CAPITAL LETTERS MEAN I AM ANGRY

Keri and I have been working on getting our Irish citizenship, and when my dad found out he could get an Irish passport because his parents were born in Ireland, he decided to be a copycat and get his too. We all need my grandparents birth, death and marriage certificates in order to get it, and we (ok, mainly Keri) has been emailing and calling all of our relatives to see if anyone had any of them. My dad is the oldest out of 6 kids, so one would think he would have gotten all that stuff after my grandma died in 2001, but my dad can't even remember his own kid's birthdays, so we didn't think anyone would trust him with that stuff. Today I get a text message from him saying : "Hello girls, I'm sitting here filling out my passport application and I found Nana and Papa's birth certificates. - Dad." WE HAVE BEEN ASKING HIM FOR THOSE SINCE JANUARY.

I call him after bowling class (I bowled a 111 too, maybe the angriness helped) and basically say "WHAT THE FUCK DAD." He says, "Well I got this box of stuff after your grandma died, and there was this envelope. I opened it, and it had both of their birth certificates." Goddamnit Dad. You didn't think to look in this box BEFORE when we were asking about the certificates? Sure when you need something you do some digging, but not for your own FLESH AND BLOOD.

I Bargained For Salvation And They Gave Me A Lethal Dose

My mom tore an article out of some magazine, probably Good Housekeeping or O Magazine or something equally good, and in it there was 10 questions to answer to narrow your field down to chose a career. A few of them were:
1. What newspaper or magazine articles to you most love to read? celebrity gossip
2. What internet sites do you mort often gravitate to? Look at your bookmarks. What stands out? perezhilton.com, pinkisthenewblog.com, I HAVE TO KNOW EXACTLY WHEN KATIE HAS TOM'S BABY
3. If you watch a game show, which categories do you hope the contestant will pick? something pop culture or Bob Dylan. Or the Bible (catholic schooling was good for something)
4. If you could write a book, what would the subject be? Bob Dylan. Or Paris and Nicole: What REALLY Happened

I am destined to be either a celebrity gossiper or a Bob Dylan historian. I don't think I needed a Bachelor of Arts to tell me that. If I had had to decide my career when I was 15, those would have been my answers too. Page Six, if you read this, give me a call. I can make assumptions about people I don't know like the best of 'em.

So that test I took three weeks over, hungover? I got a 69% on it. Failing yes, but only ONE POINT away from failing. Hells yeah. I thought I had totally bombed it, and I did, but not nearly as bad as I thought I had. And on top of that, I only missed two classes last week. In my book two is practically none at all, so I've pretty thoroughly convinced myself that I missed no classes at all. I still haven't been to anthropology since February 23rd, but so help me god, I'm going this week. Probably not on Thursday, let's not get carried away, but at LEAST on Tuesday.

Rereading these lyrics made me realize again why I love Bob Dylan so goddamn much. Why are you skipping over Chicago on your latest tour Bob? Is it because it's been over a year since I've seen you last? I've been distant for the past few months, I know, but I've changed my ways. Please reconsider.

I never really wrote anything about Spring Break, except for Russian Night, but if I had to sum it up in four words, it would be "jesus I drank alot." Seven out of nine nights were spent adding to my beer belly, and it was worth it. Other than that I worked, watched tv when I wasn't working and and spent a lot of time listening to shitty cover bands. Except for the drummer: the drummer was cute because he sang and played guitar to two Irish songs. Plus he had on a newsboy hat. Goddamnit I love guys who wear those hats.

I leave you with the conversation I had with my best friend Megan last Saturday:

Me: I feel old as shit right now.
Megan: No anal sex for you tonight.
Me: WOAH. What the hell do you think I just said?
Megan: Didn't you just say it hurt to shit?
Me: Or that I feel old as shit.
Megan: Ohhh.

Russian Night: A Resounding Success

Vladdie, Emil, Papa Stalin and I singing our hearts out. I have no idea what song it was, but it most definitley was not Ted Nugent. I think Emil's still mad at you for not having Cat Scratch Fever on your Ipod, V-Money. You are being shipped to Sibera (which is not a country, ask me, I know this stuff) Friday.


Vladimir and Boris's face after someone said the word "democracy". Long live Papa Stalin. (Must give props to Keri for that caption, she wrote it first and I don't want to hear any bitchings about it.)


Thriller came on thanks to DJ Keri's Pix and Vladdie and I got a little excited.


What, you've never seen vodka in a bottle before? Maybe you should look around the liquor store more carefully next time, ye commie bastard.


8:30 pm - My mom is "tired and wants to go to bed." Says will stay up til 11.
11:00 - My dad is on his way home, ok fine, I'll stay up.
12:00 - Dad comes home.
3:30 am - Rasputin finally goes to bed after 3 hours of dancing AND EVEN HAVING A MILLER LITE. And copping feels on my ass. Sick, you're my mom.

Overall, Russian Night: Eh, I guess I had a good time. As my dad's friend Emil said, "This would never happen at my house." You're goddamn right it wouldn't because we O'D's are fucking awesome. Yeah, so maybe Keri and I stayed home on a Friday night to drink with our parents, make t-shirts with the slogan "Commies, Fur Hats and Vodka" on them, and have a three hour dance party, voluntarily at that, but don't knock it til you've tried it. Long live the motherland.

ANNOYED

The next time I have the following conversation:

"What are you getting your degree in?"
"History"
"So you want to be a teacher?"
"No, I don't want to teach."
"Oh. So what do you want to do then?"
"I DON'T KNOW, LEAVE ME ALONE."

I will fucking assassinate someone.

Probably The Best Email I've Ever Recived

I talked to my mom yesterday, and as I was hanging up with her, she said she was about to go online now. She's basically a computer nerd ever since she got her email address about two months ago. I sent her a quick email after we hung up because I knew she'd be excited to see she had a new one. This is the email I sent her: (Me and Keri are drinking tonight and decided we needed a theme. Russian Night is what she came up with, therefore we've been calling my mom "Rasputin" for the past few days. Makes sense, I know.)

Rasputin,
Just thought I'd sent you an email, since you're a computer nerd now, even though I just talked to you. Get excited for Russian Night tomorrow! Love you!

Love,
Anastasia

This was the reply I got about an hour later, when I checked my email at work:

Hey Natsey,

WHERE ARE YOU GOING TOMORROW? MAYBE i CAN JOIN YOU AND YOUR SEEESTER (i FORGOT HER NAME) AND HOWCOME I'M DIRTY OLD MAN ??

lOVE FROM YOUR MOMMA, RUPSEY

P.S.I finally figured out how to turn the caps off - didn't want you to think I was yelling my fool head off at you. Rupsey

The thought of her typing this (Keri said it took her about 20 minutes) and accidently hitting the caps lock, not knowing how she did it and trying to figure out how to turn it off is hysterical for me to imagine. Also, I love how she's taken to calling me "Natsey" and herself "Rupsey". I can just hear her saying "How come I have to be the dirty old man!" too. Who else do you want to be, Boris Yeltsin? This is probably funny to no one, since you don't know my mom, but good lord. It's shit like this that makes me love my mom. That and the fact she been feeding me for the past 21 years.

Have a good Spring Break bitches.

The Final 48

Things I Have To Do Before 2:00 pm Friday, When Spring Break Can Officially Start:
1. work from 9-11 am
2. go to class (FOR REAL) from 11-3:15pm
3. go back to work from 5-10pm
4. write a 6 page midterm on the Irish famine
5. go to class from 11-1pm Friday
6. pack all my shit
7. burn the albums I'm obsessed with
8. hope the Hot Spot still has Buy 1 Get One Free Parliament Lights

Ok, maybe it doesn't seem so bad now thatI typed it out, but goddamn, why didn't I do 4, 6, 7 or 8 today? Maybe because going to Wal-Mart, making brownies, watching some educational tv (American Idol, Law & Order and Conan) and talking online with Keri for 5 hours was more important, ok? Yeah, I got my priorities right here.

Post 2:00 pm Friday:
1. go to Baker's Square with Keri and Mom, where we will gang up on her, making her realize how much she really doesn't miss us at all
2. commence Russian Night with my fellow Commie bastard, Vladimir
3. learn how to draw a hammer and sickle
4. Get up at 9 am Sunday have a Guinness while getting ready for the parade
5. go to the parade and drink for 12 hours
6. work a few hours here and there at thee UPS Store
7. celebrate St. Patrick's Day again on Friday at Bourbon Street
8. work on getting my Grandpa's birth certificate (I know! We're party animals!)
9. freak out because this is my last college break of any type
10. lay it on thick that I want an IPod or digital camera for my birthday/graduation. Or both, I'm not picky
11. sleep on a bed that doesn't hurt my back. Hurrah!
12. call J.P 94 million times on Friday night and Sunday afternoon. Have fun in Ohio, bitch. I mean, we'll miss you!
13. listen to my mom ask me 400 times if I've looked into "getting an internship." I did, they just haven't called me back. I know, it's weird. Yeah, I'll call them again. I know it's important. I wouldn't want to compromise my future either. I don't know, am I kidding about working at McDonalds? Love you too Mom.

Post 2:00 pm Friday wins. Can't wait, bitches.

...And That Was The Last Time I Ever Asked My Brother For A Title

On Thursday I met a 44 year old gay computer science professor that teaches here at Northern, at the bar. Forty-four year old gay computer science teachers buy you JaegerBombs and for that reason, they are my favorite. Then I found out he spelled his name Geoffrey. If there was one variation of a spelling of a name I hate the most, I mean if I HAD to choose, it would be Geoffrey instead of Jeffrey. It's pronounced "Ge-off", not Jeff, and that's why your name sucks ass.

Somehow on Saturday night I pulled a back muscle or some shit, and I look like a goddamn idiot trying to do anything. Is this what it's like to be old? Because I'm 21. Not 85. Twenty-one. I shouldn't be pulling back muscles yet. I never realize how much I drop things until bending over to pick them up becomes a 5 minute process. Getting ready for work took me 20 minute when it usually only takes me about 8. Yesterday it was pretty nice out, so I figured I'd be able to wear flip-flops again and save myself the ordeal of putting on socks and shoes. I pull back the curtains to discover 2 inches of snow on the ground. I know what you're all thinking, "Could her life possibly get any worse?" THEN, if you can believe this, Jennifer Gardner trips at the Oscars BUT DOESN'T FALL. IF I get pleasure out of nothing else, it's seeing people fall. Thank you Jennifer, for giving my bad day a chance to redeem itself and failing miserably.

Since graduation is getting so close, I have a couple of last things I need to do before getting out of here. One was to take a test hungover. I have no idea what the rest of them are, but mission accomplished on that one Friday. It totally helped that I hadn't studied at all and needed to throw up for the last 10 minutes I was there. On the bright side though, at least I woke up to take it at all. The glass is always half full for me.

I go home for Spring Break this Friday and I'm overly excited about it. I haven't been home since coming back here for the semester around January 14th and can't wait to see my parents, Keri and my other friends who still live at home (that'll be me come May 13th! Yay!). Friday night is Russian Night with Stalin, Vladimir and Rasputin, also known around here as Dad, Keri and Mom and Sunday is the Southside Irish Parade. WHICH I AM LEGAL FOR THIS YEAR. Being 21 will never get old to me. Except when I actually do get old. But that's still like 4 years away. So um, those are my only plans, but still they are plans and they are goddamn good plans.

Thanks for the great advice on my never ending bladder. It's too bad I don't have a prostate (so what if I had to ask Keri to make sure girls don't have prostates? SO WHAT?), is no chance I'm pregnant, the moon didn't move all night (really!), I don't have an extra hole (that I'm aware of)and I'm pretty sure having 4 beers isn't worthy of a comparison to a fish, or else I'd have my question answered! I always go pee a lot when I drink beer, coffee or tea. For me 1 drink equals 3 pees. I mean it's just simple math when you get down to it. And I will stop talking about my bathroom habits right now.

I always think I have nothing to write about, and then I come up with such great, mind-blowing, earth shattering topics. My goal here is to really make everybody think. How I manage to do it I'll never understand.

Tonight I had 4 beers and have gone pee about 12 times since those beers. Why do I have a bladder like an 85 year old woman?

Hodge Podge

I Love
...Dove soap.
...that Conan O'Brien is finally back after two weeks.
...how excited I am about the fact that it might be close to 50 degrees tomorrow.
...taking 3 hour naps.
...tea.

I Hate
...being too lazy to go to my Anthropology class to find out what I got on my test last Tuesday.
...not having any food to qualm my insatiable hunger.
...staying in on Tuesday nights and not taking advantage of 50 cent drafts.

I'm Terrified
...about graduating on May 13th (the day after my 22nd birthday, if you're taking notes).
...of the drains in swimming pools.
...I'm going to oversleep every Tuesday and Thursday when I have work at 9 am.

I'm Excited
...about the Southside Irish Parade on March 12th.
...to get paid tomorrow.
...about wearing flip-flops to class tomorrow.
...the kids outside the liquor store asked me to buy beer for them Saturday. Can this blog be used against me in court? I mean, I'm just kidding anyways.

Don't be Jealous
...Ashlee Simpson is playing a concert here at NIU March 29th.
...I saw an awesome 80's cover band this past Saturday.
...I only have one midterm next week and it's take-home, motherfuckers.

I'm Mad
...I have to miss The Office every single fucking Thursday because of work.
...I never took advantage of seeing Munich, Good Night and Good Luck, Syriana and Harry Potter at the cheap Campus Cinema.
...my brother won't skip coming home for Easter to see the Strokes with me in Cleveland.

I Can't Stop Listening To
...Bloc Party's album Silent Alarm.
...The Frame's live album Set List.
...The Stroke's First Impressions of Earth.

I'm Pathetic
...because I didn't get drunk on Fat Tuesday.
...for lying to my mom about paying half of my library fine.
...for worrying that a cup of tea is going to keep me up all night, like I got to bed early anways.

I Promise
...to suck it up and stop whining about graduating college. I hope you all know I'm crossing my fingers, so this promise means nothing.
...to actually follow through with mine and Keri's plan to move to Ireland.
...to go to at least 7 of my 9 remaining classes this week.
...to stop typing. Now.

I Am Now Ready To Graduate

My teacher tripped over a chair and fell in class today. My college experience is complete.

It's A Long Way To The House Of Fitzcarraldo

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

I think this is probably my most favorite picture ever. I look like a horse braying while simultaneously attempting sign language and Keri is just calmy looking longingly into my eyes. Hurrah for brightly colored jackets and Sister's Weekend!

Ode To Kerianne

Whenever I want my hair cut into layers, my sister is ready with the shears.
Whenever I need to borrow a turtleneck, my sister's closet is wide open.
Whenever I'm feeling down about myself, my sister is there to laugh at me.
Whenever I really want to punch someone, my sister's face is there for me.
Whenever I really want to talk to my brother, but he's busy, my sister is there for me instead.
Whenever I want someone to rub my feet, my sister willingly gets out her oils.
Whenever I want to move to a foreign country, my sister agrees to go with me.
Whenever I get drunk and fall, my sister is there because I pull her down with me.
Whenever I need money, my brother is there for me.
Whenever I need to get to Jewel, my sister takes me there without hesitation.
Whenever I ask "Whad they say?", my sister is always there to say "I don't know".
Whenever I need someone to make me a blanket, preferabely with ballerinas on it, my sister steps up.
Whenever I need someone to jump off the neighbors swingset and rip her shorts in the process, my sister gladly complies.
Whenever I need to gang up on my mom, my sister backs me up.
Whenever the Bears need to win the play-off game, my sister will come home from Ireland and be the goddamn bad luck charm.
Whenever I want to drink a 40, my sister is always game.
Whenever I need someone to eat nachos with, my sister is there.
Whenever I need someone to steal my clothes, my sister does it without having to be asked twice.
Whenever I need someone to be my twin, my sister does it if no one else offers.
Whenever I need a paper for my Irish class, my sister sends one to me.
Whenever I need a sister, my brother is there for me.
Whenever I need some information on baboons, my sister sends me her files.
Whenever I need all the back issues of Growing up Jewish, my sister hands them over.
Whenever I need someone to call because Michelle Kwan backed out of the Olympics or to remember Pete's Dragon or I'm drunk or I need to hear THE MIDNIGHT CLUB or no one else will answer their phone, my sister always picks up.
Whenever I need something to blog about, my sister always unselfishly suggests herself.

That old guy didn't even work for the Blarney Castle, the Stone of which I'm kissing here. He just liked copping a feel on all the ladies who like kissing piss-covered stones. Delicious, I'm telling you.

The other half of Sisters in the Homeland, Amy and Eileen. Wait, which bus do we take?

I think Amy said it all with her caption that said just "Cool" in her Yahoo pictures page. Why I'm looking at the camera like I've never seen one is beyond me. "What are these new fangled contraptions? Cameras you say? Stop making shit up."

Why this statue, named Jacob Tuc by Keri and her friends, was in the middle of their campus I never understood, but goddamnit I wanted to hump it anyways. Trip to Ireland: Complete.

Amy said "Look sexy" and this is what came naturally to us.

Why Do You Fill My Sorrow With Words You've Borrowed?

Keri discovered the other day that her and I can get a dual-citizenship for Ireland because our grandparents (Dad's mom and dad) were born there. This makes things much much easier because apparently work visas are a bitch to get. After we get an Irish passport we'd be free to live in any EU country, which is sweetass. I didn't want to tell my mom about our plan just yet because she'd be like "Uh huh. Sure, go for it. No, Kate, I believe you. Really. No, I'm not mocking you" in the biggest I'm-mocking-you-cause-I know-you-never-follow-through-with-anything-anyways voice. Then J.P had to go ask her about it. Thanks J. I guess she would have found out soon anyways though, since we need to know who has our grandparents birth certificates and shit. I'm super friggin excited about this though. I'll be an Irish citizen in about a year. This two year or so move has been dubbed "Ireland: Making Up for American Sobriety" because all we're going to do over there is get drunk apparently. I mean we wouldn't be doing this if we didn't have a good reason for going over there in the first place.

Things I'm Excited About:
1. Going to visit Keri and Megan at ISU next weekend, February 17-19th. And just in time to celebrate Keri and Amy's half birthdays! Only 6 more months until you're 21! I'm going to spend the whole time at the bars. Without you. Just give me a key and really, we can avoid seeing each other vis-a-vis the entire time.
2. Seeing Jeff Tweedy of Wilco at a bar here in DeKalb on February 20th. The best part? Chandler bought me a ticket. And refuses to let me pay him back. Sweeeeeeetass.
3. Getting another tattoo over Spring Break. Well hopefully. I was also supposed to get it over the summer and in Ireland but goddamnit, I'M SERIOUS THIS TIME.

Things I Did Thursday Night:
1. Threw up twice. Delightful.
2. Sleep-walked into Carly's room. Is this a diagnosed medical condition? Or is it just called Scareyourroommatehalftodeath,poorthing-itis? Look it up on webmd.com, I'm pretty sure it's there.
3. This should actually be under the category "Things I Did NOT Do Friday": Go to class.

The song Delicate, by Damien Rice, is probably the most delicious song. Ever. He asks the best question I've never thought to ask: "Why do you sing Hallejulah, if it means nothing to you?" In my mind that means, why would you sing Hallejulah, (Jeff Buckley's version) if it means nothing to you? And really, why the fuck would you. I love when people can put into words things I think, but don't realize until I read it. Does that make sense? Probably only to me. Yes, I will miss class to listen to this song tomorrow, 100% money back guaranteed.

Eire, Brother, Indy, Anthro and Heyday

My sister and I are going to move to Ireland in September of 2007, after she graduates college and I have (cross your fingers) tons of money from having worked at McDonalds for over a year. I need to get the study abroad itch out of the way, Keri's in love with Ireland after having lived there last semester and I want to be able to say I lived somewhere awesome for 2 years of my life. Plus if I fall in love and get married and all that shit there, I'll still have a kickass Irish last name. I love my last name and would really have to consider taking my husband's if it was something shitty. I'm glad I'm not getting ahead of myself at all. I'm sure you're doubting us and to that I say: Fuck you. Watch us, bitches. And then come visit. And buy us beer.

My brother started his own blog this past week. He may seem really angry in it for some reason, but I swear he's not. Well he did call me a "stupid bitch" the other day, but I put his ass in line, or something to that effect. Next time you call me that, I will slice you J.P. So anyways, go visit my brother bear. He's telling tales of his exotic life as a Chicagoan in Ohio. The hilarity never ends!

My sister's friend Amy, my fellow Sisters in the Homeland lady, now reads this site. Hi Amy! NOW STOP TELLING PEOPLE ABOUT MY BLOG. Christ, it's already weird enough that my brother reads it. Now I have to deal with Shee-ran-so-far? Am, just don't read July 23, 2005 - I don't want you to see the horrible malicious things I said about you.

I didn't go to my Anthropology class today. That makes a grand total of TWO times that I have gone since the semester started three weeks ago. But I haven't yet missed a Friday class, so I feel that evens everything out. I mean jesus christ, I have 16 fucking classes a week. I think I deserve to miss one or two of them. Or five in this case. The semester is off to a good start. I can almost smell the diploma right now. Or maybe that's the fries cooking at McDonalds. Same thing.

I am obsessed with the song Heyday by Mic Christopher. OBSESSED. I actually missed class Tuesday to come home and listen to it. That could have been avoided if I wasn't the last person in the free world to not own an Ipod. Or maybe not because my ulterior motive was really to take a nap. But I still really want an Ipod.

Go Steelers.