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

I had a dream last night that I was traveling the country in an old Aston Martin1, breaking into people's homes and stealing food from their fridges because I didn't have any money. I didn't look like myself; I was fit, lean, but slight, a little shorter than I really am, with straight strawberry blonde hair and a pointy chin.

Despite my choice of car, I was absolutely compelled by my hunger. The thing Dream Me did that struck me as especially cavalier is stick around to slice my newly acquired apple, carefully make a sandwich, or flip through a magazine left on the kitchen counter while I downed a banana. Read More »

1. 1. like this one but cream colored, with a dull finish and in need of a wash

Seeing the Indian for three weekends in a row; Etta James live in concert; the OK Go treadmill dance; the OK Go Million Ways dance, getting most or all of my news from the show with zefrank; questions and answers on Consumating; watching Goodfellas on a loop; arguing the merits of the new My Chemical Romance record with Neil and CB; driving from point A to point B without my car breaking down (2 out of the last 6 trips. Could be worse).

The first time I ever took some one's keys away, I was just a few weeks into my freshman year of college.

I know drunk driving must have been a issue when I was in high school, but it was on a different scale, because there wasn't the regular activity of pre-gaming and then going downtown. We went to parties, did shots in people's kitchens, drank Everclear mixed with coke because it was cheap and lasted twice as long. People would gather at one place and basically have a huge lock in. It was a caused by a couple of factors. In a small town where the cops don't have much to do, every one had a heightened paranoia about being pulled over and arrested. There was no where to enjoy your drunkenness except for the place where you were already drunk. If you went home, you went to your parent's home, so you might as well just sleep it off and face them sober.

I'm not a stickler for the rules, but I do feel pretty strongly about drunk driving. I've always been vehemently against it. And before I moved to Athens, I assumed this was an issue that my peers and I more or less universally agreed upon. However, just like realizing how much groceries actually cost, worrying about health insurance, and coming to terms with your parents being just human like the rest of us, part of growing up is understanding that everyone—even people you like, people you love, and people you truly admire—makes bad decisions on a regular basis. More often than learning from them they actually learn nothing from them. Especially when there are no immediate ill consequences.

However, when I was new freshman, I was still charmingly naïve. Years of PSAs and television dramas had actually convinced me that you could keep someone from driving drunk if you were determined enough, and had determined that no one would ever drive drunk on my watch.

My roommate at the time, Sonya, had a bunch of her friends visiting from her hometown, and staying with us in our tiny dorm room. They pre-gamed in our room and then it was time to head downtown.

The original plan was to walk, but standing in front of the building, facing the trek down the hill, the group, pretty drunk and unruly, decided to drive. Although I was pretty much sober, I don't remember how I managed to get the keys from the driver, but I clearly remember what happened next. Read More »

Originally uploaded by Jenna Tollerson.

living and loving life, realizing how much stuff I own, moving, thinking about moving, talking about moving, being organized, lots and lots of driving

When I started my job at my current place of work, my part time position was called, no joke, ‘Junior Web Author’. I always resented the ‘Junior’ and routinely trimmed it out of conversations and correspondence. Eventually this title was changed to the more respectable ‘Associate Web Developer’, but by that time the connotation had stuck. Some kind of intern. However, I have made the most of it, pushing for more hours and more challenging work, innovating processes, and turning myself into an important asset.

This has paid off.

Last week one of my managers called me into his office to deliver some good news: my move up to the full time position that I had been fighting for was official, and would take effect on Monday, May 16th. The move is contingent on me continuing to go to school and eventually finishing, which means, starting in the fall, I'll be working a 40 hour work week (the late shift for West coast support, 11 AM to 8 PM) plus taking 2 to 3 classes in the morning (including 8 AMs, I'm sure). Because I have not taken school at all seriously for the last year and a half, it will take me another 3 to 4 years to graduate. The whole 12-hour day thing is going to kick my ass, and crazy me, I'm excited by the prospect! I think this is how it feels to have goals. And it feels really good.

Continuing the theme of ‘Bigness in the Life of Jenna’ I signed a new lease last week, for a studio apartment about half a block from where I live now. While the new place isn't a swank as the place I currently share with five others, it will be entirely mine. No longer sharing a bedroom with another person (even if that person is the fair red headed friend) is going to be a plus, even if it's just so I can set 4 different alarms without waking up anyone but myself.

For the first time in a long time, things are going really well. So well, in fact, that aside from the initial shock of nearly ending up in the hospital, the car accident I was in over the weekend presented itself as a minor inconvenience. This is preferable to allowing it to induce panic over how can I possibly deal with one more bad thing, which would have been my reaction just a short time ago. Read More »

my “only slightly shorter but it feels a lot shorter to me” hair, my now very tangible prospects for the future, the fact that my car seems to be running fine (for now), the fabulous open mic I attended at the Red Light, knowing that even though I'm terrible at calling people HGB will call me just to check up, laughing fits that ultimately give me hiccups, being aware that even adorable British men are still no match for my special super power, a charming musician who insists on taking my picture even though it horrifies me, new music from said musician, having concrete goals thanks to Abie

On Friday my Dad invited me to dinner in Winder in honor of my grandfather's birthday. I walked to my downtown parking spot straight from work and hit The Loop™ on my way to 316. I was cruising along, jamming to a random shuffle on the iPod when the car jolted several times. Speed up, shudder, slow, speed up. Russo (my Honda) was throwing himself in and out of Sports Drive (or Super Drive, or Over drive, depending on your own car's make and model. There are probably half a dozen more names).

I can tell you than randomly accelerating and decelerating, jolting forward at haphazard intervals while all the time wondering if your brakes still work, is not my idea of a good time. Determined not to be stranded on the side of the road, I got off and parked at a gas station, taking great care to not hit anyone with my car that had a will of it's own.

I called Dad. He told me to check my transmission fluid. I had absolutely no idea how to do this. I pulled the Honda repair manual from my trunk and consulted it. It contained lots of words that are new to me like “transaxle”. It told me the dipstick for the “transaxle” fluid should be on the passenger side of the engine. I looked and looked but I was so not finding it. Dad volunteered to come rescue me, at which point, any pretense of getting to eat with my grandfather was given up.

While I waited for Dad to show, three young men parked near me and got out, asking if I needed any help.

Exasperated, I laid it down for them, “Well, actually, I'm having a really dumb problem. I'm trying to check my transmission fluid and I can't find where I'm supposed to check it.”

The three of them volunteered to take a look. I was sure I was about to be shown up by men and their useful vehicle knowledge.

They proceeded to spend the next ten minutes searching under my hood for the spot. They couldn't find it either. About seven minutes into it, I exclaimed, “I am so happy I'm not the only one who can't find this!”

They all gave me good natured looks-as-if-our-manhood-has-been-threatened nods and smiles. Then one of them had a eureka moment, reached down into the bowels of the engine and retrieved the dipstick, something I was not able to do later without burning my hand on the still-hot engine.

Even though they claimed to know nothing about cars, two of them accompanied me inside the store to search for transmission fluid. Finding nothing of any use, we all walked back outside, where the most attractive of the three advised me the his “daddy refuses to work on those sideways motors.”, indicating something about my car that I myself had just learned—the engine is set left to right instead of the standard and predictable front to back position. “He's all American.”

“That's pretty funny.”

“I don't know what to tell you.” He grinned. “Buy a Chevy.”

I laughed, and thanked them for their time.

Dad arrived, and after a brief diagnostic in which we discovered, among other things, that I was low on oil, he drove me over to Wal-mart where I purchased fuel injector cleaner, oil, and very expensive transmission treatment ($10!). We then drove back over and applied these various treatments.

I don't know exactly which fluid hit Russo's sweet spot, but in any case, where he was indecisive and uncooperative before, he was now a smooth operator. Fluids in every orifice brought back his stamina, and he was happy and sated. Through, after all that he did have a little trouble getting going again. Russo's pick-up hasn't been the same since. He now needs lots of extra encouragement, like he's self-conscious after being all probed and explored.

I will say that this experience has informed me that I am indeed the girl who doesn't take care of her car. I kept meaning to do all the check-up type things that would have prevented this whole episode, but I just let it slip my mind while I worried about make up and boys.

I course, had I done all the check-up type things, I wouldn't have had the more salacious experience of learning all about what Russo has under his hood.

being addressed as doll, babe, blue eyes, sweeetheart, sweetie, and Jen-nahnahnah; watching some of my three very best friends talk for hours, even if it was all boxing, and therefore boring after many minutes; driving the Indian home in the warm mid-day sun, my finally clean car, staying up too late because you know you can sleep in, Terrapin Cream Ale

guests holed up with us during the ice “storm”, being told with alarming frequency that I look like I've lost weight, talking to Abie (because she makes me feel important), being able to drive again (got the busted window fixed finally), remembering once again what it's like to be broke and not minding as much as I should, finally any music I want to hear at any given time, all the time