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.