lucky charms

I'm sort of drowning in them. I keep finding them here and there, scattered in odd corners of my apartment.
No, I'm not talking about the cereal.
I understand I may be burned at the stake, but it's not exactly my favorite cereal [it would take a life-changing event to wrench Life from that special place in my heart]. I'm not sure I've actually ever bought a box of it for myself. I'm talking about the charms my Mom's been sending me because she's terrified I'm going to kill myself on my bike.
I attached a commuter-safety-specific one to my bike last winter and lost it two weeks later when, my cross tires clogged with snow, I took a digger on Mass Ave. I guess it worked because I only ended up sliding down the road on my ass, and my knees stayed intact. And while I keep forgetting to ask for another commuter one, my parents are sending them in all shapes and sizes.



To be fair, I've managed to avoid anything involving blood since I've had one on my bag. But with all these choices, I haven't decided which to attach to my saddle. And seized with that indecision, I've chosen to sort of favor the cereal over the small pretty charms.
No, I'm not stuffing my face with Lucky Charms. I do know people who will eat it by the handful, though, savoring those dry, sugary marshmallow lumps. The same people who feel strongly enough about it that they'll get in arguments over the merits of Lucky Charms over Cinnamon Toast Crunch and, if I'm involved, Life.


Maybe it's that fanatical devotion to the packaged cereal that appealed to me. Okay, granted, the picture of Chris on Facebook with this exact jersey on pretty much sold me. When I grabbed it off the sale rack at IBC, Marcus gushed that it had been waiting for the right person to buy it. Well, here I am.
Yes, correct, I rock this. It makes me look absolutely ridiculous. Or just 10 years old. Either way, it's currently my favorite thing to sweat in. It's also the first thing I'm slipping into when I get back from school tomorrow. And oh, will I be sweating.

a charming commuter

My favorite black ballet flats, a vintage Dior shirt-dress, a pair of square gold earrings repossessed from my Mom, a vintage dark green Loewe handbag from the same source, and black leggings.
Oh, and my favorite Miu Miu shades.
Plus a bright red cruiser.
Rides to school, the store, the coffee shop are effortlessly stylish.
Yeah, right.
The [sad] reality actually consists of layers of socks, Underarmour, fleece zip-ups, and some legit Pearl Izumi gloves. Sweat also makes a consistent appearance; and while I may be able to get up Heartbreak Hill with a laptop and some casebooks on my back, the gasping for breath at the top of that hill is definitely not stylish.
Although, to be fair, this would probably totally clash on a red cruiser:

My Mom, paranoid that my bike commuting will eventually get me killed, bought me a commuter safety charm. Lucky me that it was dark green, matches my bike, and is small enough to fit underneath the seat without me having to raise it.