Turns out the drama queen syndrome is contagious and the curveball was a false alarm. I do, however, appreciate the concern from you all. (Ha ha, get it? You all is Aurora and Alexis! No one else reads this shit!)

I haven't had a particularly busy week, but I have been very much away from computers. I finished off my time living in the Cities last week and I'm scared to say I actually enjoyed it. It was probably just my company; I could never make it down there alone. Raneej and I drove back home on Friday night, got here at about 11:30, then at 5:30 the next morning the two of us and Pops set out on a journey to - where else - Michigan! We drove to Sault Sainte Marie and spent the evening there, ogling the Soo Locks, then we drove back home yesterday. A whole lot of driving, but at least I got some reading done. Yes, Harry is my new best friend. In addition, I learned there are miles of sandy beaches on Lake Superior! And you only have to drive to Michigan to find them!

I'm back home now and the lack of companionship is eerie. I've become accustomed to having someone around all the time. At school there was always someone to talk to, then I had Angie, then Darren, then Angie, but now I'm all alone. At least I've got the dog. Perhaps I could learn to appreciate alone time.

I'm headed back to work on Wednesday. Man oh man, I wonder if I'll remember what to do. It's always nice to go back after a while but the novelty wears off once the tourist traffic and malt demand (turns out they go hand-in-hand) increase.

On another note, I feel kind of bad that I really didn't get grades I deserved this semester. I'm happy with what I got, but I know I didn't earn them. Could it be that for the past three years I could have been putting forward much less effort and receiving the same grades? Ah, that would be my luck - to have that dawn on me now. Perhaps things will be different next semester, but probably not.

Instead of thinking about life's latest curveball, I'm going to recap my weekend. (Didn't you know that if you don't think about your problems, they're not really there?)

So yes, the weekend. On Friday Darren and I went to the Golden Valley Huamne Society, which truly is a doggy and kitty paradise. They had other shit too, like gerbils, but we didn't care about them. Small furries are for losers. Anyway, it was great to finally go there and see some of the animals I've been looking at on their web site for months. It was kind of like meeting famous people whom I have admired from afar for a long time. Upon experiencing this feeling, I decided it was time to get out more.

On Saturday I had my first Metrodome experience. That's right, twenty years a resident of this fine state and not once had I been to the Dome. Until Saturday. We saw the Twinkies wallop the White Sox. There were beach balls and drunken men galore and it was good. I'm ready to go back. Like now.

Ah, and Sunday. It was raining yesterday. It was raining and Darren's buddy was moving. And since we'd be Bad People if we didn't help, we went, stood in the rain, packed up the truck, and got the hell out of there. I'm still somewhat cold thinking about it, but I hope that'll pass. And even if it doesn't, why would moving Darren's friend stick out in my mind, making me think of it often enough to induce an all-over chilliness? It was a lot of fun, despite the elements. In fact, I doubt it would have been nearly as much fun had the elements been less horseshit.

Oh oh! On Friday we saw Shrek 2! How could I possibly have forgotten that? My how I laughed. I was also shocked to see that my high school home economics teacher played the Fairy Godmother. What are the odds!?

But now. Now. Now I must go clean more. Cleaning makes me not think about things. I bet my roommates are wishing I had stuff I didn't want to be thinking about when school was still in session, huh? Sorry guys.

What I've learned whilst dating a sports fan(atic):

When you try to talk over a commentator and your significant other says, "What?!" in a rather annoyed, exasperated tone, do not, I repeat DO NOT, try to spit back what you just said. He doesn't care if the bathroom is flooding. He doesn't care if the cat is on fire. He doesn't care and he's not talking to you. He's talking to the commentator whom you so rudely interrupted. So, for the love of all that is holy, stop talking! Do you even know how important this free throw is?!

So this is what it has come to. I'm sitting alone in my boyfriend's apartment, thinking about how I should be reading that lovely Harry Potter series (because I'm years behind the rest in everything I do) but not wanting to because school is over, damn it, it would be just plain stupid for me to read for pleasure.

Well, I lied. I'm not alone. The Cat That Likes To Sleep On People's Heads is here, but he's quiet (imagine that!) and sleeping on the ottoman since no heads are in the reclining position and available for sleeping on. I like the diseased little fellow, don't get me wrong, I just have a tough time sleeping with his intrusive whiskers up my nose.

Summer vacation has been great so far. And seeing as I'm not at home, it's actually felt like a vacation. I had a great weekend with my sister, capped off by sitting on her patio on neon-colored plastic lawn chairs from Wal-Mart, passing back and forth a 40 of Miller Lite and talking about how stupid boys are. She did all kinds of wonderful things for me, like buy me food at the grocery store and bring me to Olive Garden (let's pretend the fat kid can think of other 'wonderful things' that don't involve food, shall we?) Plus we played tennis!

I've also been having a hell of a time with Darren. I beat his ass at miniature golf AGAIN yesterday, then took him home (okay okay, so he took me home...it sounds so much less dramatic that way) and kicked his ass at Playstation Jeopardy. (Alexis, you need to make a trip to the cities to show us how it's done!) And it was good...

I'm having a tough time believing I won't be going back to school in a few days. Saying goodbye never seems to get easier, especially as everyone gets to mean more and more to me. I haven't made all that many friends in college, but the ones I have made mean the world to me and I couldn't have asked for a better bunch to befriend me.

Well, I think I should play housewife today and do some cleaning before the hard-working man of the house (err, efficiency apartment) returns from his long day of work. Is it wrong that I don't feel a tinge of guilt for sitting here, unshowered and disheveled, at 11:30 when the fellow was up seven and a half hours ago to go to work? Ah, to be unemployed...

Actually, no, it's not my body that hates me. It's the cranberry juice that hates my body. You would think I'd have the sense to stop drinking it.

Apparently my body hates me.

So I drink the fucking cranberry juice to abate the wretched bladder infection, but no one bothered to tell me what cranberry juice in excess will do to a person's digestive system. It wasn't pretty. It was painful. And it still is.

I'll leave it at that.

Eight hours and sixty-four ounces of cranberry juice later, my bladder infection seems to be getting worse. Perhaps I'm consuming the fruity bitterness too quickly. Perhaps this thing just has to run its course. There's one thing I know for sure though. Being sick, having a bladder infection and getting my period are going to make this a great week. Hee hee heeeee! Oh, and did I mention the finals? Yes, I think I did.

I feel like I should be in a shitty mood but I'm jollier than I have been in a while. The toilet just overflowed after I used it (bladder infections and cranberry juice measurable only by gallons lead to mucho bathroom usage) and I stood there and stared at it in horror for a minute as the water splashed, quite violently, over the sides of the bowl. I leapt back, scared to get my socks wet, then started laughing hysterically as I bounced out of the bathroom. Cassi...little Cassi who is 5'2" and weighs maybe 90 pounds...is dominating that toilet right now. Trust me, folks: You should not mess with this plunger-wielding gal, small as she may be. AND SHE FIXED IT!

Thank the sweet Lord for roommates.

The monster is asleep - poor little bugger has got a headache - giving me the perfect opportunity to blog about my (thus far) fantastic weekend. I've had a fair portion of buffalo wings. I've watched Stuck on You AND Calendar Girls. I've celebrated the most beautiful day Duluth has given us thus far this year. I've gone to the mall and bought one of everything at Target. But most importantly, I went mini golfing.

Nothing says summer to me like miniature golf and today, as I whacked around that bright purple golf ball under the penetrating warmth of the May sun with oldies blaring from the give-us-your-money-here golf hut, I wasn't with Darren. I was with my dad. I was with my dad for three reasons (let's lay this out like a beginning college course, shall we? Take good notes.) First, I was in the Duluth area (Superior counts). Second, it was sunny. But the real kicker was the oldies. Combine the three and I'm with my dad mentally, if not physically, every time without fail. I was glad I was actually with Darren though, because my dad always beats the piss out of me at mini golf. I'm am truly proud that I pounded (yes, pounded...by one whole stroke) my "naturally athletic" boyfriend. Yes, that's right. The chubby redhead whose boobs always left gaping holes between the buttons on her softball jersey beat the self-proclaimed natural athlete. He should probably rethink his self proclamations.

Even though I rode high off my win most of the day, I seem to be losing the buzz and moving into the morning-after phase. Does that even happen when you get high? I don't think so. But honestly, people, how the hell would I know? I've got a headache and my ears hurt and I've obviously been swallowing nails because my throat sure doesn't feel all that pretty. And to top it off, I feel like I'm getting the beginnings of a bladder infection. I had Dairy Queen earlier, which made me feel temporarily better (as Dairy Queen does), but now that the goods are gone I'm feeling it again. That's okay though, I'll probably live. All of this will really add to the finals week atmosphere that leaves us all lying on the floor, begging the good Lord to just take us, take us now and make all the papers and projects and exams go away.

The legs are shaved, the wounds are healing, and now I just have to find some way to pass the next four hours before the dearest that is my fellow knocks at my door. I'm still in awe at how I can manage to maim my legs after shaving (although by no means regularly) for the past seven years. I remember a few years back when my mom used to shave and she would have streams of blood flowing down her chicken-like legs every time she took a razor to them. Now she only has nine toes, but the toe loss was unrelated to any sort of hair removal.

So I wonder how a woman of 50 can manage to massacre herself so badly. Am I doomed to the same fate? Is it in the genes or is it common for women to fear themselves once their fingers touch a pale pink, seemingly harmless, razor? I cringe to think what my pasty legs might look like in 30 years. I hope I can at least keep all of my toes, even though the old lady's four-toed foot looks pretty damn cool.

There's got to be some sort of entertainment around here... Maybe, like, homework or something, considering next week is finals week. But that would be just silly. Flat out wrong. I'm going to go lick my wounds. Ick.

What better way to utilize time between classes that isn't enough time to go back to the apartment but is enough time to leave me painfully bored than to blog?

It's early. I'm sure about that much. But it also turns out that the class I just sat through is my last ever 8 o'clock class. In undergraduate school, at least. God forbid I go on to grad school and have to take an 8 o'clocker there. That's enough to make a girl not want to enrich herself intellectually.

I have two classes left today, one tomorrow, and then I have one semester left of school. It really is hard to believe, considering I often still think of myself as a freshman. I realize I'm not, but it just feels like it sometimes. No way does it feel like I've been at this place three years. It's been a great three years though. Well, the last two have been great. It's funny how the most important lessons I've learned at college have absolutely nothing to do with the actual schooling part. I still feel like I have so much to learn...maybe that's why I feel like a freshman. Maybe I'll elaborate on those lessons someday. Maybe next semester at about this time, when I'm sure I'll be feeling teary and nostalgic and sad to be done. NEXT SEMESTER! Yoses.

Summer is right around the corner so I have plenty to look forward to. When I finish finals next Friday I'm headed down to the cities where I could stay as long as two weeks. Ah, another relationship test. After one week I was wanting more of Darren. Let's see what happens after two. I have a sneaking suspicion I'll still be wanting more.

As I typed that bit about summer being fast on its way, the kid sitting in front of me glanced outside...then looked a bit harder (prompting me to think either he was slightly challenged or I was missing something big) and announced in a look-what-I-saw-before-you tone that, "It's snowing!" So much for summer...