumpkins. mars mix of halloween minis. apple cider. pumpkin beer.

out. of. control. Fall just yacked all over the kitchen. nbd.

Now if only the weather would allow me to don sweaters and scarves and botas. Alas, I went to class in shorts today. heyyy climate change.

Last weekend smel and I trekked up to Chucktown to attend an art gallery opening. We're so damn cultured I can hardly stand it. I got to see sweet Vicky Torie and my GIRLLL Netta, and of course my love Holly Wolly. Hollis is a badass and was working at aforementioned art gallery opening, and so I think it's appropriate that we all take a moment to reflect on how we can better our own lame lives to become more like Hollis, and thus more of a badass. Ohmmm.

In my badass endeavors, I am considering putting a ring into my nose piercing in lieu of the stud. Too much? Tell me what you think. I may or may not care. ALSO I have always wanted to dye my hair bleach blonde. Never more-so than when I discovered KE$HA. I love this bitch. If you haven't heard her song Tik Tok you must download it asap. It's my JAM. Yet another to add to my list of celeb obsessions.

ANYWAYS Charleston was a b-last. As always, we had to hit Jim N Nicks and Einstein Bagels. And you know I got my Fro Yo onnn. Plus we went to a haunted corn maze, which was the shit. Except for when the dude with the chainsaw TOUCHED ME WITH THE CHAINSAW. I don't THINK so chainsaw dude. RUDE! Friday night after we'd had our fill of culture, we found ourselves a couple of keg parties. Keg party numero uno ended with a boy turning out the lights at 11 and yelling "PARTY'S OVER!" because homebody wanted to go to the bars and the keg was tapped. I was beyond appalled, but appeased when informed that we had a ride to another partayy. Party numero dos ended when I released all three of the resident canines into the great outdoors. That's right, ladies and gentlemen, I LET THE DOGS OUT. The guy who lives there was so pissed, and started screaming "WHO LET THE DOGS OUT?" Classic. I couldn't stop laughing and spewed beer all the f over their hardwood floors. For some reason, no one else found this humorous, so we excused ourselves and called a cabbie to shuttle our party fouled asses home. Saturday night (after I was scarred for life by the chainsaw incident) we played a rousing game of power hour then made our way over to Pi Kapp for some frat-tastic fun. A good time was had by all, until Sunday morning when we woke up 3 hours too late to get on the road, then ended up missing the entire lunch shift that we were supposed to be working. OOPS! I can always count on Charleston for a good time.

PARTY SNEAKS HAVE ARRIVED. They made their debut on Thursday night, paired with a black denim mini and a shit ton of gold jewelry. They're appropriately on display in my room, next to my tiara. I love you, party sneaks. So much.

NOW THE PARTY DONT START TIL I WALK INNNNN. DONT STOP. MAKE IT POP. DJ BLOW MY SPEAKERS UP. TONIGHT. IMA FIGHT. TIL WE SEE THE SUNLIGHT. TIK. TOK. ON THE CLOCK. BUT THE PARTY DONT STOP NO.

peace love and party sneak$

i am bad boy. i loves it.

wattup playa playaz

I am still on my endorphin high from spin class, so bear with me. I am in no mood to focus on one thing at a time. GET ON MY LEVEL.

On Wednesday I attended the Look At This Fucking Hipster convention under the pretense of attending the Blink 182 concert. I made Brandes come play chaperone with me, so the littlest Jennings could rage without mother dearest in tow. It just so happened that my love Dill was also in attendance. So there I stood with the only boys for miles rocking polos and jeans that weren't quite tight enough to put their junk on display for all to see, and for this I am grateful. Things were looking down as valencia took the stage, and just when we thought things couldn't get much worse, asher roth came on stage with two gay male strippers. I had no idea what the fuck was going on, but asher roth was just loving life. In lieu of dancing, asher wowed us with his ability to swing his arm back and forth in time with a beat. Oh and his overly zealous stomping/ fist pumping combo. Awe-inspiring, truly. Actually I def see myself busting out the stomp/ fist pump in the future...followed shortly by a swift knee to the head in the process.. ANYWAYS needless to say asher roth was a bust in concert. BOO. I still love college. Mark tom and travis finally made their way to the stage, and led me on a trip down memory lane. We had so much fun, fist pumping and head nodding and all things hipster. We discovered that Blink still has an insanely hardcore underground following who raged to every song, whether that be with tribal dancing or with emo tears; they knew every word to every song without fail and screamed them like their lives depended on it. We just couldn't get on their level. I'm okay with that. Oh and also travis barker is king.

My job is doing tremendous things in my life. Both my Thursday and Sunday shifts gifted me with cute boys, and while the profit margin may be dismal, I gladly accept eye candy as collateral. Thursday provided me with instant gratification, whilst the benefits of Sunday's prospects have yet to be reaped. All you need to know is that a fine ass peruvian man-boy wants to salir conmigo and said so en espanol. Oh and he calls me Saraita. You know I love that. But then he said, "those toes...I want to kiss those toes." ...que? He kissed my cheek and left before I could process that line. I'm still not quite sure what to make of it.

The boss man treated me to lunch this afternoon. I left my phone behind the bar at work last night, rendering me completely debilitated for the following 15 hours. So I went to retrieve my precious after classes today, and the boss man was just loving life. He had been flying solo all morning, and was quite pleased with the 60 dollars in tips he'd received from playing the roles of waiter/cook/bus boy, not to mention manager/owner, all by his lonesome. He asked if I was hungry, which of course I was, and so he fixed me his fish tacos that I love so much. We ate and he enlightened me on his value system as it pertains to gay marriage, abortion, and the death penalty (I was still mulling over our debates in francais this morning on said topics, but in my french class we are a bunch of flaming liberals and so I enjoyed boss man's ultra conservative take on things). And just like that a fish taco made my life infinitely more enjoyable.

This morning the sky opened up and yacked, worsening an already miserable monday morning. Smel dropped me off at class, but because I was phone-less, I was left to make the trek back to 1979 without even an umbrella to my name. I approached the bus stop just in time to see a Mill bus departing, so I settled in for the wait ahead. A second Mill bus FINALLY came, and as was to be expected, the sorostitutes were out to play. I found myself fending Lilly Pulitzer umbrellas off, in fear of losing an eyeball in the good fight against paisley. I was caught in a sea of North Face rain jackets and stupid rubber rain boots, and I got lost in the sorostitute storm. Before I knew it, the Mill bus was just about packed, and I wasn't quite on. I was determined, though, and just as I made it to the bus doors, a frat-fucking-tastic cretin ran up and jumped into the last iota of space available. My arch nemesis.

TO MY FRAT-TASTIC ARCH NEMESIS: I HATE YOU WITH THE FIRE OF A THOUSAND SUNS.

On a final note, I have a new jam. Replay by Iyaz. I listen to it on replay (obvi), interrupted only by 3 by Britney and Kid Cudi's Pursuit of Happiness.

peace love and arch nemeses