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

Random guy walks up to me at the Bain Mattox show at Tasty World. I notice he's wearing a hat that I own, but he's otherwise completely unfamiliar to me.

“Hey! Is your sister here?”

“Yeah, she's close to the front.” I point to where my sister is standing with her friend watching the show.

“Where?”

“Right there, in the turquoise.”

“Oh, cool!”

He stands next to me for a couple of minutes, facing the stage. I'm little intoxicated, and I start to blame my drunk memory on not remembering this guy, but I realize that he doesn't even look slightly familiar. I screw up a little courage and turn to him.

“I'm sorry, do I know you from somewhere?”

“No, no, I just recognize you from myspace.”

He was even serious.

***

I'm at my bar enjoying a delicious beverage. My friend is at my left, his coworker is at my right. The coworker is quite rotund, wearing a shirt that says, ‘When you masturbate, God kills a kitten.’, keeps proclaiming loudly to the whole bar that someone should help him lose his virginity tonight, and has had one—count it, one—Smirnoff Ice. He has the social skills of a home-schooled kid except without the helpful element of shyness. He and I are not getting along, although I'm sure that would be a surprise to him. He thinks he can woo me, and attempts to work his game, giving me a smooth line that he's probably been waiting to use on someone for weeks.

He turns to me, unprovoked, and says with utmost sincerity, “You know what? Even though I haven't been drinking, you're still really cute.”

He looks at me expectantly, wondering why I'm not falling into his arms or at least blushing and giggling like a school girl. I don't even blink. After the half an hour or so I had already spent with the coworker, this comment just seemed par for the course.

My friend on my other side hadn't heard any of this due to the volume of the noise in the bar, so I turned and relayed it to him, scoffing. We then laughed together, manically as we are wont to do, and the coworker just sat, bewildered.

“What did I say?”

I had a blast at The Company's Xmas party. I took the Indian as my date, and at 6:00 pm we got on the bus that would take most of the Athens attendees to the party in Gwinnett. The thing that is both cool and dangerous about taking a bus to this party is the drinking begins the moment you get on the bus. So, my estimate was totally off. Drinks included:

• Something Neil handed to me on the ride down, ordering me to “Drink this!” Even though it was pretty weak the Indian determined for me that it contained bourbon.
• three vodkas on the rocks from the bar at the party (where I had this classic exchange with the bartender):
  

  “Vodka on ice, please.”
  (Incredulous.) “Vodka on ice?”
  “Yessir.”
  (Smiling.) “I like it when people say that.”

• Something an unnamed manager came up and offered. Possibly gin with sprite.
• All of what was in my flask. (5-6 oz. vodka)
• About half of the whiskey in Neil's flask.
• and several hits off of Neil's bottle of Gentleman Jack.

An aside: while making this list, I have determined I owe Neil a bottle of something in the near future.

The party had a casino theme, and while I didn't gamble, I did stand at the end of the craps table for a little while, cheering and blowing on dice. I felt like an archetypal Vegas blonde and I loved it. I stayed off the dance floor but shook my hips to the music anyway. CB and I rapped along to Missy Elliot while Neil gave us his best faux look of stern dissapproval in our musical tastes. I didn't express it but I couldn't get over how hot everyone looked. We clean up very nicely, part timers especially.

Silliness abounded, which as it turns out, was only a precursor to the drunken melodrama that followed on the ride home. Read More »

It is 10 til 8:00 on Friday morning. Dehydrated, head pounding, I stumble into the kitchen to get water. As I pour a glass, Emily, who is about to head off to work, looks at me with concern, tilts her head and asks, “How do you feel?”

The first word I utter this morning comes out as a choked, low sound as I squint at her.

“Drunk.”

...

Thursday night I was invited out by coworkers (mainly, Neil) for drinks at Copper Creek. I arrived a little after 8:00, with Abie and the Indian in tow, and ordered something they brew in-house at Copper Creek, an Abbey Ale. Abbey Ales are fruity, dark and deliciously deceptive: even though it is printed clearly on the sign touting house beers, one soon forgets that it contains 7.9% alcohol. By the time our party had moved out to the patio area, I had consumed three, plus the half of Abie's she had been unable to finish (“I'm just not a big beer drinker!” she had proclaimed).

Hilarity ensued.

I remember:

• Neil, Abie and Tyler trying to get me to sing. When I displayed reluctance, they tried to get me to rap.
  “C'mon Jenna! Bust out some Southern Hospitality!”
  I declined.
• It somehow coming out among my coworkers that I'm a ‘nympho’, if only by my inability to deny it.
• Insulting people, having it repeated back to me 10 seconds later and truly not remembering 10 seconds later calling anyone a “cunt”.
  
  “I didn't just say that, did I?”
  “Yes, you did.”
  “Wow.”
• I was asked to and sang along with the cheesy jazz covers record they had been playing in the bar on a loop for the last three hours. I was too drunk to be accurately singing, and kept exclaiming in my defense that the singer was in a really weird key.
• Repeating expertly accented Japanese phrases back to Abie, under the pretense that I actually might remember some of it, which of course I don't. She was delighted by my skillful pronunciation, however. I got mad skillz.

After I finished my fourth (and ½) Abbey Ale, at about 11:30 the group split, with Neil and Tyler off to the 40 Watt and myself and my crüe off to Tastyworld for Bain Mattox. Sam Deeds was there, as were my roommates Alli and Catie, my sister Sarah, and Heather and Rob (who are delightful, but officially belong to Abie I think).

The Indian buys me more beer. I protest that I don't need anymore. He pulls the “I'm not asking, I'm telling!” form of best friend manipulation. I cave. I have a lot more to drink, but am never so drunk that I fail to get served at the bar.

The Indian forces me to waltz with him during one number, and I step on his feet a lot as we bump into everyone around us. This did not make us popular, I think.

At the end of the show, I spend long amounts of time praising Bain and his bandmates on their most excellent performance, and then have the audacity to quiz him on my name. Very confidently he blurts out “Abie.” I smile and correct him. He feels bad, and then I feel bad for making him feel bad. I tell both Bain and Brian at separate times that they are the cute one in the band, both while they are standing right there. I monopolize their time.

It's amazing what some people will put up with when it comes to their fans.

After saying goodbyes I make it home, drink a couple glasses of water, and decide that I'll be okay for class and work at 9 am. Obviously, I was wrong.

...

dude (6:31:37 PM): you have a rough morning?
me (6:32:04 PM): yes. yes I did.
me (6:32:33 PM): still drunk this morning actually
dude (6:32:41 PM): lovely
dude (6:32:46 PM): yeah you were pretty plowed
me (6:33:40 PM): I wasn't that bad, was I?
dude (6:34:28 PM): hahahahaha
dude (6:35:04 PM): :) you were tolerable :)
me (6:35:14 PM): tolerable
me (6:35:29 PM): what every girl wants to hear, that she is tolerable :)
dude (6:35:34 PM): hahaha
me (6:36:28 PM): well I meant all that stuff about being glad to see you, even if I did say it 45 times
dude (6:36:56 PM): hahaha
dude (6:37:32 PM): i wonder
dude (6:37:51 PM): if we as humans have a drunk memory section in our brains
dude (6:38:08 PM): you know how sometimes when you're drunk you don't remember what happened
dude (6:38:25 PM): well what if you got drunk again and then made an effort to think about it again
dude (6:38:28 PM): would you remember?
me (6:38:33 PM): hmmmm
me (6:38:49 PM): I don't know
me (6:39:02 PM): I usually don't have memory problems when I'm drunk

So I lied, but I didn't know I was lying at the time, I swear.

Last Thursday night I went to see Will Hoge play at Tastyworld. He played everything I wanted to hear. I danced a lot, and sang along at the appropriate parts. I got drunk. Really, really drunk. I officially introduced myself to the Tastyworld bartenders, even though they have known my face and my drink for quite a while now. Julie and Jason both praised me at different times for being such a wonderful, easy to deal with customer. I felt special.

Talking to Will after the show I felt like a not-so-responsible music geek, because I had to inquire into the interludes/breakdowns during “Sweet Magdeline”.

“Led Zeppelin — ‘How Many More Times’, and the Beatles — ‘Helter Skelter’.”

“Led Zeppelin.”

“Yes — I'll tell you what you do. You go out, you buy Zeppelin I and II.”

“I and II. You know, I have IV.”

“No no no — by IV, they were into to much of that devil shit. This is pure solid rock n roll. So, you listen for about 2 weeks.”

“2 weeks.”

“That's about how long it really takes. Then you go out and buy a DVD called How the West Was Won. You'll love it. Then email me and tell me how it changed your life, because it will change your life.”

“It'll change my life.”

“Yes ma'am.”

“I have to tell you, I got into Otis Redding a few years ago because of how much you talked about him.”

“See, I've never led you astray.”

“Never.”

I did the fangirl thing, waiting outside in the back while those chuckleheads loaded their gear, and then ended up at IHOP with Will, his new tour manager Russell, and four random girls. We entertained the waitresses. I annoyed everyone with the drunken laughing and carrying on.

I got home at about 5:30 am. I don't remember falling asleep, but I do remember waking up to my alarm, still drunk, feeling like I hadn't slept at all, abso-fucking-lutely amazed it was 8 am already. I seriously could not believe it. I was sure there was some malfunction on my alarm clock, and I checked it against my cell phone. Unbelievable! I thought. Did I even sleep?

I went to class and sat there for about 20 minutes, staring at the slides, hearing the teacher, before I realized that my drunkness was quickly turning into a hangover and I didn't know what the hell was going on in the class itself. I got up, out, and walked to work in the bright morning.

The first couple of hours at work seemed to take My Entire Life. At one point I realized I had been staring at my monitor for 15 minutes, mouth slightly agape, eyes glossed over. I clocked out, went home, and took a nap for lunch.

That night I went to bed just after 10 pm, and slept til noon the next day. I got up and padded around the house in my pjs, made food, and contemplated traveling to Smith's to see Will Hoge. Yes, again. The kicker was when Tessa posted in her livejournal that she had a plus one that someone could take advantage of. I called her up, and I had a free ticket that I couldn't back out of. It was etched in stone.

With that decision made, I drove into Atlanta, by myself, for the first time ever. I got all the way to Smith's without getting lost and without getting freaked out by traffic on 85 (although I did nearly get slammed into by a little white muscle car trying to get into my lane on the right and totally not paying attention to where his rear end was, but I honked at his stupid ass and he backed off).

Will Hoge rocked so hardcore. I almost died when he broke out a Will classic interlude, “Let's Get It On”, during “Sweet Magdeline”, which I'm pretty sure was a surprise to everyone in the room, including the rest of the band. That transported me back to the best part of being 18. The only thing more magical was when the band left the stage, and when the crowd called for a encore, Jeff, the keyboard player, came up by himself, and started playing “Carousel”. The house lights came up, and Will appeared from nowhere in the back of the room and sang the whole song sans-microphone. It was even magic when he realized he had the wrong harmonica and hollered at their old manager, Cliffy, to bring him the correct one.

Will, smiling, “I know this is very awkward, but I promise I'll make it up to ya.”

They closed out the show with a bang, and afterward everyone milled about in typical fankid fashion, until they kicked us out on the street, where Will hung out and took pictures and warned people before hugging him that he was ridiculously sweaty. That's what you get from rocking out so hard.

I hung around long enough to realize I was way tired, and starving, and essentially by myself in Atlanta. It was time to go home. I left Smith's an exactly 3:30, and pulled up in front of my apartment at exactly 4:30. You might say I made excellent time.

I passed out in my bed at about 5:30 am, after having some eats and talking briefly to a half-awake Abie. I slept for about 12 hours. I got up and did typical Sunday things: cut coupons, watched movies, annoyed my roommates with my total inability to self-schedule at all. I then doped myself up and went back to sleep around midnight.

What do I love? Feeling really rested, and ready to rock n roll again.

Went to Tastyworld on Friday with the Ab and Richard and saw my good friends in the Outfit, who pretty much always rock my ass off.

Saturday went over to Maggs' house for a par-tay. Maggie and Leigh are very gracious hostesses and I had a fabulous time, although I think I've given up Southern Comfort for good. It's just far too sweet. Also, it conjures up bad memories for my stomach.

Came home Sunday morning, took a shower, and made myself a sizable breakfast. Sat down in front of the tv and ate, then I rested my poor head which was unhappy about having slept on the floor of Maggie's house, and accidentally fell asleep. For six hours. What are you gonna do, really?

Got up, made dinner, then brownies, then hung out with my peeps, drank a beer and went to bed. Couldn't really sleep so I was mostly there symbolically so that was something.

Next thing I know, Maggie's calling me because it's time to go shopping, and off to the mall we went, where thanks to some lucrative coupons I got $200 worth of clothes for $100. And an awesome purse. And some pimp-tastic sunglasses with pink rhinestones on them.

Abie-inspired “pimpin' ain't easy” series

Time with Maggs + Pink sunglasses = a fabulous way to start your week.