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

I Am Irrationally Irked at the Awkward Commenter

First off, yes, it's been awhile. Since brevity is the soul of wit, I'll let my explanation be summed up in the words "finals" and "Christmas," and assume you understand. 


Back to business.


The subject of this post may not be known firsthand by the general public. She is not extremely common. But at this point, I'm sure you trust that I know what I'm talking about, and really, I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried. 


So picture this. You're having a wonderful conversation with a few friends. Let's say you're talking about gazelles. 
Betty: "Oh! Gazelles are such fantastic creatures!"
Lou: "How effortlessly they leap away from danger!"
Sally: "Gazelles just bring me so much joy to think about!"
Cathy Commenter: "Oh gazelles! My brother and I had a conversation about gazelles once. But that was about three months before he died at the hand of a crazy man who thought he was actually Scar from The Lion King and that my brother's name was Mufasa. It was tragic, really."


Delightful. 


See what she did there? In under 45 seconds, Cathy Commenter has essentially taken an axe and went into that conversation Crime and Punishment style, and all she needed was a bit of unrelated and slightly morbid information. 


If, by chance, her brother had been killed in a tragic gazelle stampede (AKA, was actually Mufasa) I would allow her the comment. But no. This is not the case. At which point I then deem Cathy the fun sponge of the room. The awkward fun sponge. And not haha awkward. Uncomfortable awkward. 


It takes a lot for me to deem someone uncomfortably awkward. 
Congratulations Cathy. You're more awkward than Rick Perry forgetting his own political plan of action. 


Add some sass to your class,
Jenna

I Am Irrationally Irked by New Numbers

This post does not reflect well on my level of intelligence. 
I will now choose to blame the following events on lack of sleep, and hopefully none of you will think less of me for them. 


Anyway.


I hate it when people I know get new cell numbers. Or if they somehow get my number without my giving it to them, and they text me expecting me to know who they are (way to be a creeper). 
For example, let's take a look at this past Monday night.


I had just gotten out of Chi Alpha, and I was having a delightful conversation with Natasha when I got a text from a number that wasn't listed in my contacts. 


The text:
Hey sis, this is my new cell #


I was confused.
I have no sister. 
My friends generally do not use that as a term of endearment. 


Sparknotes: I had no idea who this was.
I saw that the area code was 909, so I knew it was someone back in Cali. 
But who?


Natasha and I decided I should be classy about this. So I replied with:
Who you be yo?


It was not long before I received a reply.


O that's right u have 2 brothers I forgot. Lol


I wish I could say that the realization of the identity of my mystery texter immediately came to me after this message.
But I can't.
It still took me a minute. And by a minute, I really mean three. Of me staring at my phone. Thinking.
Because, as I stated, I have no sister. 
But I do have a brother.


Yep.


In my defense, my brother hasn't had a cell in about five years, so saying he had a "new number" was a bit of an understatement.
But this is why I wish my cell had caller ID. And texter ID. It would make me feel so much more intelligent. And make my family members feel so much more loved.


Add some sass to your class,
Jenna

I Am Irrationally Irked by Women Who Live in Walls

The title of this post sounds ridiculous. 
It is.


Wednesdays are generally my favorite days when working at the library because most of my shift is shared with a friend of mine. Yesterday, as usual, we ran out of things to do in the office. So our supervisor sent us to pull books in the stacks.


I love doing this.


There's no sarcasm here. I really do enjoy it. 
There weren't that many we needed to pull, so we decided to go together. One of the first books we came across contained an article that a certain faculty member desired. The name of this article was, "How to Read Like a Man."


This is where our problems began.


Because really, that's hilarious. At least she and I thought so. But it wasn't enough to chuckle at the title, no sir. We decided that we needed to try this for ourselves. 
We spent the next few minutes talking in "man voices." Yeah, we're that awesome. 


You're waiting for problems. Here they come.


We're standing in front of the elevator, when we hear voices. Not from the elevator. Not from the stacks. From behind us. From inside and/or beyond the vent in the wall we were standing against. We clearly heard women's voices, so, clearly, the best decision before me was to say, "Helllloooooo? Is anyone in there?" Into the vent. In a man voice. 


Cue the elevator doors opening. 


Naturally, said elevator was not empty. 


The two men standing inside of it heard everything I did and saw me leaning over to the vent. 


They didn't say anything. Or laugh. Or look weirded out.
They just judged.


My friend and I entered the elevator with the strange, unamused men, and cough-laughed until we reached our desired floor. 


Dear women who live in the walls of Aldy, just stop. You're getting me into situations that require judgment far more often than normal. 


Add some sass to your class,
Jenna

I Am Irrationally Irked by Inaccurate Blog Responses

There is an interesting dilemma before me. 


For those of you who stalk me on the facebook (It's okay. You can admit it. There's no shame here.), you may have noticed that a certain friend of mine named Natasha wrote a response to one of my previous posts in her blog. 


This is both 
1. Flattering 
2. Irksome (duh.)


First of all, I love this girl. I love her blog. She's my favorite kind of witty. If you have never read about her shenanigans before,  shame on you. 


Now, go read her post below. It will make my reaction make sense. Or, if you prefer the nonsense version of my writing, feel free to continue without reading her blog. Or go speak to me in real life. Absurdity at its finest right there. 


Anyway.


Read:
http://ohmytash.blogspot.com/2011/11/add-some-sass-to-your-26-hour-day.html


For the sake of convenience, I have copied her list of things I would "actually" do. (She uses more festive colors than I do. I don't want to hear any complaining.)

What Jenna would really do in a 26 hour day:

1. Procrastinate doing hw for 2 extra hours 
2. Learn how to play the shofar (for the sole purpose of blowing into it obnoxiously in the halls of Old Cabell as she runs to Hebrew class in the morning)
3. Get into situations too awkward to blog about 
4. Procrastinate doing laundry and instead make a fort out of her socks
5. I'll give her #5, it's probably true
6. Procrastinate reading that other thing
7. Forget that she was there to go bowling, and start a flash mob in front of the shoe check-out counter.
8. Go on a date... with George Clooney (I figured I should be at least a little bit nice.)
9. Go on a hike, and plant a flag on the top of the mountain that says "IT'S JUST WRONG, STUPID AND AWKWARD NOT TO USE THE OXFORD COMMA"
10. By "jam with musical friends," she really means pulling a Kanye West at a Justin Bieber concert. "Imma let you finish, JB, but Natasha Oladokun is the best blogger of all time!" :D (ok... maybe that one was a stretch. But I couldn't resist. :D) 
11. She already has an intense arsenal of puns at her disposal, so I have no idea what she's talking about there. 


The response to the response:
1. Duh. My list was of things I could do in a 26 hour day. Not what I would actually do. (Proven by the existence of my original #8.)
2. All I can say is that she knows me well enough to realize that I would still always be running late to Hebrew, even with two extra hours in my day.
3. Have you read my blog? I'm pretty sure there's no shame here. 
4. I think she means LEARN to make a fort out of socks. Because that would really be impressive. Especially considering how few socks I have. 
5. Good concession. (Ha. Concession. Like concessions. As in food. Fitting.)
6. I'll give her that one.
7. Clearly, I would do both. 
8. I don't need two extra hours to go on dates with George (yes, first name basis.) We go on biweekly dates already actually. 
9. THIS IS WHERE MY CAREFUL REPUDIATION OF HER LIST ENDS. 
Natasha.
"IT'S JUST WRONG, STUPID AND AWKWARD NOT TO USE THE OXFORD COMMA."


THERE IS NO OXFORD COMMA IN THAT STATEMENT. SUCH PHRASING WOULD NEVER, EVER BE ON A FLAG I CREATED BECAUSE I WILL ALWAYS LOVE AND SUPPORT SAID MARK OF PUNCTUATION.


To quote someone sassy and gay, 
what, 
what, (<Oh look at that. It's the Oxford Comma.)
WHAT 
were you thinking?


Who needs a reality check now?


I don't even know if this is classy,
Jenna


Disclaimer: Natasha is one of my favorite people. And her blog is fabulous. Seriously. Check her out: http://ohmytash.blogspot.com/