keyz and futon hammox

Friends. Friends, friends, friends.

Sometimes I like to think I have come somewhere in these 22 years of mine. It's a false statement.
Let me relate the following two humorous anecdotes with you all about my foolishness.

#1

Last week, Jo (roommate) and Brian (friend from Denver) and I pulled a futon out of the dumpster. It was only a little dusty, and was otherwise in perfect condition. I decided to turn it into a hammock, as we have hooks on the front porch, and it would be lovely, so lovely, to float on a futony hammocky bed and gaze out at the mountains, people, Colorado dust, or whatever. I went to WalMart and bought ropes. And hooks, and little caribiners, that said "NOT FOR CLIMBING" on them. Since I wasn't climbing, I figured it was ok. I came home, and kicked off all of the cats who thought it was the Manitou cat hotel on our front porch because there was a futon matress. I tied knots, hoisted, teetered dangerously on plastic lawn chairs, got kind of sweaty, and finally got the futon into an "up" position. Ben, Jo's boyfriend, made the generous comment to me that it looked like if you got in it, it would feel like a sandwich where you were the meat. Ok, it did, no lies. I tried to adjust, and once I got it into a somewhat reasonable position, I sat on it. I then promptly plummeted to the ground, muttering at broken ropes and stupid futons.

This morning I carried it back down to the dumpster.

#2

This story is unfolding even as I type. I decided to ride my Trek to work today. Good idea; it was sunny but brisk, the perfect type of riding weather. I bought a new Bell helmet Saturday, and borrowed my roommate's bike lock until I can get one. I had my little hydration pack all filled and stashed my work shirt and green apron inside. Work went well, there were no bike theives, and though I got out a little late, I would still be home by dark. I found a cell phone without a battery on the side of the road, but otherwise it appears to be in good condition. I ripped my linen pants a little when the hem caught in the chain, but no worries- they just have ventilation now. Once home, I realized MUCH TO MY CHAGRIN that I had no keys. They were at the store, a good four miles from here, and it was now completely dark. Fortunately there is a spare key, which I was able to use to get in, but no way to get back to the store. I called Shelly, who is bringing them to me, on her way over for some maté with the cult kids.
How fortunate for things called friends.

Always remember, my fellow Americans, to laugh at yourself. No matter how culturally advanced or theologically learned you are, you will do dumb things. Yay.