three-day weekends are just long enough to get myself into trouble

I hit roomie’s car with mine yesterday. WHILE she was in the car with me. Holy craploads of less-than-awesomeness. Don’t ever let me borrow your car; I will probably run it into something. Although if you live near me, you might want to lend me your car so that it’s not sitting still anywhere that I can run into it with MY car. Mostly, you probably just shouldn’t live near me OR lend me your car. In fact, I really just shouldn’t be allowed to drive. Not only do I end up three counties over from where I mean to go, but apparently, I’m simply not coordinated enough to steer around stuff instead of plowing into it. At least I have boring car accidents. They usually take place in parking lots at about three miles per hour.

As it turns out, I did almost no damage, and Roomie is going to the mechanic anyway for something else, so she can just have them touch up the paint while she’s there. Roomie was impressively chill during the whole incident. I’m sure this one will NOT cost me $750 dollars to fix. Though I imagine it’ll still cost significantly more than not running into anything at all. Like I would have done if I was a normal person. Who could drive.

On a brighter note, happy belated Memorial Day everyone! Other than running into roomie’s car last night, I had a fantastic weekend and went to FOUR parties in three days. That’s right. I have friends. I felt super cool for having all these fun plans over the weekend, even if it always turns out that I’m still the least-cool person at the party.

I was trying to leave a party with my CrossFit friends around 11 on Saturday night. I was tired. It was past my bedtime.

I know, I’m lame.

On the way out, I got a lecture from a friend, who is probably 10 years older than me, about acting my age.

Alex (in a rhetorical question sort of way): “Anna, how old are you?”

Me:  “Umm, twenty-two?” (I DO know how old I am, but I feel the need to answer with questions if somebody is telling me off for something.)

Alex: “That’s right. And how old are you acting?”

Me (head hanging): “Ninety. I know.”

I feel like a lot of kids have gotten the reverse of this lecture from their parents. I never did. But sadly, this is not the first time I’ve been told off by my friends for acting like an old lady. In fact, I’ve even been told off by old ladies for acting like an old lady.

Still the fact that I have cool friends to tell me off for this is a good sign. I’m at least SLIGHTLY cooler by proxy. Right?


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