I Am Irrationally Irked by Satanic Creatures That Jump at My Face

Recently, I was asked what I would choose to be rid of if I could eliminate one thing from the world. The asker of said question gave poverty as his answer. I was planning on saying dishonesty, but then I wondered if that answer would be completely honest in itself, since that was by no means the first thing that came to mind. 

The first thing that did come to mind?

Rhaphidophoridae.

Or, more commonly known as spider crickets, sprickets, or camel crickets. 

If God loves you enough to have heretofore kept you blissfully unaware of their existence, allow me to shatter your illusion of comfort, security, and happiness.

Picture a hefty spider with really thick legs. 

Got it? 

Now imagine it jumping at your face.

Congratulations, you have just visualized a spricket. 

I thought about putting up a photo, but I don't want to see that every time I open my blog. Go Google it yourself, thanks.

Now you're thinking, "Jenna, be realistic. Yes, it is larger than the average sized insect, but you are still exponentially larger than it. It may look like it was the love child of a demon and a viperfish, but it's probably harmless. It may jump, but it jumps away from you out of fear."

False. 

Partially.

Yes, they are completely harmless (physically, though I'm less certain that I haven't experienced severe emotional scarring already).

BUT, they jump toward their perceived threats, not away from them. A.K.A. They do jump at my face.

And you know what? Apparently when they don't have enough actual food, they start gnawing on their own legs. THAT IS NOT OKAY. 

Oh, have I mentioned that there's a family of these things that has moved into my house? I don't even want to kill them, because then there are spricket carcasses on the bottoms of my shoes and large textbooks. And...you know...they jump at my face when I attempt to. 

So really.

Sprickets.

Genocide has never seemed like a good idea until now.

Add some sass to your I'm-keeping-my-feet-above-the-floor-until-morning class,

Jenna

I Am Irrationally Irked by Things That Don't Stay Where I Put Them

Take, for example, my keys. 


I leave my apartment, I put them in my bag, I EXPECT THEM TO STAY IN MY BAG.
  
And yet, here I am, sitting outside my apartment at midnight writing a blog post from my front stoop. Trying to drown out the sound of my neighbors watching a John Wayne movie. And have sex. (who has sex while watching westerns? COME ON.)  


And that's not even entirely true. I'm not sitting. Because it recently rained, meaning two things.   
Thing one: the ground is wet.  
Thing two: slugs.  


Not to mention the wild animal I scared off into the bushes. 


Looks like I'll be spending the next couple hours in the library until my roommate gets out of a movie.  Will I be productive? No. Because my books are in my apartment. For once.  


Add some sass to your class,  
Jenna


Update:
Now that that adventure is over and done with, allow me to share three things I've learned.


One:
My roommate is great.


Two:
Clemons closes at midnight on weekends.


Three:
The acoustics of the stairwell in Newcomb are really fun to sing Adele with. 

I Am Irrationally Irked By Things That Are Socially Unacceptable to Say

Have you ever had a teacher crush?
Not the young one who's cute and witty.
I'm talking an intellectual teacher crush. Someone who possesses a brain that you wish you could borrow or steal or replicate. Someone who instills the urge to be a better human being. Who restores faith in mankind.


Welcome to my life right now.


This man is amazing. And I don't say that lightly.
But that's the problem. I really want him to think I'm great too (granted, in my own less intelligent, quirky way.)


So I've been avoiding contact.


I don't go to office hours.
I sit in the back.
If I saw him on the street, I would probably tuck and roll into a shrubbery.


Because as long as we remain strangers, I can pretend that we're still going to be best friends whenever we do meet.


This is not brilliant, I know.


I mean, he's even leading the study abroad program I am doing in London over the summer. I am going to be in contact with this man eventually. I might as well get it over with.


And yet.


I'm not really great when it comes to first impressions. I can come on a little strong. I can be a little quirky. It might be considered creepy. When I get nervous, I have much less of a verbal filter. I wouldn't be able to control what I was saying.


Maybe you think I'm exaggerating. Well, I'll let you decide.


This is how I think things will go the first time I officially meet this man:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aUNJVOfooDY&feature=youtu.be

Add some sass to your class,
Jenna

I Am Irrationally Irked by Buses that Brake Suddenly

You know, I'm not a graceful person.
This is kind of a given in my life, but I think I should note that my condition is exacerbated if it is before 11 A.M. My body just doesn't want to stay vertical. 

It's a problem.
 
Especially on buses. Buses that are so full, I am standing. 
So there I was this morning, exhausted, NOT excited to go to my discussion, and ready to catch my bus. I board this herculean form of transportation.

The situation: 
I am standing facing the left side of the bus, very close to the driver, and holding on to the rail above me with just my right hand. For any other person, that would probably be a stable enough position to ride the bus without shame. Not for me, though. 

The  bus brakes suddenly. 

I'm still holding on with my right hand, but my entire body swings to my left. I throw out my left hand to try and grab something, but instead I just hit the bus driver on the shoulder. I stayed in this position, right hand on rail, body sprawled against the side of the bus, left hand groping the driver, for far longer than I should have. 

Everyone in the front half of the bus just stared. 
I didn't say anything.

Except, of course, when I exited the bus.
Instead of thanking the bus driver like I usually do, I departed with, "Sorry I groped you! Normally I don't move this fast."

What can I say? It was early.

Add some sass to your class,
Jenna

I Am Irrationally Irked at Signs From Above

THIS is a three seed demi loaf. You can purchase one at your local Panera Bread location.

But you won't. Because no one ever does. Because they're weird. It's just reallllly seedy bread. And there's a reason that can be taken both literally and figuratively. 

At my location, we generally sell one maybe once a month. Maybe. 

I started noticing this after I began doing runout more regularly at the end of the night and counting everything we had left over. Guess what? We always had the three seed loaf. We always make one for the day, and we always have one at closing. It's just how it is. So I made a resolution. 

I would take it as a sign from above if I ever sold one. It would be God telling me it was time to quit my job, because I couldn't keep working there once the impossible had been achieved. 

It became a running joke among some of my coworkers and I. Whenever someone else would sell one, someone would text me to tell me. I would be upset. Very upset. 

So lately I've been thinking about finding another job. I was disappointed that I hadn't sold one yet, but I wasn't going to let that stop me from leaving once I had found another source of employment that suited my needs better. I mean, it was just a joke, right? 

Cue my shift today.

I rang a few customers. I was condensing the bread wall, and I noticed the three seed loaf. In all the chaos of my life and my decisions concerning the real world lately, I've been almost entirely dependent on my prayer life for verification that I'm not insane. So while I was rearranging bread, I thought to myself, "God, when it's time for me to leave, let me sell this dang three seed loaf."

Customer #5:

Me: "What can I get for you today?"

Customer: "I'd like a three seed demi loaf, please."

Me: "....A what?"

Customer: "A three seed demi loaf. Do you still have one?"

Me: "....Of course we still have one...We always have one..."

Customer's face:

Me: "I'll go get that for you."

I was then freaking out. A lot. 

And you know what? 

I put in my two weeks notice. 

Call me crazy. That's fine. 

Forget the sass. Forget the class.

Here's to acting on faith,

Jenna

I Am Irrationally Irked by UVA Sustainability

TRY JUST ONE.

If you use the restrooms around grounds, you've probably seen a UVa Sustainability sponsored sticker telling you this as you get a paper towel to dry your hands. If you haven't seen this, then dude, wash your hands. 

In general, I don't really take issue with this. I'm all for eco friendly shenanigans. But sometimes I can't just take one. 

Take this evening for instance. And by evening, I mean 3:25 A.M.

I'm currently in the second circle of the Inferno with Boo. (The Inferno being Clemons, and the second circle being the second floor. Anyway.)

Boo sometimes has problems. With liquids. Staying inside containers. Inevitably, she will spill it either A) on herself, B) in her immediate vicinity, or C) all over my bed (different story). Tonight, she decided to embrace option B. 

I'm used to this, so I thought it was hilarious. When I stopped laughing maniacally, I went to grab some paper towels to help clean up the spill. Didn't want it to turn into something like this: 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2AAa0gd7ClM&ob=av3e

I happened to walk into the restroom at the same time as another girl. She went straight to the mirror to fix her hair, and I went straight to grab paper towels. On about towel number four, I noticed she was looking over at me. Not just looking, glaring. Apparently taking more than one when your hands aren't even wet is somewhat frowned upon. I think that if I had had a decent amount of sleep in the past six days that I would have remained silent and let her judge me. But you know....I didn't. Instead I turned around and said, 

"No, I'm not trying just one."

Then I left. 

I regret nothing.

Add some sass to your class,

Jenna

I Am Irrationally Irked By Other Distracting Students

I can be distracting.
I have very little concentration sometimes, especially in classes like, oh, say, environmental science. I make up for my lack of focus with an excess of sass. Normally this is great. But in a classroom setting, it can be problematic. I can turn into a distraction for other people. So I try to restrain myself. But sometimes it just seems like people are begging me to not pay attention to the lecture.


Take today for instance.


Distraction #1:
A kid in the row in front of me was playing Pokemon on his laptop. I'm pretty sure it was sapphire edition. I was excited. I wanted to be his friend.
Instead, I just stared. I may or may not have looked like a complete creeper.


Distraction #2:
The kids taking pictures in Photobooth.
I'm not saying I've never done this in class before. I understand the boredom that can arise in classes you know you'll probably never think about again after the semester is over. It happens.
But this distraction was my favorite because they included me in it.
Unintentionally.


You know that triangle of space that occurs when two people put their heads together for a picture? Like from the neck to the shoulder?


That triangle was framing my face.


So I waited. I just looked over from time to time until I saw him press the button to snap the picture.
It counted down.


3


2


1


Then I looked over and made this face:

I know they noticed.

They cough laughed. They tried to be subtle while looking over their shoulder. Of course, I only saw this from the corner of my eye, because I was just staring at my computer and pretending to be furiously typing notes. 

I regret nothing. 

Add some sass to your photo-bombing class,

Jenna

I Am Irrationally Irked at Allergic Reactions

The only thing that I am aware of being allergic to is the eye dilation drops you get at the optometrist. I say "you," because I no longer get them. Because I am allergic, and they make me get light headed and pass out. I try to stay away from that kind of thing.

So here I am, actually taking cold medication for once since I feel like I've had TB for the past few days but I don't have time to take it easy. Great idea, right? I mean, it's just Dayquil. I have taken Dayquil before. It's not a problem. It's delightful. I love Dayquil. Yay cold medication! 

NO.

Because here I am, 2:00 in the morning in the middle of Clemons Library when I start noticing that my lip feels funny. Well, the upper left side of my lip. Huh. Weird.

I pull out a mirror, and what do I see?

MY UPPER LEFT LIP IS THE SIZE OF A SMALL COUNTRY.

No joke.

I now look like I had botox injections on half of my mouth. 

In case you were unsure, I DID NOT HAVE BOTOX INJECTIONS ON HALF OF MY MOUTH.

I also have hives.

I have not had hives since I was seven years old. This is not a usual thing here.

I turn to my ever-so-delightful-and-supportive friends and fellow members of the Advocate editorial staff, and what do they do?
"Jenna, your lip is fine....wait....uh...."

Cue laughter.

A lot of laughter.

Who the HECK has allergic reactions to this stuff? It didn't even show up on Google.

Add this to reasons why my life is unreal.

And while you're at it, add some sass to your Angelina Jolie sized classy lips,

Jenna


Update:
Friends:
"Jenna! Try and do the duck face!"
"Jenna! Your face looks sassier!"
"Jenna! It's getting better...bahahahahahaha."


Update #2 (4:09 AM):
The other side of my lip is swollen. If I didn't have a nose, I would look like a Caucasian Voldemort. A friend just gave me benadryl. If this does ANYTHING to me but reduce swelling, I'm going to throw something. 
Probably a fit.

I Am Irrationally Irked at Olives

I hate olives.


I'm generally not a picky eater, but if you order a pizza to share with me, and it contains olives, I will be upset. "Jenna, you could just pick off the olives." I do that. And it then tastes delightful. The fact that they were there at all still upsets me though. Why?


Great question. If I had an answer, this blog would probably be called Rational Ranting. 


It's not.


So today when I was working at Aldy, we were having a party. Let me tell you, there ain't no party like an ILL party. (ILL meaning InterLibrary Loan. Not ill as in sick.) Most of the people in my office love cooking/baking, so any excuse to bring things in is acceptable. Today we were celebrating three of the student workers' birthdays that have happened over the past week and a half, so there was a TON of food. 


Among this food were a couple of olive related products. 
I was fine. I could handle it. 


Then the container of dip was opened.
The container of olive dip.


I won't lie. I tried it. Because I didn't know it was composed of olives.


Needless to say, I didn't enjoy it. But I didn't make a big deal about it. 
Then I noticed something else.


The smell.


Have you ever smelled an olive? Or olive based dip? It stays with you. It didn't matter that I shut the container of dip. It didn't matter that I moved it a little further from my work station. I could still smell it. And I'm not going to lie, I'm a little bit paranoid that I now smell like olives but just can't tell. 


Natasha says I don't. 


But still.


Add some sass to your (let's keep this an olive free zone of) class,
Jenna

I Am Irrationally Irked by Cyclists

I have been asked to write about cyclists since the inception of this blog. By many people. Repeatedly.


I've resisted, because it's hard to think of some wit that hasn't already been said. I mean, we all know that every other human being in the process of moving/being transported hates encountering cyclists. This is where I thought I could talk about being plowed over by a cyclist as I was rushing to class one morning last semester. But I'm not going to go into that. 


Because I now have another reason to be irked.


I was in my English discussion today in New Cabell. It was a full class, and we left the door open. I was sitting on the other side of the room, directly across from the door. Our desks were arranged in a circle, so really only one other girl was also facing the door. 
I was doing really well as far as staying awake goes. I was even participating now and again. I thought to myself, "Way to go Jenna. You actually don't look like a slacker in this class. People might actually take you seriously once in awhile."


What does this have to do with cyclists?
I'm happy you asked.


Because right as I was thinking that to myself, a man in his late forties in short shorts, a tank top, and large glasses cycles down the hall in front of the door. Just straight up cycling in the middle of the building. I won't even bother with the "You don't even go here!" line (and by go, I really mean belong), because if that were all that happened, I wouldn't be irked. I would be insanely amused. Okay. Granted, I'm still insanely amused. But also irked. Because this was my fifth class of the day, and self control was pretty much out the window. 


I started laughing.
Not the "I can cover up this laugh by coughing" laugh.
Uncontrollable. 
Normal. 
Laughing. 


As I said before, only one other girl was facing the door, and you have NO IDEA how happy I am that she witnessed it too, because she also could not control herself. 


It was like this:
(Please watch the whole thing.)
(And know that this isn't really an exaggeration.)

So apparently, the class now thinks that she and I find female sexual liberation in 18th century literature hysterical. 

Because no one else saw the freaking cyclist.

Add some sass to your class,

Jenna

I Am Irrationally Irked at Gravity

This post has been on my radar for awhile. And by awhile, I really mean birth. 
Being absurdly clumsy isn't exactly an acquired skill. 


If you're an avid reader of IAII (it's really too bad my blog doesn't have a catchier abbreviation), you'll remember me mentioning a previous inability to...well...to remain in the upright position while walking.


For those of you who saw me consistently last semester, you may remember that I sprained my foot. I was often asked what terrible incident caused such an injury. Well, you see, I was rock climbing. I lost my footing, and shazam! sprained foot. 


At least that's what I told some of you. 


Sometimes I forget how convincing I can be, because I was surprised at how many people actually believed this.  

Me: "So that's what happened. It's a little embarrassing."

Person: "OHMYGOSH. I didn't know you went rock climbing! That is NOT embarrassing. For once."

Me: "For once?"

Person: "Wait. Were you using ropes or were you free climbing?!?"

Me: "Oh...ropes. Definitely ropes. I'm not THAT insane."

Really.

What actually happened?

I slipped in the walk in refrigerator at work.

I know.

Now you're thinking, "Man Jenna! You are clumsy! But that was in November. Why are you writing this post in January?"

It's not exactly an isolated incident.

Take last week for example.

I was walking home from the library. It was raining. I was going up about three steps. On the second, I tripped. And not just a "Oh! That was a close one. Glad no one saw me be a bit uncoordinated!" 

No.

I was sprawled on the ground. And now wet, because I landed in a puddle. 

I sucked it up, brushed myself off, and continued on my way. It's not like I'm not used to that kind of thing. Honestly, I forgot about it completely until I went to work that night.

At work that night (and every night following):

I often restock the fridge with cream cheese. This involves getting on your knees and counting how many you need to grab from the back. 

KNEES. OH MY WORD THE KNEES.

I didn't realize that I had bruises on them the size of Texas.

Okay.

Slight exaggeration.

New Mexico.

But really.

Talk about being a hazard to yourself.

Add some sass to your class,

Jenna

I am Irrationally Irked at Cell Phones

Well hello there dear readers. You remember how I mentioned awhile back that I might be having guest bloggers in the future? Hey look at that. It's the future. Enjoy!
Because I'm not the only one with sass,
Jenna

(P. to the S. Anything in italics is me again. Unable to keep my mental images to myself.)

Ok. So I’ve been doing some traveling over this winter break. And yes, I decided to drive my car for these adventures. I drove from Virginia to Atlanta to Austin and then around Texas from Austin to Marble Falls, to Dallas to Houston and then most recently to New Orleans and then to Orlando.

Now I realize I signed up for this knowing that I would be spending copious amounts of time in a car. However, once I got to Austin I’ve been driving by myself. And let me tell you, spending hours in a car by yourself can get rather boring. I mean after you’ve exhausted the music on your iPod, you turn to the radio. But then you realize that they’re really only playing the same 40 songs interchangeably in different orders. Except sometimes they’re not even trying to cover up the fact that one station is blatantly copying another.

Song for song. 

So when you’re listening to the top 40 songs of the week, you can almost call the order. You’re that familiar with it.

Where am I irked? Well being in the car all by yourself, and after exhausting your musical options, you can get pretty bored. The leg I drove today (from New Orleans to Orlando) had a highlight in it. The changing of time zones from Central to Eastern.

So the clock should jump up an hour when you cross the line, right?

WRONG!

When you’re going stir crazy, or car crazy, whatever you want to call it, you can occupy yourself with the little things; they can make you happy. Really happy.

Like I got so much joy from crossing state lines it’s not even funny. Also, I play another game called How Long Can I Continue To Drive After The Low Fuel Light Comes Before I Actually Run Out Of Gas. And one I like even better (that’s not as stressful) is trying to get the best gas mileage.

So when my GPS shows that I’m about to cross into Eastern Standard Time, my world lights up like the night sky of the 4^th of July. I hurriedly grab my phone and touch a button to get it to light up as I drive across the line. I stare and I stare, glance back at the road, glance at the phone, and do this for like 5 minutes thinking maybe in needs some time to kick in. Or maybe I need to clearly be in one time zone.

I imagine he looked like this:

I continue driving and glancing, now losing hope and feeling rather dejected. 

You know how long this went on for? 

37 minutes.

You know how I know that? Because I crossed the line at 10:18 and kept checking it until I got a text message at 10:45. I looked at it, then went back to the mean screen, and then it was all of a sudden 11:45. I was so mad. I was deprived at the joy of something different from the mundane that had preceded it. It irked me that I just couldn’t see it change. My cell phone deprived me of this pleasure.


Oh I definitely lied. Like this:

Again, I know I signed up for hours in a car, and it’s my fault for getting excited about watching the time change, but I don’t understand why the phone doesn’t change itself and needs to be prompted by a text message!

Add some timely sass to your class,

Eric


Follow Eric's blog at http://homosapienthoughts.blogspot.com/

I Am Irrationally Irked by Public Silence

I like to sing.
Loud.
Shamelessly.
If you know me, you are probably familiar with this. (Special shout out to all of the strangers reading this, especially y'all in the Ukraine. And Lauren from Sarah's Facebook. Hi.)


See, whenever I'm listening to my ipod and a great song comes on (AKA any time I'm listening to my ipod, duh), I have the urge to sing along. Usually I can tone it down to at least a hum. 


The thing is, this isn't exactly socially acceptable behavior in public. And by "in public," I really mean at work, and by "at work," I really mean in the middle of Alderman Library.


Granted, if I came across a humming girl in the middle of a library, I would probably laugh at her. Which is weird, since that's like laughing at myself. Although not that weird, because I do that... Anyway.


I just want to be able to belt Adele (19 not 21, thanks) or Passenger without being hit by a speeding bus of judgment! I mean, I know I'm no Florence Welch, but come on.


As someone wise once said:


The best way to spread Christmas cheer is singing loud(ly) for all to hear.


So here's to the shameless singing.
Apparently it's just another form of altruism. 


Add some sass to your musical class,
Jenna

I Am Irrationally Irked by My Fingers

A few moments ago, I was writing a blog post. It was great. I was excited about it. I thought to myself, "Wow, Jenna, you can be witty sometimes."


Then I accidentally pressed something that deleted all of the words and replaced them with the word "sass." 


Whoever thought auto save was a great idea was severely misinformed. 
It may be fine and dandy for some people, but it just gives me sass.


Yeah.
I just went there.


Auto save THIS,
Jenna

I Am Irrationally Irked by Unannounced Visitors

I like to spend my Friday nights like any typical college student. You know, working until ten, then going home with a friend from work and watching Xena: Warrior Princess while fixing the nutritional guide books from work because they were a mess. You know. The usual thing. 

But something was different about last night. That thing is something I think I can safely term the world's worst attempted booty call. Allow me to explain.

Setting: My couch. 12:35 A.M.

My roommate was spending the night at her parents' house. Janet and I are watching Xena. All of a sudden, my eardrums are bombarded by the doorbell, and I am startled to discover a face peering through the window in my door. 

Problem #1: "All of a sudden..."

I did not invite anyone over. Neither did Janet. Neither did my roommate. Also, I don't get mail this early in the morning. Anyone who does not fit into one of these categories should probably not be at my apartment. 

Problem #2: "...my eardrums are bombarded by the doorbell..."

If you've ever actually been invited to my apartment, either Lydia or myself has told you NOT to ring the bell, because it's one of the most terrifying sounds I've ever heard. If you come over regularly, you understand what I mean. If you haven't had the misfortune of hearing this, just imagine the sound of a robot experiencing electrical shock combined with the sound of a dying cat. That's a little what it sounds like. 

Problem #3: "...and I am startled to discover a face peering through the window in my door."

Okay, granted, if I know you're coming over, I understand the temptation to do this. If you're popping by unannounced in the middle of the night, seeing your face suddenly appear staring at me does not put me at ease.

So, since there is quite obviously a guy staring at me through my door, and Xena is blaring on my laptop, I can't pretend I'm not home. Well, I mean I guess I could. But I don't think I would be exceptionally convincing. 

I open the door to find the creeper (who now looks vaguely familiar) and another guy (who I will hereafter refer to as Mike, because that is is his name) standing on my doorstep. 

"Hi?"

"Heeeeey. Sorry, I'm Scott. Is Lydia home?"

"No. She's staying with her parents right now."

"..."

"...Did you guys have plans?"

"No....we actually haven't talked in awhile..."

"You were just...popping by?"

"Yeeeaaaahhh. I guess I'll call her..."

"Sounds like a good plan."

"Bye."

This is when I shut and lock the door. I then decide it's a good idea to text Lydia and inform her of a forthcoming phone call. There was also a lot of laughing between Janet and myself. Because that was just unnecessarily weird. At this point, it's probably good to mention that I remember meeting Scott once in passing, and I am aware that he is Lydia's ex. Again, let me emphasize that this is unnecessarily weird.

We rewind what I missed in Xena (I didn't want to miss a Titan backhanding an annoying little man). 

But alas, my amusement didn't last long, because Scott's face again appeared in my window, and I literally jumped when he rang the bell again. 

There was one main thing running through my head at this point, and it was something along the lines of 

What the french toast?!

"Hello again."

"Hi. I just tried calling Lydia, but she didn't answer."

"Okay."

"Do you know when she's supposed to be back tonight?"

"Like I said before, she's staying at her parents' house. She won't be back tonight. If she didn't answer your call, she's probably asleep. I mean... it's almost one in the morning."

"Oh. Yeah. I guess that's probably what happened."

"Probably."

"Okay. Well sorry again!"

"No worries. Good luck with...whatever it is you're doing."

I again shut and lock the door. 

Janet and I crack up.

We return to Xena.

But no.

It happened again.

Cue his face in my window and the dying cat in my eardrums.

"Yes?"

"This is the last time I swear."

"Ha. Okay."

"Are you guys looking for some... company?" (If you can't tell, there are things implied in that question. If you think I was judging the situation incorrectly, know that Janet also thought this, and that I'm usually the last person to realize someone is flirting with me.)

How the situation now looked:

Scott and Mike were looking for a booty call. Minus the call, apparently. Also, I guess ex-girlfriends and their roommates are just assumed to be sluts these days. And strangers, for that matter.

What I wanted to say:

"What substance have you been abusing? Apparently you could use a sassy gay friend to let you know that your brilliant plans on Friday nights suck. Because 1. You don't just show up at the house of someone you haven't talked to in months in the middle of the night. 2. Especially if that someone is your ex. 3. When you find out that your well thought out plan has failed, you cut your losses, and you leave. 4. We are all complete strangers to each other. I don't care if you know my roommate. That does not make you less creepy right now. 5. If you are legitimately coming onto my friend and I despite #1-4, please let me reiterate that you are my roommate's ex. AKA, NOT OKAY. 

What actually happened:

"No."

"...."

"We're actually about to leave and run an errand, so..."

"Oh okay. Well... bye..."

I feel like this kind of thing just doesn't happen to other people.

Add some sass to your class,

Jenna

I Am Irrationally Irked at the Cold

I'm going to start this off by saying, YES. I realize I am from the ever-so-sunny California. I realize that I chose to move to Charlottesville, knowing it gets rather chilly and actually quite excited about said nippiness. There's a reason this blog is called I Am Irrationally Irked. It's unfounded irritation. Get over it. 


That being done, I'd now just like to inform you that the cold is messing me up.


How the cold is starting to making me look (more) ridiculous (than usual):


Reason #1: It kidnaps my willpower.
I have a very steady and committed relationship to my bed in general, but when I wake up to a freezing apartment, there's not a lot of incentive for me to extricate myself from the embrace of my blankets. Granted, my boss has told me I can come in whenever I want in the mornings over break, but when you go to sleep telling yourself that you'll be at work by 9:00, it's a little sad getting into the shower at 9:05. 


Reason #2: It publicly humiliates me.
I get cold feet. Literally. 
So I like to wear slippers around my apartment. To be more specific, I like to wear these slippers:

Yes, that's Perry the platypus. I know. You're jealous. 
Anyway.
The problem is that I try to wear them for as long as possible before I leave somewhere. And...well...maybe there was this one time I forgot to switch shoes before heading out to work in the morning. Maybe I didn't notice until a stranger stopped, pointed, and laughed at me. Maybe.


Reason #3: It encourages me to procrastinate.
Tuesday is trash day. Very early on Tuesday. Usually my roommate and I put it out the night before, or I'll take it out before I head to work. Since my roommate isn't at the apartment right now, this was my thought process Monday night: "It's flippin' freezing. I'm not taking out the trash right now. Tomorrow before work. Definitely." It's not a very complicated thought process, granted, but hey. So I woke up Tuesday morning, stayed in my bed until 8:48, and left in a hurry so that I could prove to myself that I could be stronger than my blankets. The trash was still sitting in my kitchen when I got home. It's still sitting there now, in fact, and this is where it will remain sitting until next Tuesday, NO next Monday night. All because of the cold. 


Reason #4: "Jenna, have you been crying?"
Yes. My parakeets have been fighting lately, and I just feel really caught in the middle.
That, or my face just looks like it because I walked here in 19 degree weather. 


Add some sass to your unnecessarily cold class,
Jenna