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