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

There is not much to report this year, but this is a Christmas tradition. Read More »

I put absolutely no stock into this kind of thing, but Mom and Dad (a Libra and a Scorpio, respectively) cut my birthday horoscope out of the paper and presented it to me today after taking me out for lunch and other fun things this afternoon.

TODAY'S BIRTHDAY (MARCH 6). Simply put, your life gets better this year. Unexpected money flow will help you celebrate your birthday by doing something you've been looking forward to. You will find peace in a relationship that has held you in some degree of unrest. April brings you new fans. An intriguing puzzle makes your summer an adventure. Libra and Scorpio adore you. Your lucky numbers are: 8, 40, 20, 11 and 15.

It doesn't quite help, but it certainly doesn't hurt.

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 »

“You should put that story on your website.”

“It's not my story!”

“But you just told it to me.”

“I told you — I heard it on the radio!”

“Oh. But you retell it really well. You should put it on your website anyway.”

“I can't put a story about a little boy and his teddy bear on my site. Right now the site is all about how depressed and cynical I am.”

“Oh, I see — so you can't break character.”

“Precisely. I've got an arc and I've got to stick to it.”

Work is keeping me extremely busy. These days I'm mostly working 10-14 hour days, followed by going to bed early and then getting up to do it all over again. Making calls, responding to emails, doing research, and then some coding. Due to some rather sudden, unprecedented success, I'm having a rather difficult time striking a reasonable work-life balance, and the craziest thing I have done this week so far is singing while making shampoo mohawks in the shower.

Watch out world, I'm unpredictable.

The other fun side effect to having completely overbooked myself is one morning this week, I had an intense anxiety attack, complete with a rapid heartbeat, dizziness, and an entirely overwhelming feeling of despair. I was immediately convinced that I had gone into the wrong line of work, that I was never going to get everything done, that all my clients would end up angry with me, and that I would be sued out of existence. Not that my business would be sued out of existence, but my very person — that I would slowly disintegrate as each wronged party took their pound of flesh.

As you can imagine, this was terrifying. I immediately called my father so he could talk some sense into me. When he didn't pick up on the first try I started crying as if I was trapped in a room with some kind of psychotic killer and no one was answering my call for help.

Thankfully Dad did pick up on the second try, and listened to me rant about my general panic for about 45 minutes. Then I felt mostly okay, and got back to work. The only part that really sucks is that wasn't the first time that happened, and it probably won't be the last.

But hey! At least I'm not running out of work anytime soon.

“Life never gets easier. It just gets harder and harder until the stress kills you.”

“That's about right.”

“Then what's the point?”

“You just have to enjoy each day while you're here.”

“It's not enough.”

“Maybe we need to get you on mood altering drugs. I know a guy who sells speed.” Laughs.

“It certainly would help with my productivity.”

“I was kidding.”

“Well, it would.”

“Until you crash and burn.”

“Eh, I'm always gonna crash and burn anyway.”

This morning, on the way to my car, I was approached by two gentlemen slightly older than myself, wielding a small hand held camera with a large, red-carpet-at-the-oscars microphone wired to it. They asked if I could help them with a project, and ask me “some questions about the birds and the bees.” Usually, I would laugh and brush off anyone trying to interview me on the street—I have walked past a fair number of petitioners, student film makers and news anchors in my short life—but something about these guys made me rethink just saying that I was in a hurry and dashing past. They smiled genuinely and asked politely. They just seemed so damn sincere.

I relented, and the camera started to roll. I immediately went into panic mode, as if I was addressing an entire room. Not good. Definitely not good.

“Did anyone ever sit you down and tell you about the birds and the bees?”

Well, I got a extremely weird speech from my mother when I was about 10? I think? The only thing I really remember about it was that she kept referring to my potential future husband—a person who was completely mythical at the time and moreover, I could not care less about at ten years old—as my “mate”. As in, “One day you will grow up and choose a mate.” Like the only thing my life was good for was growing up and popping out more little Jennas, to ensure the survival of the species. As if I were endangered, like a panda. She gave me the speech after cornering me while I was taking a bath, so I'm sitting in the tub naked, and I remember trying to disappear under the water so she would just leave me alone. She droned on for so long that the water got cold around me but I wouldn't get out because it felt safer than standing and getting even colder. I'm pretty sure that incident fucked me up for life.

“No.” Read More »

Geek talk with CB; lunch with Mom and Dad, because they think everything I say is hilarious and they make me feel like a standup comic; Hot Kathy (Demo) by Apes & Androids; EveryTopicInTheUniverseExceptChickens.com; Defaced; the photos of Franca Alejandra (warning: some are NSFW);The Scissor Sisters on Passions (which you've got to admit is just fucking weird; twitter (like having an AIM "away" message without the annoyance of actually using IM of any kind); “You move Smoothly!: Cute five-year old breaks out moves, kicks out jams, etc.” Let My People Come, The Musical; “Slab City. Several hundred people spontaneously built a city on desert land that was owned by the government, and continued to occupy it for decades despite the absence of any services that are taken for granted in civilization, such as water, power, gas, sewage, garbage, phone, postal or governmental authority.”

On my popularity:

(Wearily) “Yeah, so I'm going to get some food, and then I have to go to Barcode, because if I don't show up, I'll get all kinds of calls and text messages: ‘Where the hell are you?’, you know?”

“Wow, I wish my whole body could be as in demand as your pinky toe! I couldn't get the hot dog guy to pour hot grease on me if I was freezing!”

(Sheepishly) “I guess I'm complaining about a problem that isn't really a problem, huh?”

“Exactly.”

In which I lay bare my dizzying intellect:

“You keep asking me why you can't pick up girls downtown. I'll tell you why—because instead of actually talking to them, you've spent your whole time here with your phone open text messaging your ex-girlfriend.”

“No, no, that's not it.”

On being Thom Tollerson's daughter:

“I love drunk text messaging. Hey! I still have your dad's number. I should drunk text message your dad!”

“Do it.”

“Naw, naw, I won't.”

“Go ahead! It wouldn't be the first time he got a drunk dial from someone who has played at 106 West. One time—I can't remember his real name now for the life of me but everyone calls him Pepino—”

“Pepino?”

”—yeah, Pepino from Davisstreet was in here and he said he was going to tell on me; he was going to call up my father and tell him I was out drinking! At a bar! My dad's attitude was basically ‘Eh? What else is new?’”

In which I feel vindicated for my hard stance on drunk driving and refusing to let someone drive last weekend:

“Thank you so much. Seriously.
“You probably saved my life that night.”

In which I am touched, in a weird way:

“I'm a little too drunk.”

“I wish you could transfer some of your drunkedness to me; I'm still sober.”

“I could throw up in your mouth!”

“You know what, if I could manage to keep it down, that would probably be effective.”

“We'd be like birds!”

“Yes!”

“And you could be my baby!”

“I'll be your baby anytime, Jackie.”

“Yeah, but you'd be my bird baby.”

On the afterparty and my being in demand:

“So, are you coming with?”

(Reluctantly) “Um, sure. Why not.”

“Kick. Ass!” (With accompanying high five).