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

I do this every year, (or, at least, every year since 2003) and it is absolutely compulsory.

As in years past, I must preface this with a warning to not proceed if you have delicate sensibilities. I would say, though, that overall, I've been especially good this year. Read More »

Each year, we at the house take an intimate look at the last 12 months, in a frighteningly frank way. This is to keep things honest, despite anything else that may have been written. This year it seems more important that ever, because we haven't been checking in as much.

As always, if you think you may be offended by cursing, graphic sexuality, talk about death, destructive relationships, or substance abuse, among other topics, turn away now. Have some kittens.

In addition, if you feel that such talk might ruin your holiday, save the read until after the new year.

And now, on with the show. Read More »

New design. The idea came from something my dear CB said to a group of people seated around a table with me on my last birthday, a table that constituted just a fraction of the people that showed up that night to spend time with me: “Jenna has a black belt in popularity.”

People talking about how likable I am will never get old.

Overall, I had a really good birthday. I got literarily dozens of calls, text messages, and emails wishing me well. I got several “Happy Birthday” posts on my Facebook wall, even though I don't publish my birthday on Facebook. I couldn't get any work done, but at least I felt loved.

I put in my contacts, put on makeup and a nice shirt, and went to a birthday dinner with Emily, Melissa and Greg. Then we slowly made our way to Barcode.

And lo, this is where the trouble started.

Thanks to my generous friends, I consumed five drinks, including several shots, within the hour. By eleven o'clock the number was at about ten. After that I stopped keeping count.

The thing is, I wasn't trashed. I was drunk, I'll admit, making me more chatty, more bouncey, and a little dumber than usual, but I wasn't falling over. I remember most of the evening pretty clearly. Until about half past one am.

Then, in my memory, there is nothing. Nothing at all until Stephanie grabbed me and pulled me over to her car, which was parked across the street. (That was about half past two. I think).I remember getting out of the car, waving goodbye, and walking into my building. I don't even remember making it to my apartment door.

Next thing I know, it's mid-morning, and I'm naked, cold, and still drunk.

Yesterday I got the idea that I should take a picture of myself everytime I went to the ladies room at Barcode. Sort of like a drunken diary of progression. I thought it would be funny, and would give me something to write about.

But then, one thing lead to another, and between schmoozing with everybody that showed up and slamming down shot after shot, I mostly forgot about it, and only managed to get one picture, at about 11:30:

Well, that's what I thought, anyway. Read More »

Good morning all! I am, in fact, still drunk from my escapades last night. I woke up about an hour ago on top of the covers on my bed, not being able to remember anything after Steph drove me home. Clearly, I got all the way inside my apartment (good) and spent the rest of the night alone (doubly good, considering). I woke up wearing just my bra, underwear and a camisole that I had been wearing under my clothes, makeup still on, across the width of my bed with my legs hanging off. And freezing.

I could, theoretically, have gotten into a little more trouble last night. It would have made a better story (assuming I could remember anything), but overall, I think I'm happy with the way things turned out. I think.

I didn't expect to wake up still drunk. I expected to wake up desiring to cut off my own head to stave off the pain. So that's good too.

If you don't mind, I'm going back to bed now.

24 years ago today, I came into this world. With me, I brought grumpiness completely incongruent with whatever situation is at hand.

We do this every year. Frank, R-rated discussion of friends, drinking, sex, music, money, illness, politics, and many other subjects follow. If you are a sensitive, delicate flower, I suggest you go elsewhere. Particularly if you are over 50 (if you baby boomers proceed anyway, I'll bear no responsibility for possible heart attacks). Read More »

When I was a kid, I loved October for the sophisticated reason that my birthday was in the middle of the month, and just when I was coming down from the presents and cake, two weeks later came the sugar-coma-inducing, best-holiday-EVER, Halloween.

Over the years, however, October lost its charm with me. Birthday celebrations in offices were pathetic disappointments compared to elementary school birthday parties, where instead of distributing cupcakes with sprinkles to all of your eager classmates, you get to eat cake at a staff meeting on a random day of the month co-celebrating your birthday with three other schlubby Libras.

(Wood at Sweet Juniper)

Back when I worked in an office, all of the birthdays for a month would be celebrated with a single cake, and everyone born in that month would have to discuss the type of cake to get over a long, slightly jokey email chain. I rarely ate the office birthday cakes, even when I had skipped lunch, because white sheet cake or ice cream cake or cookie cake are all rather unexciting, and I was usually caught up in actual work.

The man who would eventually become my manager shared my birthday month. All I wanted was to get carrot cake, a cake that was exciting enough to eat, and each year this man vetoed my humble suggestion, so we'd have to get another boring sheet cake that I would not eat. I understand that my lack of carrot cake was more or less in the spirit or compromise, but in the context of all the other crap I had to put up with, it usually just felt like he was pulling rank, that I had to compromise even when he didn't, ever.

I know I sound bitter, and that's mostly because I am. I will never get back the time of my life that I spent fighting these petty corporate office politics. My only regret is that I didn't leave sooner.

• Thanks to a new more powerful server, I'm able to put more things on this page that scream Look at me! Look at me! Look at me!. A generation of livejournalers and myspacers rejoice. Everyone else gets nauseated.
• Sitting at a computer for fourteen hours a day of late has caused me to have scores of geeky nightmares, like the horror of command line errors in Unix, or a senario where Indiana Jones style spikey walls are coming at me from both sides while I try to restore a couple thousand backend applications in the space of five minutes. This is either a sign that I don't have any real problems to have nightmares about, or an indicator of serious, disturbing amounts of anxiety. I don't know that dreaming about error messages is supposed to make a person wake up in a cold sweat.
• I turned 23 this week. I celebrated in style with a very large posse at Barcode. I don't remember the last couple hours of the evening very well. I'm told that is what is supposed to happen on your birthday.
• I want summer. Badly. I want t-shirts, flip-flops, hot steamy days and cool balmy evenings. This winter, these past several months, have been some of the longest of my life.
• And now to bed. To bed I said.

A House Christmas Eve Tradition. Read More »