F My Life. No, Seriously.

Today (yesterday, actually, but for format's sake), I woke up at 7:30 AM to attend a mandatory class session. After deciding I would in fact attend this session, I rolled out of bed and remembered that I had lost my wallet at a bar last night. After sneaking onto the bus Metro-Pass less (horrible Karma for rebelling against bus drivers? Dear God, I got Bat Mitzvahed this summer, and I have put at least 43 cents into the charity jar in my dining room this year, why oh why?....), wearing Juicy sweatpants and Uggs (I may look Jappy, but I save Juicy sweatpants and Uggs in public for very.bad.days.) and napping through class, I came home to find the following letter in my mailbox:

Dear __________________,

I write to you from Kobenhavn Borgerservice, where you came last month to get a cpr number, because there's some doubt about the address you want to be registered on.

The room number 118 is, in our system, not for living in. It is more like an office or a place you can work and not live in, so we need you to bring a contract of your apartment so we can try to solve it and so you can get a cpr number and be registered correctly.

I am sorry that we didn't pay attention to it the first time you were in here.

Best regards,

Danish Hoe.

I now don't have my passport (it's at the Russian Embassy for processing for my upcoming trip!), no drivers license, no credit cards, no health insurance, and no registration as a Danish resident. My most official form of ID is the Student ID I have been using as both bus and bar pass. And to top it off, apparently I have been living in an "office" for the past three weeks.

F my life.