How not to start your Monday mornings….

 ….don’t zip around your apartment thinking you’re on time for once and gloat inwardly. Why? Because then this will happen:

You’ll begin to bike down the street, hit a bump and your travel coffee mug will proceed to fly out of your hands. After it takes its first (and last) flight, it slams into the concrete sidewalk, shatters and spills your beloved liquid gold (brown?) all over said sidewalk.
While you’re still recovering from the loss of the nectar of the gods for your subway ride into hell (otherwise known as “work), you’ll bend over to pick up the remaining shards of plastic of your travel mug, only for your 5th (and thus very precious) iPhone to fall out of your pocket, falling onto the same cursed concrete and shattering the glass in a corner.
With no time to weep loudly like you want to, you’ll pick up your phone, leave the pieces of your belongings behind on the devil’s walkway, shove your battered phone back into your pocket, and then almost get hit by a big delivery truck not paying attention to the road.
So, yup. It’s Monday morning here in Chancy-land, and I couldn’t be more miserable.

Injured pinky

Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. OUCH.

A few months ago I sliced my finger while attempting to peel potatoes in my friend Carolina’s kitchen. It hurt. A lot. Ever the opportunist, I blogged about it.

If you like pictures of maimed body parts, my injured pinky tumblr is a great place for you to spend some time perusing photos. If you don’t like turning tragedy into comedy (and yes, injuring my pinky finger was a tragedy…white whine, anyone?) then just go find something else to do with your Friday night, mmkay?

Concerned citizens: my pinky is all healed now. I have some fond memories of that night, a cutesie little scar, and a blog that gives people the shivers to show for it. Mostly I just thank the lord I already had a few glasses of wine in me, or I might’ve actually felt the pain when it happened. Instead, slicing through my finger felt similar to what it feels to slice a block of cheese.

Okay, I’m done being gross. G’night!