Jenna's House of Idiosyncrasies Version 9.0 // Critical Darling, Commercial Flop

... that I come home from the bar feeling like a million bucks.

But for whatever reason, tonight, I feel fantastic, like I could conquer the world with my sheer awesomeness.

“Jenna is a rock star. A rock. star.”

Singing the Beatles' “Blackbird” to myself softly in the Sam Deeds arranged style; going through old parts of my flickr for no reason and remembering things I had forgotten; Sarah Tollerson's solo performance giving me goosebumps; hanging out with Maggs, who comes to my bar just to see me; Happy Hour with Matt and Chris, who throw things a lot; Happy Hour with Ripley, who can pop it with the best of em, and who queued up my song without me asking; hanging out with Zach, who I've missed dearly; making a Happy Birthday video to send to Abie; all of Brett's damn enthusiasm; Stephanie adjusting my shirt to show more of my breasts, despite my insistence that maybe that button should stay buttoned; finding out I can go a damn long time without eating a thing as long as I keep drinking and smoking (breakfast of champions!)

I had a crazy dream last night where I went to see Bob Dylan play in a high school gymnasium. The bleachers had been pulled in and stairs with ascending platforms had been build right in front of the stage, and plastic chairs lined up on the platforms. I sat in the very last row, my head almost touching the ceiling. Everybody except me, including the person I had come with, were dressed as goths. But in the dream it seemed perfectly normal that Bob Dylan had a large goth following.

For some reason there were like 17 opening acts. I never got to see Bob Dylan. I walked out when a guy wearing mustard on his shirt, singing about mustard, started handing out packets of mustard as if they were exciting party favors. All the goth kids seemed very excited about the mustard.

When I walked out I went over to concessions and Chris from Barcode was working. In fact, concessions was colored and lit just like Barcode. He pointed to me, said, “Jack and Diet?” and then went to work getting it for me. When he came back with the drink, I asked him what he was doing here. He looked at me like I was crazy, that it was the most normal thing in the would for him to be serving alcohol in a high school where Bob Dylan is putting on a show for goth kids. He told me then that he was cutting me off, that I clearly had consumed too much. I protested that I hadn't had a drink yet, that this was my first one, but then I started to get really dizzy. As I fell, Zach appeared from nowhere and caught me, and laid me gently on the ground. He felt my forehead and told me everything was gonna be okay.

Then I blacked out. Then I woke up. It took me a whole 10 minutes of being awake to sort out that it had been a dream and not a memory of last night.