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It’s hard to be anonymous when you ride a pink scooter.

I get text messages from friends all the time asking how long I’ll be at such and such location. Locations I didn’t mention I’d be at, but that damn pink scooter is easy to spot.

I’m so used to being the only pink scooter that today when I left school I walked to the parking lot and hopped on the wrong pink scooter. I didn’t even notice right way. It looked and felt the same as mine. The only identifier was my key wouldn’t start the ignition. I looked around and quickly realized my mistake when I spotted MY PINK SCOOTER across the parking lot.

Great.. just what I need: one more detail to pay attention to.

However the good news is that people won’t always assume it’s me parked outside the pub—even though it usually is.

I live in complete fear of the drop-in. I don’t just fear the dating drop-in, I fear ANYONE dropping by my apartment. When I hear a knock I stop what I’m doing, drop to the floor and fervently pray that the knock in on my neighbors’ door and not mine.

Sadly I’m not exaggerating. Well, maybe about the praying part, but nothing else.

My apartment is a complete disaster and has been since I returned to school. By the time I finish with everything that needs to be done I want to sack out on the couch, not clean the couch.

I’ve lived in my apartment for five years. This is the longest I’ve lived anywhere since moving out of my parents’ house at 18. I once loved my cute little apartment with a loft bedroom. It’s charming and totally fits my personality. However, the busier I got the more I stopped caring about how clean things were. The carpets look like I had a rave party and the abandoned shoes all over complete the look.

I’d love to buy a small condo, but that small savings I had went to the University of Utah. I’m not complaining, mind you, a degree is totally worth it. It’s just… well… I’m tired of not being able to invite people over. I would die if anyone saw how messy my place is.

Rather than set aside a day to clean up and rent a carpet cleaner, I’m blogging about the situation. Blogging and trying to convince myself that tomorrow will be the day that Daisy the Pug develops opposable thumbs and turns into a French maid.

For the last two weeks every moment has been dedicated to studying for finals. I eat, drink, and sleep quantitative research.

You think I’m kidding?

See for yourself:

I read somewhere that if you study in different locations you’re more likely to retain information. I decided to test the theory and moved into the bedroom to remain focused. There’s something about being in my bedroom that helps my focus.

THIS IS NOT A SEX POST!

No seriously, not a sex post. Since I’m like 100 years old I need to try anything I can to improve my memory. Sadly by the time I was done I was too tired, and lazy to move everything.

I slept on the couch, and then I woke up and rocked my final!

I pulled a Heath Ledger last night.

In an effort to fall asleep early I took Ambien and melatonin. Which isn’t the best idea in the first place, but washing it down with three glasses of red wine is probably straight up dangerous.

Don’t worry I survived. This blog is not being written posthumously.

I had to wake up at 4:00 am this morning in order to be at the school in time to watch a morning radio shift. For some people this may not be a problem, but I am not a morning person. Most days I can’t even make it to work by 9:00 am.

The things I do for school. Seriously.

Last night while lying in bed waiting for sleep, or death, I entertained myself by making a list of people I could haunt if my pharmaceutical cocktail killed me.

1) The person responsible for calling the Influenza A virus subtype H1N1 the swine flu. Asshole.

2) RLO.

I only came up with two people before falling asleep, so it’s a damn good thing I survived. Death sounds really boring without hundreds of people to haunt.

Today was the last day of classes for this semester, THANK GOD! School at the U of U is a lot harder than I remember. I guess that’s what happens when you actually go to class… you learn stuff, do homework and take tests. Weird.

All that’s left is final projects and finals. And then, of course, I get to do it all again next semester.

I can do this. I CAN TOTALLY DO THIS.

I have to chant that to myself daily. I’m not kidding. The good news is I have a two-week break between semesters. The plan for those two weeks is simple: sleep and drink. That project I can definitely handle.

The end of the semester is a mere two weeks away. I’m a nervous wreck!

I’m terrified to take my research final; I’m trying to finish my final projects, register for the next two semesters AND arrange an internship. Oh, and did I mention I have a job I need to work into the mix? I’ve been stressed out and not sleeping well.

When I have trouble sleeping weird things happen. This morning for example, I woke up this morning I noticed a couple of strange things. First of all I had glitter on my legs. Body glitter only means one thing, yo. STRIPPERS! Upon further inspection I looked into the mirror and noticed I was wearing lipstick. I rarely wear lipstick so waking up with red robust lips is completely out-of-character.

I’m obviously a stripper. There’s really no other explanation.

Well, actually there is.. my new self-tanning lotion has glitter in it. I’m annoyed that the label doesn’t have a hooker warning.  Also my lipstick debacle isn’t really lipstick at all. I accidentally bought the tinted lip balm instead of the regular and placed it on my nightstand.

The scary part is that it took me two days to figure this out. TWO DAYS IS A LONG TIME TO BE AN IMAGINARY STRIPPER! I just hope the money I made isn’t imaginary money and is hanging out in my bank account right now. Fingers crossed.

Today is the first day of spring break. THANK GOD! I’m leaving for D.C. Monday morning. I can’t wait! I started planning the trip out last night.

So far I’ve packed:

two pairs of pajamas

fiber pills

Which works perfectly since the only things on my agenda thus far are:

sleep

nap

sleep

I know I should visit at least a couple war memorials, but that’s just so depressing. I don’t want to be depressed on spring break. I want to be sleeping. Or drunk. But not too drunk, I don’t want to be the old lady who dances atop bar tables. Unless I’m being paid for it.

I definitely want to check out Eastern Market and hopefully find some thrift stores to scour. Are any of you from the D.C. area and can offer advice on where to go? Thrift stores and otherwise? Mama needs some new/old Pyrex bowls. Rose is very lonely.

Two weeks

Fourteen days

21,160 minutes

What do these all have in common?

SPRING BREAK!! As a matter of fact, I am counting down. Suck it.

School is exhausting. And so much harder than I thought it would be. My brain is mush, which would explain why I booked a flight to Washington DC instead of warm and sunny Florida.

Though, at this point as long as I’m not in class I don’t care where I’m going. I could easily be content sitting on the couch in a pool of my own urine. But I won’t.  Instead I’ll visit our nation’s capital and not pee my pants, because I’m a good American.

It’s been a rough week and it’s only Wednesday. Thankfully some dead presidents gave me an upcoming long weekend. I need it. Badly.

Yesterday I got home from school and noticed something odd about my reflection in the mirror. There, in my messy ponytail, I found two pens. I don’t recall sticking them in my hair, but I’ve had very little sleep this week so I don’t recall much. And worse? Only one of those pens belongs to me.

At the start of my second class I realized I had lost my pen, so I borrowed one from a girl sitting next to me. I somehow managed to misplace my pen, and her pen IN MY FREAKING UNWASHED HAIR! Did I mention the part where I’m running on very little sleep?

Thankfully it wasn’t a math class because I could have easily stuck a calculator in this mess and not noticed.

I’m not the only one immersed in the college lifestyle, though Daisy is way more relaxed about college than I am. With her popped collar Polo shirt, she’s obviously more into the fraternity lifestyle than the actual education.

I’m not going to worry about her until I come home to find her making out with slutty sorority girls, or passed out in her own vomit.