However, absolutely everyone believes that I do. So, instead of explaining for the billionth time, I may just start fronting like I do; according to Ian living in North Philly "gives me the best street cred." I am always looking to up my status with the g's, so ... Yo, Shortie "officially" packs heat ridin' in the 'hood, y'all. 2nd Amendment WHAT. Et cetera et cetera.
- Yesterday, a 7pm dinner turned into a two-day race through Philadelphia, National Treasure-style. It was almost impressive.
I skipped up the steps of my subway station at 11:15pm last night, having finally made it home from dinner with my mentor (et al) downtown. I patted my scarf once, then again, then froze as I realized: it was not jingling. An icy wave of terror shot through my soul.
Here's the thing: I wear my ID, keys, and other need-to-be-accessed-quickly items on a lanyard.* Don't judge - Temple ID-checks at every campus building and my apartment is accessed via key card, so ... the ID lanyard evolved. With all my keys on it. Of course, peeps made fun of me for wearing a "name tag" to the dinner party, so I eventually bowed to peer pressure and took it off, tossing the lanyard haphazardly atop my coat and bag. It is probably obvious what happened next.
I could feel the panic course through my veins. Good lord, I whispered to no one. My keys are somewhere, anywhere, DOWNTOWN. I frantically dialed my (super-amazing) mentor for help, whipped back down to the platform, and rushed south, trying not to wonder where my keys might be if not left behind at the dinner location.
The train dumped me on Walnut just shy of midnight and I took off. Racing like a madwoman through the Theatre District, I shoved my way through a school field trip begging autographs at the opening night of Wicked. I narrowly avoided pedestrian disaster as I took a hard left over the Avenue of the Arts against the light, skidding onto Spruce with the briefest of millimeters separating me and an outraged SUV. I needed my keys, you guys.
I finally met my mentor at her apartment, where I promptly tripped over her steps. I both fell on my face and skinned both my knees. Again. At least I found my keys: they were haphazardly thrown in the coat room.
I didn't take time to be embarrassed. I limped back to catch the final 12:25a train, squeezing in just as the doors shut with the conductor's last call and finally getting home just after 1a this morning.
Never. Again. These keys will never leave my neck again.
* My mom owns no less than 30 school-themed lanyards, for every possible key need or combination of needs. It's norms, you guys.
- I would like to extend a formal apology to my friends with jobs, etc, to whom I extolled the joys of winter break, being a student e'en now. I hereby retract the glee. I officially have a novel to read and assignments to start, two weeks before classes commence. Thus, between work, school work, errands, and events, winter break feels eerily similar to the actual semester. Sorry for my gloating, you guys.
Now I'm jealous of your regular schedules and paychecks. If not your cubicles. Or dress code.
- I have had this nightmare. Not during finals week, which would only have made it much, much worse:
Ohh, tell me how The Waves is. I can't wait to get my grubby hands on that one.
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