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As a kid I always wanted to be able to fly. I’d like to think that’s why I pushed one of my brothers down the a flight of stairs when we were kids. I’m was such awesome big sister I wanted him to fly, too.

He didn’t.

There may or may not have been stitches involved.

Today I realized if given the choice of any super power I would NOT choose the ability to fly. Nope. I can do that with a freaking airplane. Instead I’d pick super metabolism. I could eat as much as I wanted and still look as hot as I wanted! The only time I would have to enter a gym would be to check out hot, sweaty men. And I so, so would. I would parade my skinny ass around that gym like I owned it.

It’s really the best super power ever. I’d trade my soul for super metabolism in a heartbeat. Or sleep with Super Man. Now, I just need to find that bastard. He’s been missing in action ever since I made fun of his spandex.

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.

To read this week’s column for In Utah This Week online go here. To download the PDF version go here.

And if you’re just as sick as hearing about the damn swine flu as I am then you can flip me off and ignore this post altogether. I wrote my column last week, but should have known the media would beat it to death. Sorry!

In my ongoing quest for a safe, natural looking tan I tried an airbrush tan.

This may or may not have just been an excuse to get naked in front of someone. Sometimes when you’re single it’s good to have that body check. If I’m forced to get naked in front of an actual human it’s harder to let myself go (read: eat fuckloads of chocolate).

Getting the town was quick and easy–my favorite!  As I was getting dressed the technician reminded me not to wear any restrictive clothing. I took heed of her warning and tossed my bra and panties into my purse. On my way out she recommended stopping at the store for Aveeno lotion to extend the tan.

I stopped by the drugstore on my way home for the lotion. I needed the tan to last. I spent $30 on it; I wanted to get my money’s worth. I walked up to the cash register and was pleased to see my favorite cashier. The elderly gentleman is always so friendly with me and I just love him. As I fumbled in my purse for my wallet my panties fell out and landed directly in front of him.

NOOOOOOO!!!!

His face turned bright red and he just stared at them not knowing if he should pick them up and hand them to me, or not. I dived across the counter, scooped up the panties, tossed them in my purse and made an attempt at an apology as I threw my money down and ran.

Dammit! Now I have to find a new drugstore, or more modest looking panties.

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.

It seems there are some crazy rumors flying around the internet about little old me. It’s disconcerting to say the least.

What rumors you must be wondering? No, it’s not about the time I danced atop a table in a bar. The details of that night die with me.

This is worse.

MUCH WORSE.

It seems my dear friend Kelli has broken our secret pact. So much for “what happens in the country, stays in the country.” Instead of keeping her big mouth shut, she ratted me out to the entire internet. An accident is an accident. I would never purposely hurt a dear friend like Kelli. Unless, of course, she refuses to back to Utah WHERE SHE BELONGS!

And as soon as I’m completely recovered from this nasty bout of the flu I am going to kick that girl’s ass—giving us both a much-needed workout. GIRL FIGHT!

It’s on girly.

I’ve had numerous people tell me how much they hate the new season of “The Hills.” Everyone is complaining how staged the show is, but NOT ME! It’s totally real, scheduled maybe, but very, very real.

Between school and work it’s been difficult to find the time to watch it. In a brilliant multitasking plan my workmate, Robyn, and I have been watching the show together on our lunch break at work as we eat.

It’s perfect! Well, almost perfect. I just need to figure out how to get the nerds to stop protesting:

To read this week’s installment of “That’s What She Said” online go here. To download the PDF version go here.

So maybe that’s stretching the truth, but wearing the tank top from his concert to bed is practically the same thing as sleeping with him. The only difference is there’s WAY less risk of an STD.