today, i am cranky

my life is a joke: a story with visual aids

+my hammer: my apartment key mysteriously bent in a dancing extravaganza a few weeks ago. it’s mysterious because they were attached to my waist when it happened and i don’t think i weigh/am strong enough to smash metal. know who is strong enough to bend metal? lights. check out this girl's arms: PHWOARRR. [photo credit: maureen spier] anyway, i found a hammer and banged my key back into shape [ish], but apparently bending w

eakened the metal because the key keeps changing shape every time i go to get into my house. which means now i have to carry a hammer around with me so i can force my key into the lock. not a big deal when i have a backpack or whatever, but not so cool when i’m just carrying it around.

+the stepstool: i’m short [5’3”]. my roommate’s shorter [4’10”]. we can’t reach anything. ever.

+my helmet: my bike is my pride and joy

because i spent all summer making it myself.

even though i can take a bike apart and put it

back together, i don’t have tools yet, so it keeps

breaking little by little and i can’t fix it. also, philadelphia is supposed to be a bike-friendly city, but cars here treat bikes lanes as passing lanes and seem to think it’s acceptable to honk at bikes to let them know that they’ve decided to drive in the bike lane and that going to run into them but not actually make any effort to avoid hitting the bike. 2 ton car v. me [on a bike with brakes that aren’t reliable] = i wear a helmet

+my leggings: i refuse to go outside

without at least 65 layers of clothing on between october and march.

winter seems to be especially never-ending this year, but i’ve found a solution: thermal pants. they’re like a tank top for your legs, only infinitely less sexy.

+this window: my walls are absolutely dwarfing, and seem even bigger when i’m alone. in unrelated news, i can almost name all the duggar children. i need a job.

+my license: last time i was in ohio, i went to wal-mart to buy rubber cement so i could finish my art homework. when i went to check out, the cashier told me she needed my id because you have to be over 15 [FIFTEEN!] to buy rubber cement. i gave her my 2 half-licenses and she told me they weren’t legal and wouldn’t let me buy the rubber cement. there are so many problems with is: a] i am 20 not 15. b] are they seriously worried about huffing? um, guess what? huffing’s like unicorns, it’s like tss, it’s not real.

later that night, we did a super-unscientific study grandma’s table about huffing and 0/19 people knew anyone who had ever actually huffed. if i’d bought, like, rubber cement and brown paper bags, i guess i would have understood why the cashier was so adamant, but i was buying paper, an x-acto knife, and rubber cement, so come on. c] i used the same id to get on a plane but they wouldn’t let me use it at wal-mart. sorry to rain on your parade, cashier girl, but you’re not keeping anyone safe by not letting me use my license, you’re just being obnoxious. d] it’s wal-mart, what did i expect? last time i was there, i was talking about how there’s no tax on clothes in pennsylvania with my mum and the cashier told me it was because they grew the cotton and made them there. which is obviously not even a little bit true.