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

“I've gotta say Jenna, you're pretty stubborn. I mean, you're the one who only eats once every three days.”

Gumby continued with an imitation of me. “‘I don't need food; I'll just snack on my ego!’”

“So how's freelancing going?”

“Well, good and bad. I'm getting to do a lot of really cool projects, and from the way it looks things are really going to take off soon. The bad part—I'm so broke at the moment that I've eaten almost nothing at all for the past week. Oh, but I lost like 7 pounds, and that's pretty cool.”

“So you're wasting away from malnutrition, but you lost like 7 pounds?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Always the optimist, Jenna. You're always the optimist.”

Friday, my plan was to quietly eat my dinner, and wait around until someone else found me something to do. This is how I begin many Friday nights. Sooner than expected, the Indian rang up me up, inviting me to come hang with him at the rockstar's birthday, at an establishment offering two things: pizza, but more importantly, beer. Afterwards, I went home to change (or, as the Indian would put it, to “pimp out”), and on returning to what was left of the party, got roped into a scheme that involved sneaking alcohol into the dorms and making fun of 18 year olds for not being able to take shots. It reminded me of being 18, when the Indian and I were usually sneaking alcohol into the dorms and making fun of people for not being able to take shots. It was the same except I felt a lot older.

After the Indian spent some time recounting some stories of when I was less aware of my own tolerance (“So we're in Helen, and Jenna here proceeds to drink a whole huge bottle of—”) we headed back downtown, ending up at Half Moon Pub, practically underneathe my house. It was mostly uneventful, though tons of fun. We closed the place down, and headed out to the street. The Indian decided to do a good deed and escort one particularly drunk girl to her home and promised to be back at my place within the hour.

I headed upstairs, washed my face, took off my pimp clothes, and put on my pajamas. I conversed with my roommate Emily and her guests for a few minutes, and then sat down on the couch to watch a DVD while I waited for the Indian to turn back up. I had not been sitting on the couch for more than two minutes when my cell phone rang.

“Jenna, it's Gumby. We're in deep shit, we need your help.”

I won't go into the gory details, but Gumby needed me to take himself and M to the jail to bail out a friend. I called the Indian, told him I was going to have to leave him in town, because I had to go. “NO! Don't leave without me!” he commanded. “I'm running. I'll be right there.” He proceeded to run many, many blocks to get back to my apartment, and the four of us headed to my car and out to the jail. It was about 3:30 AM.

We won't talk about the passenger who almost got sick in my car, or how sloppy I looked having thrown on a wrinkled dress shirt over my pajamas, or the maneuver I pulled in the middle of Lexington Road to get us back to our turn. These are all things you will have to ask my passengers about.

I will say the Indian and I spent a better part of the next hour waiting in the parking lot while Gumby went and dealt with the justice system of ACC, coaxing our sickly drunk friend M into standing, walking around, and at one point we even convinced her to do jumping jacks. Jumping. Freaking. Jacks. Much later Gumby's father showed up, and Gumby dismissed us, asking us to take M home and thanking us for our help.

I nearly forgot the way to M's house (this was no so good, because she had completely passed out at that point) but relying on my gut, I got us there. When attempting to get her out of the car, she repeated told us to “fuck off” and that she “wasn't fucking moving”, but with much more pronounced sluriness. We spent a long time making her eat bread and drink water, and then got her into bed. It was just after 5:30 AM.

“Waffle House. We need some Waffle House.”

Starving and exhausted, the Indian and I gobble down way to much fat and salt at the Epps Bridge Road Waffle House, and I drive us home. Gumby calls to let us know that his friend is finally bailed out, and that he owes me 1 thousand, 1 million.

“Well, I'll keep that in mind, I'll hit you up.”

“Even if you need me to pose nude for a sketch, I would do that, just for you.”

“Um, thanks dude.”

I was supposed to go with my roommate Melissa the next day to a show in South Carolina, but before I finally went to sleep I totally wrote her a note punking out. After the night I had, I explained, I was totally not up to it. She was very understanding about the whole thing, but I feel terrible because I did something that is a huge sore spot with me (punking out at the last minute) to someone else.

I slept til 3:00 PM while the Indian watched almost every Disney movie we have in the house. Finally he forced me out of bed, and after running a few errands and sitting around the house awhile, we went to a movie—The Forgotten. I do not recommend it. Only the first half of it is any good, and once you see the end coming about halfway through, you spend a lot of time waiting for it to be over. It did have one small redeeming factor—the utter hotness of Dominic West as the rough but charming alcoholic.

Later, after dissecting the movie to bits, going home, eating some dinner, and dressing to the nines, the Indian and I joined Chris Brown, Neil, and their respective crües at All Good, and quickly moved to Copper Creek.

At Copper Creek we easily had one of the weirdest nights of drinking ever. I believe this was partially facilitated by the $1 shots being offered from midnight to 1 AM. It began simply enough, people at tables, socializing. I ran into Matty P, who has moved to Boone and was randomly in town visiting, in the same bar I was in. I kissed Chris Brown's girlfriend. Another woman tried to undress me. I got insanely jealous of a unnamed party, which got me down for awhile. An extended while. Then we all walked back to (Chris Brown's girlfriend) Lindsey's apartment.

The Indian, my official bodyguard, was taken in a bit by the wiles of one young woman, and that is basically how I came to be walking home by myself from Chris's girlfriend's house at 5:30 in the morning.

I'm not broken up about it. It's bound to happen every once in a while.

I'm climbing up the hill that is Lexington Road, sipping water, just a little drunk and heading to the Grill for some pre-bed breakfast. A random young man pulls into the drive ahead of me in a little red car, and actually attempts to speak to me.

“Hey girl, come'ere.”

As you can imagine, I was charmed.

“No!”

“Come'ere, just for a second.”

“No! Go home!”

Now, as we all know, I am prone to make light of even serious situations. While I was firing back with my pimptastic attitude, internally I could not make light of this. I didn't panic, but I could see that me on the street and this guy sitting 10 feet away in his car with not another soul in sight was not a definitely not a good thing. I started booking it into downtown proper, with him calling after me.

After I was well within sight (and earshot) of the city workers clearing sidewalks of evidence of post-game partying, I looked behind me. I wasn't being followed. I begin walking double time in the direction of the Grill, happy to avoid having been kidnapped, and there was the potential serial killer again, ahead sitting at the intersection next to Tastyworld, watching me. I walked past the headlights with my head held high, maintaining a holier-than-thou strut, which actually just came naturally in that situation. The bastard actually calls out to me again.

“Hey girl, come'ere.”

“No!”

“Just for a second, please?”

I don't even turn around as I declare over my shoulder, “You need to go home. It ain't happenin'.” I wave my hand dimissively and keep walking.

A little tip for any young men who may be wondering: cruising around for a date at 5:30 in the morning doesn't exactly exemplify outstanding character, so don't be offended when the ladies turn you down.

I made it to the Grill, unharmed and unafraid, ordered some food and chatted with Matt, who manages most of the night shifts. He looked tired, closing out the register for the shift, a long strip of register tape moving through his hand. They had obviously done a copious amount of business that night.

“Hey Matt, how're you?”

“I'm beat, how about yourself? Did you hafta work tonight?”

“Nope, I just got caught up in a lot of drama.”

“Oh man, that's the worst. Do I ever feel for you.”

Photo (and mad carving skills) by the infamous Gumby.

A little journaling before bed, while in bed. Wi-Fi rules.

HIGHLIGHT THEN CLICK ON THE FORWARD BUTTON THINGY THEN FILL OUT PLEASE Read More »

Animals: 2 cats and my doggy all in Winder, my hometown

Best Friend(s): Sarah, Heather, Maggie, Gumby, Sam, Milton, JJ, Melissa, to name a few. I can't really call them all out I'll forget somebody and all hell will break loose.

Cohabitants: Dayana, my roommate for just one more week.

Desire(s): Get into art school, to get back in touch with an aforementioned "best friend", to lose weight, to read lots, and to make lotsa money. And to always be honest. Haha.

Eye Color: Way-bluer-than-yours blue

Favourite Foods: Pizza, maraschino cherries (I eat them like candy), cream soda, iced lattes.

Games: Dictionary Dabble, Chess, Trivial Pursuit, Starwars Monopoly. It is really way cooler than regular Monopoly.

Habits: Journaling, biting my nails, wearing headphones everywhere everytime I leave the house, complusively designing, plus sleeping, eating, drinking, showering and walking.

Interests: Web design, singing, cooking, music, live music, musicians.

Job: Full-time student, Part time web author, web designer, and live music venue techie

Kitchen...wonder or blunder? I love to cook. I wish my parent's kitchen was bigger though.

Languages: English, plus remnants of french and italian, but nothing really useful

Most valued possession: My artwork, or my CD collection. Tough choice.

Name (named after?): The official story until about 2 years ago was that Jenna is a mutation of my maternal grandmother's name, Jeanette. But my father used to be a huge comic book geek and swears than Jenna is actually Conan the Barbarian's girlfriend in comic #11. I myself have never researched it.

Outfit you love: Dirty-brown tinted jeans, camel-colored shirt with v-neck and johnny collar.

Pizza toppings: Pepperoni, or Hawaiian.

Question asked to you the most: "Why do you look like that?" Haha. I kid. It's probably "How do you make a website?"

Relationship: Argh. None.

Sport to watch: Soccer. and Snowboarding.

Television show(s): Buffy/Angel, Scrubs, 24, ER, The Simpsons, Malcolm in the Middle, Boston Public, Law and Order, X-Files reruns

Unsavory characteristic: I'm lazy as hell, mostly if I'm putting off something if I don't want to do. Also, I am very stubborn in my convictions. I get that from my father. The two of us butt heads a whole lot.

Video: Collection of Thing-a-ma-bobs, by far. Edited by Sarah Tollerson, master film maker.

Webpage: I can't pick just one, c'mon. Silliness.

Xylophone (or other instrument): When I was a kid I played clarinet in band. I would still like to learn how to play piano bt I have no time.

Year born: 1983

Zodiac Sign: Pisces Read More »