Seafood Shack and Beer Review, Yum!

Happy Mondayyyyy!  I actually don't mind that it's the beginning of a new week... I'm done with school, and my shift at work isn't much to complain about.  Plus, this weekend has so many fun things to look forward to!  Like, my graduation on Friday... My graduation lunch/dinner that afternoon/evening... I'm being so vague about that because my family loves to make plans, then change them, and forget to tell anyone else that they've changed the time/location... Oh, and Cinco de Mayo is Saturday.  It will be the very last Cinco de Mayo I can celebrate for probably the next 6 years.  (I'll hopefully have a big girl job, where it's unacceptable to get drunk off margaritas on a Tuesday).  I'm on the hunt for moustaches and sombreros this week! 

I spent this past weekend relaxing and celebrating being done with my finals, forever!  (Okay, until grad school.)  Saturday, my boyfriend and I went to the beach, where I decided an entire bottle of champagne was a great way to celebrate. 

We also ate lunch at this fresh fish market/cafe we discovered the last time we went, Jazzy's Mainly Lobster.  They have the most amazing tartar sauce I've ever eaten and you can tell it's all super fresh.  I love eating on the little patio.  So far, the only thing we've tried is the clam strips, which were huge, but I've got my eye on a grouper sandwich the next time I'm around there.  (They're such a dive they don't even have a website for me to link to, but you can Google it.)  I'm telling you, I love hole-in-the-wall places, especially when they are as delicious as that place is.  Everyone was so friendly, too.  And then, my favorite part of the weekend...

We were walking back to the car, down a side street near condos and what-not, and we came across this little house.  It's pretty normal for small businesses to renovate old beach houses, but this wasn't just any old business.  It was a microbrewery!  Beer!  Yummmm!  The boy decided we needed to stop inside.  (Okay, so I didn't take much convincing...) The Cocoa Beach Brewing Company reminded me of a cute coffee shop, with big comfy chairs, a giant table in the middle, and a little bar in the corner... except instead of cappuccinos, they were brewing up beer!  There were maybe 5 other people in the place, and everyone acted like they all knew each other, even though I'm pretty sure they had all just met.  I tried the Cocoa Beach Pale Ale, which is similar to an IPA.  I love IPAs.  When I ask bartenders for a beer recommendation, I usually get told to try the Seadog Blueberry or a cider beer.  You know, because I'm a girl.  The bartender actually asked me what I usually like, and the whole place (so what if it was just five people) gave me their approval when I responded that I like IPAs.  Apparently, that's a "manly beer." 

I bought two bottles of the Pale Ale before we left, to bring home, but one of them shattered across my kitchen floor in a tragic accident involving me carrying way too much heaped in my arms.  Such a sad ending to a great day. 

And, for the record, no one at the brewery or the fish market knows who the hell I am, or is compensating me in any way for writing about them.  I just love great little places that serve good beer and good food. 

Love,
N

Toolbags in Their Natural Habitat

Sorry for not posting for a while.  I'm finally done with exams, and school, and homework, and studying, and tests... forever.  Or, at least until I decide to go to grad school.  But, basically, forever.  I spent today by the pool.  I'm slightly burnt, but the people watching made it all worthwhile.  I felt like Steve Irwin, just instead of crocodiles, I was observing douche bags in their natural habitats.  Funny thing is, all winter, I never really see the  hair-gel-faux-hawk-hairstyle-huge-tattooed-arms-diamond-earring guys around.  Then pool season hits, and boom, there they are.  In flocks.  Do they migrate south for the summer?  You now who I'm talking about, too, so don't even act like I'm exaggerating here.  If I wanted to talk to one of them, I wouldn't even have to ask his name, it's tattooed across his shoulders...

At one point, I overheard this conversation:
Bro 1: "Just chicken and rice, bro, no tomatoes, no cheese, just chicken and rice, that's it."
Bro 2: "I don't know, bro, that's too complicated, text me bro."

You're kidding me, right?  You can't remember his two ingredient Chipotle order?  To top it all off, when Bro 2 brought the Chipotle back to the pool, I witnessed feeding time at the guido zoo.  Ravenous bros shoveling burrito bowls in their mouths hunched over a deck table covered in crushed beer cans in a scene I would only imagine took place in a movie.  Except it was real life.  After feeding time, they returned to the pool, not waiting a half hour before swimming.  I was skeptical about going into the water myself, worried that the douchebaggery was contagious and I would emerge with a tribal arm band tattoo.  In the pool, the tool bags flirted with girls who looked like relaxing by the pool on a cloudless day was torture.  Seriously, they were drinking beer and looked miserable.  Pretty sure if they pushed their boobs any further out of their triangle bikini tops, their nipples would be floating around in the deep end.

My friend and I finally had to leave when the guidos ran out of beer and a steroid-fueled riot seemed to be on the near horizon.  We wanted to avoid the stampede as the male douche bags headed to the gym to lift weights, bro, and the females went to add another layer of make-up before reuniting at the trashiest bar to get obscenely drunk and practice repopulating the douche species.

Hope you're enjoying the start of summer weather!

Love,
N

Ice Age, Minus the Mammoth

I just have to say one thing.  What the hell, Florida?  I'm starting to think the world really is ending this year.  It's 53 degrees out in April.  April! For crying out loud, I wore my NorthFace to work today.  Something is terribly, horribly, incredibly wrong for it to be this cold in April in Florida.  I could understand this weather in the awful state of Ohio.  The only thing good in that state is Swenson's drive up burger chain.  I couldn't justify wearing boots in April, so my little feet are freezing inside my lace Tom's slip ons.  I'm also wearing leggings as pants... and an over sized long-sleeve tee... I'm runway ready, let me tell ya.  Maybe if the runway was a street corner and I was modeling for homeless people. 

I'm also freezing at work, because the AC stays on arctic blast all the time.  It's 50 degrees out... excuse me, but why is it also set to 50 degrees inside?  And would it technically be "turning the air conditioner up" or "turning it down" to make it warmer?  Does anyone even know the proper terminology?  In my mind, they both kind of make sense.  Turning it up could mean making the temperature warmer in the room, or it could mean turning up the cooling power.  Turning it down could mean less cooling power, aka a warmer room, but it could also mean setting it to cool to a lower temperature.  Am I the only crazy person to actually wonder about this?  Whatever the wordology, it needs to get warmer in here, and in Florida, ASAP.

I am dreading picking up my cap and gown today.  The downside of going to one of the largest universities in the nation?  There's about 20,000 other students attempting to pick up their cap and gown, too.  Cool, the bookstore sorted them by college, so I just have to join the 7,000 business majors in line.  What would happen if I don't pick it up?  It cost $80 just to rent the damn thing, and I have to wear it to walk... guess I'm standing in line for an hour today.  Which brings me to the question of: what am I going to decorate my hat with?  Obviously sparkles and glitter and bedazzles, but I'm torn between a dinosaur, an Italian flag, or my sorority symbol.  For those of you who have no clue what I'm talking about, it's a tradition for (mainly girls) to decorate the top of their graduation cap, so that your parents and friends can recognize you in the giant sea of graduates on stage.  We're technically not allowed to throw our caps, but I'd imagine it'd make getting your own back much easier if you did.  We're also not allowed to go into the reflection fountain, but I'm going to pretend I never heard that at freshman orientation when I take my graduation photos.  Oopsie. 

Alright, time to stop rambling and go... study for finals?  Meh, the issue with contracting senioritis is that I don't really care to study.  I'll go beat my high score on Temple Run... that sounds more productive!

Love,
N

Tourism and Life Quotes

Today, I attended the last class of my entire undergraduate college career.  Everyone keeps asking me if I'm excited for graduation.  It hasn't hit me yet, to be honest.  Nothing feels monumental or different or strange.  Oh, I'm sure it will eventually, but right now, everything is just typical, tedious, the same. 

My weekend wasn't nearly as raging as I had originally planned.  Florida was covered in rainy, cloudy, muggy, overcast, gross weather.  We got one good half-day at the pool out of it.  I also did some shopping at the outlet malls.  Did I mention I despise the outlet malls in Orlando?  Sales people asked if my friends and I were from a tour bus.  No.  I live here.  This is my place of residence.  I am not a tourist.  Do I look like a loud, obnoxious, clueless, non-English-speaking, walks-into-people, breast-feeds-a-baby-in-public tourist?  Absofreakinglutely NOT. 

I cleaned out my craft bin yesterday.  No lie, I had an entire under-bed Rubbermaid tub full of scrap booking and crafting supplies.  Let me tell you how ecstatic I am to go through all of the rest of the junk I've collected over the years and throw it away.  My moving motto is if I don't need it, aren't currently using it, and can't sell it, donate it or throw it away.  Half of me feels guilty getting rid of things people have given me, but a bigger half of me feels rejuvenated and free.  My craft bucket is being donated to my sorority; they'll definitely get more use out of it than I will. 

 Oh, yeah, and Thursday evening, after margaritas, we ended up back at a friends house to hang out.  He had these canvas paintings in the living room, and I immediately became nostalgic and slightly obsessed.

He painted a Hunter S. Thompson quote on them, which may not seem like any huge deal to you, but it was like a breath of fresh air to me.  Confused?  Yeah, I figured.  Ever heard of the movie Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas?  With Johnny Depp?  Yeah, well, Hunter S. Thompson wrote the original book.  He wrote a lot of other awesome things, too. Mr. Thompson, along with Mario Puzo, were probably my two most favorite authors growing up.  Weird, since most other girls my age were reading the Gossip Girl series before it became a television show.  Oh, you have no idea who Mario Puzo is?  It's because my generation, sadly, knows all these great literary works by the feature films they were made into.  (Mario Puzo wrote The Godfather.  Yeah, it was a book first, kids.)  Anyways, seeing this quote the other night made me remember why I loved writing so much.  It reminded me of my early inspirations to tell the world as I see it, to try and capture otherwise speechless moments in words.  And, I guess I could say this was a great reminder for me to enjoy life while I can.  Young, wild, and free.

Love,
N

Margaritas and Sisterhood

And, again, I missed posting.  I know you're devastated, but please try to understand that yesterday was spent trying to finish the-paper-from-hell that I was supposed to finish Monday.  Today I have another paper to write, comparing and contrasting political ideologies, and tracing the modern-day views back to the traditional ones.  Sounds super exciting, I know.  Good thing I don't mind writing papers. 

I'm trying to plow through these papers so that I can enjoy my weekend with my friends.  Finals are technically next week, so everyone will be bogged down, so this weekend is everyone's last chance to get a little crazy before summer.  Sure, we can get crazy a lot over summer but that's besides the point.  I think ever since it's started to dawn on me that big-girl-world is hurling my way, I have an intense urge to party as often as possible.  Probably immature, but I have the rest of my life for maturity, right?  And, in my defense, I'm not going back to my freshman year of college where I'm pretty sure I attended every Thursday morning class still drunk from the night before.  It's more like... grown-up-I'm-old-and-know-my-limits-and-hate-hangovers partying.  Some guy invited me to a FourLoko party at his university-affiliated apartment this weekend.  It took everything in me to keep from physically cringing at the thought of playing beer pong in an apartment with an RA down the hall and a line for the bathroom 6 hours long because a freshman is occupying it to puke.  I'll take some margaritas at the Mexican restaurant, instead, thanks. 

My friends and I all have senioritis at this point.  We're all light-hearted and giddy about graduating in May or August.  We all want to have a grand ole jolly time before the real world comes pounding on our door at 8am and we can't roll over and say "eh I'll text that fraternity boy for notes later."  If you have no clue what I'm talking about, bookmark this post and re-read it when you're about to graduate. 

I don't write about my sorority much in this blog because, day in and day out, it's easy to get bogged down in Greek life drama and petty annoyances.  My Greek experience wasn't all rainbows and butterflies.  In fact, my Recruitment week, it hurricaned for 5 days straight.  (That's not my exaggeration of a rain storm.  I'm talking hurricane Fay, all up in my freshly straightened hair.)  In part, I think the trials and tribulations are what made these past four years so worthwhile and rewarding.  My chapter has, at times, been through hell, but at the same time, we held hands through it all.  These girls encouraged me to be a stronger person, and pushed me to be the best version of myself.  I've gained a lot of character.  I've learned a lot about who I am.  I couldn't be more grateful for my chapter and my sisterhood, even if it didn't always seem like that on a daily basis.  Our standards chair and I giggled about all the trouble I got into during my final meeting where I received my alumni status.  That's what a sister is; someone who can tell you when you're being an asshat, and then turn it into a great story to tell later on.  Graduating and leaving and growing up really puts the past 4 years into perspective. 

Sisters are girls who will only look down on you to pick you up off the bar floor.  A sister is someone who signs you up for an embarrassing contest at a redneck bar, and buys you a beer to help you gain the courage to go through with it.  A sister is someone who will lay in bed with you for hours on a lazy day, watching trashy People's Court TV.  A sister is someone who knows your deepest, darkest moments, but sees the best in you, anyways.  Just like my biological sister, my sorority sisters and I have fought, yelled, screamed, shoved each other.  We've disagreed, rolled our eyes, called each other names, and fought over boys.  But just like my biological sister, my sorority sisters are always there for each other.  We hold each other up.  We rally together, supporting one another.  We each have our own strengths and weaknesses, but it's not until we are bonded together that we can share these strengths, build one another up, and work together to overcome vices.  We know that we are all part of something bigger, better, greater than just ourselves, and that the small disputes are insignificant when we think about how much we can accomplish as sisters.  And, now that all of this is coming into perspective for us, we can't wait to celebrate with each other.  Celebrate our shenanigans, our accomplishments, our promising futures... and most importantly, celebrate the fact that our days as active members may end, but our sisterhood never will, regardless of how corny and Hallmark-card-esque it all sounds. 

Love,
N

The Weekend Everything Happened

Happy Tuesday!  Sorry I didn't post yesterday, I basically took Monday off to lay in bed and do nothing.  And by nothing, I mean I beat my high score in Temple Run.  That's productive, right?  Yep, thought so.  I had a very long and busy and fun-filled weekend, and I just needed a day to relax before I started all my finals studying and papers this week.  Plus, I had my very last chapter meeting last night, and it ran late.  Oh, and I made my very first roasted chicken for dinner last night.  I make a mean roast chicken, if I do say so myself.  The leftovers are in a sandwich for my lunch today and the bones will be made into soup later this week.  Ew gross bones in soup? Yes, in fact, contrary to what my boyfriend thinks, "making soup" does not actually involve a can opener.  Trust me on this one. 

Anyways, I know you're dying to hear about my crazy busy fun-filled extravaganza of a weekend.  Well, I won't bore you with a 6-paragraph long post of the details, but it all started once upon a Thursday... One of my best friends and I decided to stop by a congratulations-on-getting-a-real-world-job-party at the World of Beer around here.  Well, last minute, the guy with the real-world-job changed plans, but we still wanted a beer.  If you haven't been to a World of Beer bar, I highly suggest it.  It's the perfect place I could think of for Happy Hour or a relaxing catch-up session.  They have something like 6 billion beers.  It's great.  Anyways, to make this long story short, grabbing-a-beer-to-celebrate-our-big-weekend turned into running-int-old-friends-and-strangers-who-bought-us-beers-and-closing-down-the-place-and-getting-a-ride-home-from-my-boyfriend.  Thursday night: success.

Friday involved 20 girls on an adventure downtown for a bar-crawl.  As in, 20 girls started at my house.  The cab company screwed us over.  As in, I had made reservations two weeks prior to reserve taxi-vans, and hour after our scheduled pick-up time, the dispatcher told me if I called again, he would block my number, because he was too busy to send anyone out.  (Seriously, never use Orlando Cab company.  I know the number is easy to memorize, but they are some serious ass-hats up in that place.  I have zero shame exploiting terrible business on social media, as I've mentioned before.) Anyways, back to the fun.  After my good friend from the World Of Beer night saved the day by finding us some alternative transportation downtown, probably 14 girls successfully walked into the first bar.  Two more were promptly taken home in cabs that were suddenly available.  Every bar after that, girls were dropping like flies.  As in, everyone was having way too much fun.  Free VIP and bottle service and the fact that we pretended it was a bachelorette party can do that to you.  Seven of us made it to the end of the night, and toasted to our success with street-vendor hot dogs.  It was perfect.

Saturday was my sorority formal.  I don't know if I've mentioned this before, but I've only every been on one other formal for my sorority, and that was my freshman year.  Sure, I'd been on fraternity formals and plenty of date parties, but formal with all of your sisters is just... special.  Yeah, that's corny, whatever.  It's an excuse to get the perfect dress and shoes and get all done up like you're going to prom.  Except, it's not prom, so your principle isn't DJing, and you're 21 so you don't have to sneak shot of Malibu rum that you snuck from your parents' liquor cabinet before.  I finally got to take my boyfriend as my date, which may sound weird if you haven't already read about it here.  We went to a ball room at Sea World, which was so cute.  It was well worth the 2-year wait.  And, a Coffee and Dinosaurs first!!!  A photo from the evening that sums up the entire weekend!

And, yes, I know my formal dress isn't very, well, formal, but whatever.  I looked great. 

Sunday morning was rough, I'm not gonna lie.  The past 3 days were running on minimal sleep and a bit of alcohol, so making it to senior sendoff banquet for my sorority was touch-and-go for a bit.  Good think my hair still looked perfect from formal.  (Thanks, 2 cans of hairspray.)  Normally, everyone ends up sobbing at sendoff and seniors read their well-thought-out and sentimental letters to the chapter.  This year, though, my pledge class obviously spiced things up.  While the emotions were felt all around, it just wouldn't be us if we didn't impose lots of humor and obnoxiousness. 

Are you bored yet?  Yeah, I don't know why you actually believed me when I said I wasn't going to bog you down with all the nitty-gritty details.  Sorry.  Normally nothing interesting happens in my life, and this weekend it seemed like everything happened.  I already told you last night was my very last chapter as an active member of my sorority, and I may or may not have cried when I received my stole to wear at graduation.  So, this long, super busy post with a picture will hopefully make up for the lack of you reading this for the past 5 days in whatever voice you imagine me having. 

Have a fabulous Tuesday!

Love,
N

Clearance Candy and Taco Bell

Happy Thursday!  Yay it's my weekend!  I have high hopes of being productive all morning with this paper, making some phone calls I haven't had time for all week, powering through class, bronzing, getting new shoes at Macy's, working out, getting a spray tan for this weekend... high hopes.  I'm chugging coffee now. 

I've mentioned before in a few posts that I've been in a funk lately.  This whole graduation-and-moving-and-finding-a-real-job-and-growing-up-and-the-real-world thing is hitting me hard.  And I'm not handling it with as much grace as I would like.  As in, I ate Taco Bell for dinner last night (sober) and drove around aimlessly listening to sad country songs, and then bought Easter clearance candy with the intentions of laying in bed and eating it all.  (I fell asleep before I could chomp the ears off a Reester Bunny... cute name, Reeses.)  I know, I'm such a mess.  Did I mention that I ran into a friend while buying said sale candy, and our "catch up" conversation was all about our plans for the "real world?" Yeah, well, I did.  And while it was nice to see him again and great to hear that he's doing well, he also asked the infamous question that hits me like a warm shot of tequila on a hungover morning.  "You're just, moving up there?  With no job?  Just... moving?" Sigh. Yes, people, for the bazillionth time, I am.  Call me crazy.  Shake your head when we part ways.  Give me that quizzical look.  I'm not doing it for you, I'm doing it for me. 

Anyways, this whole weird-mood thing I've been in has me obnoxiously emotional.  The Taco Bell drive through woman was extra nice to me?  Insanely happy.  My burrito falls out of my makeshit burrito-holder in my car?  In tears.  (And by burrito-holder, I mean I re-purposed my cup holder.  Failure.)  Someone, give me a Xanax, A.S.A.P.  I seriously almost added two-for-ten-dollar chardonnay to my cart last night, but I figured the single Lean Cuisine and chocolate was pathetic enough.  Something made me feel better, though.  I was in such a grouchy, terrible, no good, pout-until-16-airplanes-could-land-on-my-bottom-lip mood, and my boyfriend was busy studying, and I just wanted attention and comfort, and I wasn't getting it.  So, instead of whining about it (okay, so I whined for approximately 34 minutes about it), I decided to do something nice for my boyfriend.  I went and bought him study break snacks and dropped them by his house.  And, I felt a little better.

I went home and talked to my roommate.  She graduated last year and has decided to move away the same time I will this summer.  For similar reasons.  I felt a lot better after having someone relate to me.  I realized that when I feel like I'm not getting enough love, or when I feel alone and hurt, sometimes it just takes a sad country song and a change of perspective to help things get better.  We are not as alone as we think.  We are not as different as we feel.  And sometimes, when we want love the most, that is the best time to give love. 

Sorry for getting all mushy-gushy on you today.  I'm definitely the "before" part of a Midol commercial this week. 

Love,
N

Gym, Tan, Lipstick?

Happy Wednesday! I'm halfway through my week and starting to realize that all that stands in my way are my finals!  Honestly, I'm not even that stressed out about them.  I only have two actual tests, neither of which are cumulative, and the other two classes just require a final paper.  My boyfriend would beg to differ on the stress part, but it's really not school that has my in an anxiety attack... it's everything else in my life being on the brink of change.  But I'll save that philosophical post for a later date. 

The past week or so, I've been trying to get back into a gym routine.  I used to work out all the time when I started college, and over the years it's tapered off.  Regardless of what anyone says, I've been gaining weight and have noticed a difference in the way clothes fit, so it was a welcome change.  Thing is, I feel like I am always busy.  Some days, I'm at work and on campus for over 13 hours straight, with no breaks.  That means that when I finally get done at 9pm, I want to collapse into bed, not run.  I figure that a short workout is better than nothing, though, so I've been trying to work it in.  I'll wear my gym clothes to class or work (I'm lucky to work someplace that doesn't really have a dress code) and pop on over there on my short breaks or right after I'm done.

Here's what I've noticed.  Girls get all done up to go sweat.  Or, well, not sweat.  In all honesty, walking on a treadmill with your hair in curls, full makeup on like you're going to a club, talking on your cell phone and reading a Cosmo magazine can hardly be considered working out.  You're wearing a push-up bra, too?  Good lord.  What the hell are these girls doing there?  This is a gym, not a book club. Yeah, so there's hot sexy sweaty muscular guys there wearing shirts with their fraternity letters and the sleeves cut off so much that their nipples are practically out in the open.  Guys may go to the gym to show off, but they're also there to actually work out.  They're not going to leave the weight floor, go all the way upstairs to the cardio deck, and strike up a conversation with Miss Priss.  If anything, they're probably more interested in the blonde in a sports bra and her hair up doing an actual workout.  Like, are these girls going to a party immediately following the gym?  I also don't understand girls who drink Diet Coke while exercising.  It may be the elixir of female, but it is not hydrating in the least bit.  Plus, soda makes you fat anyways, regardless if it's diet or not. 

I feel like the whole getting-dressed-up-to-go-to-the-gym thing has taken over so much at the campus gym that I can't go there to actually work out without making sure I look up to par, as well.  I'm sorry, but unless I'm on America's Next Top Model and Nigel Barker is photographing me on an elliptical with fans blowing my hair back all sexual, I see no need to "get ready" to go someplace where I'm going to sweat off my eyeliner.  I have to admit, though, the people watching makes the time pass faster. 

Love,
N

ABC, It's As Easy As 123

Before I dive into my exciting day of cramming for a Political Ideologies exam at 1:00, I promised you a more thrilling post today.  Which got me thinking, what can I possibly write about?  Well, there's a few things involving my sorority, but I try not to write about that topic very much, or this blog would be Greek to a lot of you.  Just take a moment to imagine 130 girls all being asked to agree on something, and you'll get a better idea of how chapter meetings go every week.  Voting on fundraisers or homecoming pairings is like the 19th amendment on crack. 

I could write about how I got scolded by a club for tweeting to them that it was difficult to plan private parties there.  They asked me to take it down, and then offered me complimentary VIP and champagne... I got what I wanted, and if it took abusing social media to get it, then that's fine with me.  The manager is a huge dickhole, anyways, and I don't play that game.  People really should know better than to test a hot-headed Italian girl. 

Instead, I think I'll write about something positive that I think a lot of you guys can relate to.  I've recently been working with a woman in my college who is the Assistant Director of Development, which means she works with my university's foundation to raise money for special programs and scholarships.  While I go to a very large public university, I'm in the honors college there, which is very small.  Everyone knows everyone, including the staff and faculty.  Last year, the honors college started a senior giving campaign to encourage about-to-be-alumni to pledge $100 over the next five years to the college.  A simple $20 a year from each student can do wonders for leadership conferences, luncheons with big-time executive speakers, sholarships to study abroad, and all the other things most of my peers don't realize come from philanthropic donations.  While I go to a public university, only about 25% of our funding comes from the government.  That leaves a lot of gaps.  I was even more surprised to find that, since my university is also relatively "up and coming," only 1% of alumni donate back to their alma mater. 

I know that a lot of us are constantly being asked to donate to some cause or another.  Some, we may have a personal connection with.  Others, we might dismiss as our money is needed more in other areas.  But every college graduate should have a respect for their education, their hard work, and the university that helped them achieve it.  After all, we chose that school.  Sure, that $20 could buy me new summer sandals or a great night out downtown, or pay my bills, my sorority dues, buy me groceries...but it could also go to help give other students the same wonderful opportunities I had that made college the best 4 years of my life. 

So, the next time you get a donation card in the mail, or someone from your university contacts you about giving back, I urge you to just consider it.  Education is what keeps our world turning, and we should all be able to say we helped push. 

Love,
N

Chickens Sans Heads

God, time is moving through molasses today.  I've been running around like a chicken with it's head cut off all day, it should be much later than 2pm.  Sigh.  I'm way too frustrated to have patience with anyone today.  Especially club managers.  Seriously, some of the most unprofessional people I've ever met.  I get that you work at a bar but... I shouldn't have to contact you via Twitter. 

On top of that, my cell phone has run completely out of space.  As in, I'm about to delete my Facebook app so I can open a text message.  So aggravating.  Not to mention there's about a million other things I have to do, like school work, and getting ready for formal, and probably shopping for my boyfriend's clothes for formal, because God forbid a member of the male gender go to the mall alone and dress himself.  Deep breath. 

Did I mention that our microwave broke last week?  And it won't be fixed for another week or two?  Cool.  Now, I don't eat very many microwaveable meals, but I do rely a lot on that little machine of wonder.  I'm way too busy throughout the week to cook meals every night, and often am not even home for meal times, so I pack a lunch (or dinner).  I cook either Sunday or Monday for the whole week, package it up into servings and meals, and then, yep, reheat it all in the microwave to save time.  It's a pain in the royal ass to not have one.  Try re-heating mac and cheese on the stove... go ahead, I dare you.  Exactly my point.  Gross.

Anyways, my mind is racing a zillion miles a minute yelling at me to do my study guide, so I promise I'll have a more interesting post for tomorrow. 

Love,
N

Law School for Dummies.

Yay it's Friday!  It was storming and gross out this morning, so I opted for the gym and homework all day... if I had known that the storm would clear into a gorgeous pool day, I would have been oiled up in a deck chair.  Ah, whatever.  It's probably best that I do my homework so I can enjoy next weekend.

If you follow me on Twitter, you may have seen my confusion with this lawyer fad popping up among my peers.  If you don't tweet, here's the deal.  It's like, all of a sudden, in the past 4 or so years, everyone I know in college wants to be a lawyer.  I'm not even talking about just my university, either.  Remember that fad a few years back in high school (okay, when I was in high school) when everyone became a photographer.  All the hipsters got really nice Nikon cameras for Christmas and slapped on a removable fish-eye lens and boom, they were a photographer.  It didn't matter that all of their friends were also "photographers" and that every hang out session was now a photo shoot.  I guarantee you there's a few brides out there who had incredibly horrible wedding photos because Aunt Cathy gushed about how amazing little cousin Laura was at photography and she should totally do the wedding photos.  Well, guess what?  Laura was no photo editor for National Geographic, and she got drunk sneaking drinks from the open bar and you really didn't want the only photo of your first kiss as man and wife to be distorted through a fish-eye lens.  Your nose looks huge in that photo.

Anyways, basically, what happened with all those "photographers" is happening as we speak with law school.  It's as if all my peers are saying to themselves "self, I have no clue what I want to do, but law school sounds prestigious, right?  Okay, let's do that."  And then they do.  Or, they try to.  I'll be completely honest here.  I once had no clue what I wanted to do, and bought an LSAT book, and then after about 4 practice problems, decided that this was way too much bullshit to put up with for a career I would hate.  And just like the whole photography fad, I'm sure a select few of the "I'm going to law school!" kids will actually become great lawyers.  But the majority of them will crash and burn and suck.  They will end up working for 1-800-IN-PAIN advice help lines for people in auto accidents.  Pretty soon, they'll be showing commercials for "law technical schools" just like they do for X-ray technicians and court reporters.  In just 16 months, you can be a certified lawyer!

There are a million other jobs out there, for every interest.  I get that everyone chose "lawyer" because it sounds great and they make tons of money... but what they don't teach you in law school is economics.  Flooding the labor market with so many potentials looking for employment in the law field drives wages down.  So while every fraternity guy is busy being a pompous dick-hole, putting on an arrogant attitude like they've already made partner, yet in reality they're re-taking the LSAT for the 3rd time, I'll just be chuckling to myself.

I hope everyone enjoys their holiday weekend!

Love,
N

Smartphone Outcast

Helloooo!  Happy Thursday!  Which is really my Friday, as I've mentioned before.  Do you ever pay attention to me?  Ugh.  Didn't think so... Anyways, here's my little rant of the day.  My smart phone. 

Unlike the rest of the world, I have an Android system HTC phone.  Don't get me wrong, I love it.  I actually have an upgrade due this month and I'm not sure if I even want to venture into the world of iPhones.  Sprint customer service is really great and they can fix my phone in any store, in like 20 minutes.  None of this "Apple Genius Bar" nonsense.  At least nerds finally have a nightlife to call their own. 

Anyways, my phone.  It does basically anything an iPhone can do, except it doesn't have Siri.  But it does have a free Tom-Tom GPS app that actually works.  That's right, ladies and gents, I don't have to stare at a blinking dot on a map and try to figure out if I'm going the right way.  Plus, I've used Siri before, and she was really no use.  Maybe it was because I was drunk, but isn't that when she should be most useful?  I know how to properly operate my phone sober.  After 6 beers is when texting someone gets to be difficult.  Step up your game, Siri.  The issue with my phone is that it's run out of space.  I have an SD card with somewhere around 16 trillion GBs of space... yet I keep having to choose between The Weather Channel app that is actually useful and Temple Run.  For some reason, some of the apps just will not let me transfer them to my SD card.  If this sounds like a personal problem, it's because it is.  Deal with it. 

I recently just discovered the photogenic world of Instagram, and I can't bear to part with that memory-sucking little program.  I could take pictures of earwax and make it look cool with those filters.  Sorry, Bank of America app, but I'll get by just guessing how much is in my account.  I'd much rather photograph the world, stalk Twitter, and attempt to outrun gorilla-monkey-monsters.  I think the only reason I'd go home on Saturday instead of Sunday for Easter is so I can go play around with new, better Android phones for my upgrade.  Although I'm really considering the iPhone.  I know for sure that the iPhone battery life is much better, and every iPhone user I've asked swears it's the greatest invention since oxygen... but I want an honest opinion.  Have you had an Android phone and an iPhone?  Which did you prefer and why? 

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go hold my phone up to a car radio so SoundHound can tell me what song is playing. 

Love,
N

Yes, I Read Ingredients Labels.

I think we've been in this relationship long enough to talk about the important, heavy topics.  Religion?  No, I'm not one to fret about personal beliefs.  (I'm Catholic, for the record, so I really don't have any room to tell other people what to think, considering we killed people on that whole Crusades thing a few years ago.)  Politics?  Nah, I've already rocked that boat.  I'm talking about the fundamentals of this blog.  The fuel for my fire.  The very element of my daily survival.  Coffee. 

Ever since coffee became trendy and fancy thanks to Starbucks, everyone else has been trying to catch up.  The problem is, most of these imitations, and even Starbucks themselves, aren't coffee.  Go ahead, I dare you to read the ingredients label on any instant at-home iced-coffee-mocha-latte-blend you can buy at the grocery store.  Or even the Starbucks blended frappaccinos they sell in the little glass bottles.  Ask 7/11 what's in their french vanilla cappuccino from the little machine at the coffee station.  More likely than not, in all of the above situations, "coffee" will be listed somewhere in the middle of that ingredients list.  Right behind "milk, cream, sugar, whey, corn syrup, food coloring, caramel flavoring..." and maybe before "and less than 2% of: biomethanzalene (preservative), monosodium glutamate, and other natural flavors."  For crying out loud, a frappaccino at Starbucks isn't even made with coffee.  It's espresso.  Like a whopping 2 shots of it blended with a cup of milk and then poured over ice that fills the entire "Venti" cup.  (By the way, using Italian words for your cup sizes doesn't make the product more Italian.  It would be more legitimate for me to label my bra size in Italian... at least these tatas are 50% from the Old Country.)

Don't get me wrong, I love whatever that French Vanilla "cappuccino" thing from 7/11 is.  But when I need caffeine to get my day going, I'm going straight to Dunkin or the old-school carafe on the metal burner full of extreme-strength black coffee.  I'll add in some flavored "non dairy creamer" which is another issue, all together.  But at least I know that cup is 95% coffee.  (Cream is dairy.  At least it's supposed to be.  Is that what the Chick-Fil-A cows milk out?  Non-dairy products?) 

What sparked all this was seeing a commercial for International Delight's new iced coffee drink.  It comes in a carton, like milk.  It looks creamy and yummy, and it would be way faster on busy summer mornings than brewing my own and sticking it in the freezer while I get dressed to cool it off.  I'm pretty sure it would be guilty of the above issues, though, and end up being coffee flavored milk-and-sugar.  Maybe I should just move to Hawaii and live on a Kona farm.  That would seriously be heaven to a caffeine addict like myself.  (Although everyone is so laid back in Hawaii I wonder if I'd even need it.  And I'd have to learn to like Spam.  Hmm, I'm rethinking this move.)

Has anyone tried that iced coffee concoction?  Am I the only person crazy enough to read ingredients labels?  (Probably.)

Love,
N

Cheeseburgers

Happy Tuesday!  Nothing very exciting has happened in my life since yesterday, but talking to my mom about going home for Easter dinner got me thinking.  Thinking about what?  Well, about all the amazing food she's going to make.  Like lamb.  Yum.  I seriously love roast lamb.  And tons of peach sangria.  I can't wait.  My mom cooks like an Italian in the army... when I brought my first boyfriend home, she made a 7 course meal.  I'm not even exaggerating.  I had one boyfriend, but by the amount of food she made, you'd think I had ten.  My family just loves food.  Until I was in middle school, my mom was a stay-at-home mom, and she would cook amazing meals from what seemed like nothing.  She was, and still is, one of the most resourceful people I know in the kitchen.  I think the only time I ever ate pizza was on Saturday afternoons for lunch, sometimes, and that was because my dad used to own a pizza place.  (Oh, yeah, and when Pizza Hut did the free personal pizza for a straight-A report card!)  Even after my mom went back to work, my sister and I learned how to take the reigns and cook.  Every meal was home made, every night of the week. 

In my house, fast food was a treat.  Most of my friends ate fast food on a regular basis.  Fridays were pizza night, or Tuesdays their dads would bring them McDonald's at school for lunch.  Yeah, right.  Not me, with my little home-made packed lunches in thermoses and actual Tupperware.  (Yeah, PB&J was not gonna fly with my mom for lunchboxes.  Try a fresh chopped salad, a thermos of leftover homemade soup, cheese and crackers, apple slices and peanut butter, pasta salad... you get the idea.)  The only time I ate McDonald's as a kid was on Saturday mornings before soccer games.  Not exactly the healthiest planning on Mom's part, but hey.  Taco Bell was the reward if my sister and I didn't smack each other with a nine iron when my dad "babysat" us at the driving range.  If my sister and I were eating anything out of a drive through, it was Chick Fil A.  (I was such a nerd back then, too, that I actually liked the Chick-Fil-A prizes.) 

So imagine my culture shock coming to college.  Sure, I know how to cook.  I actually know how to cook pretty well.  It's more cost-effective and healthy to prepare food myself.  But fast food is still a treat to me.  If I have to get up extra early and be somewhere on a day off, I'll bribe myself with drive-through breakfast as a "reward."  I just have issues with paying for something so unhealthy when I could make food at home that's already paid for.  In a country where fast food is a way of life for a lot of people, I feel weirdly out of place.  I'm always the girl skipping partial proceeds events to save money and eat my groceries at home.  College life has definitely pushed me further into the realm of paper-wrapped cheeseburgers and mystery-meat tacos, but it's still strange for me.  If I'm not drunk or dying of hunger, Dora my Ford Explorer doesn't go to McDonald's.  Maybe that makes me a food snob.  Maybe it just means I won't end up like the guy in the SuperSize Me documentary.  Who knows. 

Love,
N

My Type of Fantasy Baseball and 32 Days to Go.

Holy hell.  Monday morning hit me like a freight train.  A freight train full of anxiety, excitement, fear, and just downright stuff to do.  I'm walking across that stage in T-minus 32 days and this month to come has more packed into it than socks stuffed into boxers in a firefighter calendar.  This week is full of schoolwork, topped off with Easter weekend.  Although I'll probably be going home for at least a couple of days, but I doubt I'll have time to slow down while I'm there.  The following week is crammed full of final projects and getting ready for finals, followed by the most rage-filled weekend of my life: senior festivities.  Did I mention I'm in charge of planning one of those events?  Thank God I've already written by sendoff speech and made my slide show.  Oh, sorority girls, we sure know how to jazz up even the most depressing of moments. 

My coffee is now cold, I have a headache from stressing, and I have to read about possibly the worst topic you can give a republican girl... Marxism.  Gross.  Excuse me while I go vomit all over the bull-crap starting on page 127.  At least it's not about fascism.  I'm still not buying all this "it's great in theory" nonsense, Karl.  If good ole Mr. Marx were alive today, he would probably be posting his Manifesto on his Tumblr through his iPhone app like every other damn hippie in America. 

And I'm having a bad hair day, which sucks because I'm supposed to have a date night with my boyfriend tonight and I'm going to look like I crawled out of a cave.  Whatevs.  I will applaud his selflessness in skipping the final March Madness games to take me to dinner.  His bracket apparently has a 99.3% chance of winning... whatever that means.  Real-life sports elude me, does anyone really expect me to grasp the concepts behind all these fantasy sports?  Ridiculous.  Also, I posted on Twitter this weekend, but seriously, what are guys thinking when they ditch their girlfriends for sports?  Who's going to make their sandwich for halftime?  Exactly... hope you starve, rude boys.  Seriously though, just kidding.  I'm not one of those psychotic girlfriends who doesn't understand that sports are, like, really important.  I actually enjoy going to sporting events.  What I don't enjoy is devoting 24 hours 7 days a week to something that has no relevancy to my real life.  Cough, cough, fantasy baseball.  Baseball sucks in the real world.  Unless the fantasy version has a halftime show where the players do a strip tease in just those sexy pants, and they're pitching balls soaked in gasoline and lit on fire, I can't imagine how that could be even mildly entertaining. 

Anyways, I guess I should get going on this "literature" about socialism.  Bleh, even typing it makes me cringe.  Let me know how your Monday is starting off!

Love,
N