Jenna's House of Idiosyncrasies Version 10.0 [Focus.]

I had a blast at The Company's Xmas party. I took the Indian as my date, and at 6:00 pm we got on the bus that would take most of the Athens attendees to the party in Gwinnett. The thing that is both cool and dangerous about taking a bus to this party is the drinking begins the moment you get on the bus. So, my estimate was totally off. Drinks included:

• Something Neil handed to me on the ride down, ordering me to “Drink this!” Even though it was pretty weak the Indian determined for me that it contained bourbon.
• three vodkas on the rocks from the bar at the party (where I had this classic exchange with the bartender):
  

  “Vodka on ice, please.”
  (Incredulous.) “Vodka on ice?”
  “Yessir.”
  (Smiling.) “I like it when people say that.”

• Something an unnamed manager came up and offered. Possibly gin with sprite.
• All of what was in my flask. (5-6 oz. vodka)
• About half of the whiskey in Neil's flask.
• and several hits off of Neil's bottle of Gentleman Jack.

An aside: while making this list, I have determined I owe Neil a bottle of something in the near future.

The party had a casino theme, and while I didn't gamble, I did stand at the end of the craps table for a little while, cheering and blowing on dice. I felt like an archetypal Vegas blonde and I loved it. I stayed off the dance floor but shook my hips to the music anyway. CB and I rapped along to Missy Elliot while Neil gave us his best faux look of stern dissapproval in our musical tastes. I didn't express it but I couldn't get over how hot everyone looked. We clean up very nicely, part timers especially.

Silliness abounded, which as it turns out, was only a precursor to the drunken melodrama that followed on the ride home.

“Call him, do it now.” insisted the Indian, referring to the Crush.

“I'm not going to call him!” I countered in a drunken slur. “I'm going to tell him in my own time, and not over the phone!”

“If you don't call him right now,” he held up Neil's Gentleman Jack, still just over a third full, “I'm going to drink the rest of this right now, and then you'll have to deal with me making a fool out of myself in front of your coworkers.” He grinned his evil best friend grin, which ironically means he's serious.

“Fine!” I made him give me the bottle. I took another long swallow. And then I dialed the phone.

I proceeded to have a very uncomfortable conversation, skirting around the issue as best I could, but the dude knew something was up. I said goodnight, and hung up.

And then, for whatever reason, I decided I needed to come clean via text message.

Seriously folks, I know I seem cool, but I'm really a huge geek.

I got a call back, as we were exiting the bus. The rejection call. I won't lie, it stung. Nobody likes to be rejected. But the next day, after the tears had dried and the copious amounts of liquor had been slept off, I could not believe how relieved I felt. Like, thank god that's finally over with.

“Jenna,” proclaimed Abie at hearing this story, “I don't how you sit or even walk with those huge cojones you have. That was seriously really brave.”

I must give props to my crutch, liquid courage, and CB and the Indian for pushing me/blackmailing me/stealing my phone and sending a text message that wouldn't send.

The Dude formerly known as the Crush was out with the same group as myself Saturday night, and I approached him, apologizing for the drunken call and confrontation. “I never would have done that if I hadn't been like, gone. So I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything.”

The Dude then gave me the most sensitive, decent answer you could hope for in this situation, saying only, “There's nothing to be sorry about. It probably all needed to be said anyway. Now we're both clear on where we stand, right?”

“Right.” We clinked glasses and drank, and I again felt this overwhelming relief.

At this point Maggie collected me and we walked down to Tastyworld to see Will Hoge. The gentlemen working the door checking IDs took Maggie's but waved me off.

“C'mon, I know you.” He turns to Maggie and addresses her as he hands back her ID. “She's going to order Honey Brown.”

“They know you here!” exclaimed Maggie, delighted. I was totally taken aback. In a good way, of course.

Maggie bought me a few and I found further solace in rock n roll and alcohol. Being rejected is a blow to the ego, but not as exhausting as secret keeping.

It's over—and I couldn't be happier.