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

I have found that, out of pure laziness, my blue flip flops (my first-ever pair of flip flops, mind you) go with everything, even when they don't go with everything. This enables me to avoid the whole tying/velcro/fastening that comes with all my other shoes, which is so tiresome.

The new job is going well. I have noticed that in my office, going full time is a feeling not unlike finally being let in on some private joke. I'm not sure what the joke is, exactly, but I feel like I know the punchline.

Because I fucked around so much last year school-wise (long story short, I failed more classes than I passed), I am no longer eligible for financial aid. I therefore have no freakin’ clue how I am going to pay for my tuition. I am contemplating starting a Dropcash campaign. We at the House are not above begging.

Despite my best efforts, all I talk about now is interest rates, debt, investing, and how stressed out my current financial situation is making me. I just need to remember that if I can get through the next six months, it is all downhill from there.

I am moving July 31st. Across the street. I am way excited, even though I will have no real furniture for awhile due to the while tuition fiasco. However, I will be living alone. I firmly believe that a lack of roommates is a sure sign of adulthood. Even if you manage the whole being-an-adult thing quite poorly, like myself.

Friends, romans, countrymen: if you would like to help me move, I am offering lunch and/or dinner and/or beer and/or something more scandalous. All you have to do is save the date; I really don't own that much stuff so it shouldn't be tons of work. Very minimal amount of marching across the street with heavy objects. Do get in touch, lovelys.

Starting next week I will be working from 11 AM to 8 PM. So when you call me at 7:30 and I tell you I'm still at work, please do not be surprised. It'll be totally status quo.

Whew. I am way boring lately.

Work today was looooooooong. Everytime I was about to go home for lunch something would happen (I'd get a rush incident, torrential downpour would begin outside, someone would get me started ranting on something) so I ended up working 7 and ¼ hours straight through with no real break and no food.

By the time I got home, I was exhausted and cranky, looking forward to a small bowl of curried fried rice, and maybe some cheese eggs and toast.

I forgot my key, and the door was locked. I laid my head against it and pounded three times. I had a very singular vision in mind: I had to nuke rice. I had to do it now.

Melissa answered, all smiles, as per usual. You can count on her to be upbeat. Abie greeted me midway through the hall and scratched my back. It's one of her superpowers. It has the greatest, most soothing, stress releasing effect for such a simple action. And to top it all off: the Indian was in the kitchen, making food. Making fettucini alfredo with homemade sauce and grilled chicken. Melissa was steaming zucchini and broccoli. They were going to feed me. I was going to have a real meal, my first real meal in at least a week. One that didn't involve rice or cheese eggs. This was officially the Best Thing That Had Ever Happened To Me.

Well-nourished and full of vitamins and protein, I was able to get some laundry done, go on a beer run to Wally World and take a long walk with the Indian. It was a good night, the most charming part being when my straight but very metrosexual best friend spied the maroonish shoes next to my bookshelf and exclaimed with masculine delight,

“Are those Steve Maddens?”

They are. I was promptly scolded for not wearing my very cute shoes more often and had to put them on right away.

...

Three am. There is a long series of loud booming noise outside in the hall. Having become accustomed to loud disruptive noises of all sorts due to construction, I fully ignore it for five minutes until it dawns on me, it's three in the goddamn morning. No one gets started this early.

I go to the front door and look out the peep hole. This is the only thing I have ever used the peep hole for: checking out the door of #5. I'm laughing at the scene in the hall for another four minutes, also concerned about the noise—which is ongoing and is now accompanied by some very loud and violent cursing/yelling—when Melissa awakes.

“Jenna, what's going on?”

“The drunk bitches across the hall are locked out of their apartment.”

These two girls are pounding, kicking, screaming at the door, no pause. The one who obviously orders the other one around (that's always the case in a pair of bitchy girls) has a cell phone, and she keeps getting irate and shouting at her cell phone to the person who is not answering her calls. (“Motherfucker pick up the fucking phone.”, “ARRRRRRRRRHHHHHHHHH!”, etc.) I do not know what she thinks that will accomplish.

Pretty soon Catie is up, ready to start throwing things at them.

“What is it about this building?!? Why do we get all the crazy neighbors?!?”

Easily 10 more minutes into pounding/screaming/cursing, we are seriously thinking about calling the cops, and then the Indian is up, and is the only one ballsy enough to actually open up the door and say something.

Indian: “Fucking quiet down, people are trying to sleep.”

He shuts the door. The Noise continues. He walks back and opens it again.

Indian: “We're trying to get some sleep over here!”

Drunk Bitch #1 (squawking): “Yeah well we're trying to get into our fucking apartment!”

Indian: “I don't really care. Just shut the fuck up already.” Slams door.

DB#1 (through door): “My ass!”

Catie (facetiously): “That is absolutely the most appropriate response in this situation. ‘My ass!’”

30 seconds after that someone showed up/answered the door and finally let them in.

I think it's safe to say we will not be making friends with our new neighbors in #5.

x. Fallen for your best friend - No no no.
x. Been rejected - Yeah.
x. Been in love - No.
x. Done something you regret - a couple things, it doesn't keep me up at night or anything Read More »

Note the small title homage to Miss Samantha Kirby.

Today, while studying over at College Square, I observed one of the indie hipster kids sitting outside Lunch Paper wearing one black and one white old-school high top Converse. I'm know I'm supposed to be moved to pass some sort of judgement in this case, either consisting of, “My! How unique, cool, and off-beat!” or “How lame. How contrived.” (the former getting me some “you're so cool” praise, the latter getting me chided for being sort of square and unforgiving, allowing the chider to bathe in his/her scenester superiority—in neither case would I really care).

But the only thing I could think about was—how does he decide which foot is white and which foot is black? Does it change daily? Weekly? Is he going to switch when this pairing wears out, or is the other combination ignored completely? Is the most important part that the left is white and the right is black, or simply that they mismatch?

Clearly, my brain was looking for something to do besides study 19th century European art history. Oy.

But it sure can buy you things that make you happy.

Like the new shoes you desperately needed so you could have soles without holes.

Steve Madden purchases: this one and this one

In my quest to simply make my feet water proof, I must say, I also have become quite fashionable. Read More »

So today I'm on the bus on my way to Bio lab and I absent-mindedly look down at my shoes. Then I remember someone complimenting my Sketchers recently, saying something to the effect of "Those are nice looking shoes; when did you get them?"

Now, I usually remember the people that pay me compliments, so for the next fifteen seconds I'm killing myself trying to remember who that is, when this happened.

Then I remember that I dreamed this little encounter last night.

I can't recall any dreams lately but some imaginary person likes my shoes and that sticks.

Geez.