The funny about this was the extremely matter-of-fact tone used by the young man, who I assume was taking care of his drunk friend:
“You need to find Brad and get him to take your ass home. Where is Brad?
“Why is Brad at Toppers? Brad is gay.”
Gay men like dancing, and boobs for that matter, so I myself am not entirely surprised that Brad was hanging out at a strip club.
Busking 8/5/2007 from Jenna Tollerson and Vimeo.
Downtown Athens, Georgia, 3 AM Saturday night (or Sunday morning). August 5th, 2007.
These guys had a sign that read:
WE SING ABOUT WHAT WE SEE.
-------------------------------------
OUR DRUMMER IS WASTED!!!
Tell Me All Your Thoughts on God from Jenna Tollerson on Vimeo
There are few things more fun than capturing your drunk friends singing along with all of their might to a Top 40 Dishwalla song.
Me: “Did you see that?”
Sam: (looks) “What is that?”
Me: “It's a man in a bear suit riding a bicycle.”
Sam: “Is Conan O'Brien here?”
A few things:
This morning, on the way to my car, I was approached by two gentlemen slightly older than myself, wielding a small hand held camera with a large, red-carpet-at-the-oscars microphone wired to it. They asked if I could help them with a project, and ask me “some questions about the birds and the bees.” Usually, I would laugh and brush off anyone trying to interview me on the street—I have walked past a fair number of petitioners, student film makers and news anchors in my short life—but something about these guys made me rethink just saying that I was in a hurry and dashing past. They smiled genuinely and asked politely. They just seemed so damn sincere.
I relented, and the camera started to roll. I immediately went into panic mode, as if I was addressing an entire room. Not good. Definitely not good.
“Did anyone ever sit you down and tell you about the birds and the bees?”
Well, I got a extremely weird speech from my mother when I was about 10? I think? The only thing I really remember about it was that she kept referring to my potential future husband—a person who was completely mythical at the time and moreover, I could not care less about at ten years old—as my “mate”. As in, “One day you will grow up and choose a mate.” Like the only thing my life was good for was growing up and popping out more little Jennas, to ensure the survival of the species. As if I were endangered, like a panda. She gave me the speech after cornering me while I was taking a bath, so I'm sitting in the tub naked, and I remember trying to disappear under the water so she would just leave me alone. She droned on for so long that the water got cold around me but I wouldn't get out because it felt safer than standing and getting even colder. I'm pretty sure that incident fucked me up for life.
“No.” Read More »
Yesterday, in celebration of former-roommate-Melissa's birthday, we sat on her and former-roommate-Emily's living room floor (there is no couch there yet), eating chocolate cake, listening to vintage polka music on vinyl. The air conditioning was broken, it was 85 degrees, and for long spans of time no one talked. It was like a avant guarde European short film made to illustrate the futility of life. But it was definitely the most relaxed party I've been to in a long time.
...
One of the interesting things about living downtown is the fact that laundry day involves going to into the bars that share your building, asking bartenders to change dollars for quarters.
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Work is not great right now. I myself follow the “don't get dooced” rule, so I won't say much other that I've become very disillusioned with the entire ordeal.
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The new apartment still rules.
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It is so surreal to me that while it was not my intention for it to be so, a post to my website somehow passes for a real apology. It doesn't feel real.
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Classes start again for me on Friday. I was seriously motivated about a month ago, but lately I feel like I'm slipping. I can't organize my thoughts, I can't seem to move on certain things. I feel frozen, locked in place, or maybe even held down by some physic weight.
Of course, this is every August, like clockwork. And hopefully, like clockwork, it'll pass.
I just wish I could remember to watch for it, before I lose what little control I seem to exercise over my own wild psychosis.
The first step is to stop being such a drama queen. Stop feeding it. Stop looking for sympathy, stop trying to be so tragic. It's not romantic, it's sad and desperate.
So stop.
“Excuse me ma'am? Do you think that's where your cigarette butt goes?”
I could only stare bewildered at the officer for a moment. “Sir?”
CB stood next to me, also stopped in his tracks. I had just thrown the end of my cigarette onto the black asphalt, into the gutter as I stepped off of the curb. It was the middle of the day, and we were going across the street to grab a soda before heading back to work. This is not the time of day one is normally in trouble with the cops.
“Do you think that's where your cigarette butt goes?”
He was using a smug and condescending tone, sitting up above me on his bike on the curb, his mirrored sunglasses making him appear blank and impersonal.
They're kind of insect-like. I thought. But they probably make him feel safe.
There was no good answer for that question, so I replied interrogatively, trying to diffuse whatever was about to go down. “No?”
I so do not need this right now.
“You know, I stopped here just to watch you people. I see you out here everyday doing this. You know, those butts get in the water system and stop things up. And then someone has to fix it.”
“That's too bad.”
“Did you ever think about where that goes when you just throw it on the ground?”
“To be honest, sir, I never gave it much thought before.”
He looked at the ground and shook his head in an angry and exasperated way, as if I had just told him the deceased grandmother he adored as a child was actually the town whore. This statement was unacceptable.
“You know that's littering.”
“I realize that.”
“Do you know much that ticket is?”
“No, I don't.”
“It's pretty expensive.”
“I imagine so.”
At this point he just stared, confused that I wasn't cowering before his awesome ticketing power.
Meanwhile, I was now losing my patience with this man. “Sir, is there some kind of action you'd like me to take here? Are you just giving me a warning?”
He kept on his diatribe as if I hadn't spoken at all. As he spoke he rocked backwards and forwards on his bike, clutching the hand brake again and again in pure agitation. “You know, I live here, and I pay taxes, and those taxes pay for people to clean the street, but I don't think this is their job.”
It became clear then that I was not just dealing with a power-tripping cop; rather this gentleman took personal offense at the fly-by-night students that are dirtying is lovely city. Nevermind that the students are responsible for the prosperity of the entire city, and nevermind that I myself am not a fly-by-night student.
“Sir, what is it that you would like me to do, exactly?” Clock is ticking, dude.
“I'm going to give you a warning this time, but I would like you to pick your cigarette butt up.”
“Okay.” I turned with great flourish and retrived my butt from the array of them on the ground behind me. I could tell which one was mine because it was black.
I was more or less fuming and I don't remember if he even wished us a nice day. I carried the butt across the street with me and threw it in the trash.
CB spoke up in the relative safety of the elevator. “You know, what's clear is that you really don't like cops.”
“I was polite!”
“Kinda.”
“I'm just sick of getting into trouble for being young; I never had any problems with ACC cops before today. It was the Winder cops who were always the real assholes to me.”
“I know, you've told me.”
“I understand that the man has to enforce the law when he sees someone breaking it, but if I was twenty years older the whole conversation would have gone much differently. There was no reason for him to be so disrespectful.”
As I walked to my desk, I gave a great big smile to my boss and proclaimed to him and my coworkers that in the scant 15 minutes that I was downstairs, I had managed to get in trouble with the law!
I related the story to much laughter, with many exclaimations of aren't-there-any-real-criminals-to-deal-with.
Phillips let loose, “He's just upset because he's not getting any real action on the day shift. You should have told him that you know you pay more taxes than him because you know you are making more money than him!”
Then Dixon chimed in, “You could have just gone with the old classic: ‘You know, I pay your salary!’”
thinking about pimping out the new apartment; impressing my coworkers; my bonding time with CB on fake lunches (we clock out but neither of us eat); party promoting; melodramatic music in various incarnations; watching the cops tear down the MTV reality show casting call flyers off of all the lamp posts in town, hoping they'll fine MTV; productivity/gtd porn; counting the days
You are reading the life, times, and general musings of Jenna Tollerson. I am a web developer and consultant living in downtown Athens, Georgia, USA. [...]
Lookie http://twistori.com 11 hours 1 min ago
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