Monday, June 15th, 2009
One of my most prized possessions is my lovely bike, Clooney. My ride to work in the morning is bliss. I lock him up outside my workplace and to my dismay, when my 12 hour work day is done, someone has always taken it upon themselves to fuck with my Clooney!
No cool amigos, not cool at all.
See, I have put a couple of baskets on my bike (one on the front, one on the back), to make life easier for myself (because I end up with mucho bags when I finish a shopping trip). Apparently, dumb ass pedestrians seem to mistake these baskets for trash cans on a daily basis. Every day, after work when I go to unlock my bike for the ride home, there is quite the assortment of shit in those baskets.
The most popular thing people like to put in there is food wrappers. Empty McDonalds bags with half a nugget and limp cold fries with ketchup seeping out, Starbucks mocca -chocca- mini- skinny- soy- latte- voulez- vous- couchez- avec- moi- ce- soir-acinno cups, those nasty ass street kebab polystyrene packages – they’ve all somehow found their way to rest in my baskets. What is more annoying than people’s nasty trash is that less than 10 steps away from where I park my bike is a MOTHERBITCHING TRASH CAN!
But I can tell by the trash they leave behind that they are fat, lazy bastards. Probably the last thing they need in life is that McDonalds. And to waddle their fat asses 10 more steps to the trash can, will clearly leave them in need of a paramedic.
I hate people.
The other day when I went to the gym, I came out to find the back basket on Clooney was stuffed with a plastic bag full of old, dirty, smelly clothes. Um, what the fuck?! I took it and flung it on the sidewalk. A homeless woman nearby, broke from a crowd of her homeless homies and came running over apologising. Apparently, those clothes were hers. Does my bike look like your closet? Bitch, please!
And to top off the random ‘crap in a basket’ phenomena, of course, the Jehovah’s Witnesses had to get involved. I found a big ass leaflet from them in my basket, because apparently my choice of bike indicates that I live a life of sin.
I would like to encourage anyone who passes by my bike, to find religion. And people better pray to Peter, Paul and Mary that I don’t catch putting anything in those baskets.
Tags: bikes, Clooney., lazy stupid disrespectful people, trash
Posted in life | 2 Comments »
Monday, October 13th, 2008
This weekend was Thanksgiving (I don’t know why we have it in October. I sense it’s because Canadians feel an intense need to do everything before Americans, to prove some kind of point. I’m surprised they haven’t bumped up the birth of Christ to get in there before the Yanks too).
After a few days of being knocked out with a cold, I was looking forward to a feast. We’d organised a pot luck at my friend’s house. I went over there early to cook my scallop potatoes (which, in case your wondering, kick some serious tater ass). Over the course of the day, stragglers came through with their dish of choice and around 8pm, we all sat down to a righteous feed.
Thirty minutes later, we had inhaled any food stuff in sight and lay semi-passed out in the living room. As the night wore on, my cold started to get worse. I was feeling congested and gross and figured it was time for me to peace out and get some rest. It was 10pm when I left and was humid out, but I wrapped up nonetheless. I unlocked my bike and it fell over. Great start. I struggled to pick it up, gathered myself and got on for my twenty minute ride home. I don’t have a helmet and haven’t put lights on my bike yet – oh, I like to live on the edge my friends.
Any sort of physical exercise is tough when you have a cold. I was wheezing like an 80 year old man. I finally made it home and scared the crap out of myself when I looked in the mirror. The humidity had brought my Irish girl afro out in full effect. I was suffocating myself. I waded through my hair and made it upstairs, only to realise my phone was missing.
I had a flash back to my bike falling over when I unlocked it and imagined my poor phone must be wallowing in the grass somewhere over by my friend’s house. I then had a glimpse into my future of going to the phone shop to attempt to get a new one. I don’t need that drama – the less I have to do with my cell phone company, the better. I had no choice. I would have to cycle back over there and hope some passerby hadn’t stolen it already. I threw my hair up into Bangs and a Bun (what’s that? Shameless self promotion? You betcha!) and went on my way.
By the time I got there, I had snot running down my face and needed CPR. I hurled my bike to the ground and got on my hands and knees in the grass to track down my phone. Luckily, it was there. I called my friend, told her to look out the window and told her the whole story. She found it quite hilarious, probably because she had the misfortune of having the visual to go with it.
Clearly, this unexpected expedition hasn’t done much for my cold. It’s now moved down to my chest and I sound like a sex chat line operator. I may have to use that to my advantage for the next couple of days. It’s a recession dammit! I gotta do what I gotta do!
Tags: bikes, food, more food, phones
Posted in life | 6 Comments »
Monday, September 1st, 2008
Labor Day, I decided to take a nice, peaceful, relaxing bike ride along the lakeshore to soak up the last bit of summer. Unfortunately, approximately three quarters of the population of Toronto had the same idea.
It was utter madness down there. There were kids and bikes and strollers and rollerblades everywhere. Battle of the wheels. And you damn sure know I wasn’t gonna lose. Forget having a bell on my bike. I’m thinking of adding an air horn. If I told these motherbitches to get out of my way once, I told them a thousand times.
Amid this clusterfuck of Labor Day insanity, I made a couple of observations:
Men in rollerblades
Clearly, some fellas didn’t get this memo yet, so I’ll spell it out loud and clear: rollerblading for men is about the gayest thing you can do. I lost count of the number of shirtless, sweat drenched, iPod headphoned, cargo short wearing rollerbladers I saw. If studies were done on this, I think they would show that men who rollerblade are one Cher record and a couple of drinks away from anal penetration. And why are they always speed skating? Because they’re in a hurry to get home and watch that Margaret Cho DVD? Yeah, I thought so.
Chest hair
Listen, I know it’s all part of being a man. A few tufts of hair sprouting from the chest plate is passable, but if your chest looks like a shag pile carpet from the ’70s threw up on you, you need to put that shit away. Who told you it was OK for you to take your shirt off in a public setting? If we women have to wax our bikini regions, you can get rid of that unsightly mess. I’m going to start carrying wax strips with me and if I see a guy with a chest rug, I will hold him down and forcibly remove it. And no, I’m not joking.
I hate anyone not on a bike
Motorists, pedestrians, babies in strollers; I can’t stand any of them. Cars want to kill me, pedestrians are determined to get in my way and babies, well I guess we just have to blame the parents. But even more than babies in strollers, I hate four year olds in strollers, with their feet scraping along the ground and that smug look on their face. Get those lazy bastards up and make them walk! What the hell is wrong with you? Those are the kids who will still be living at home at 25, with no job prospects, smoking weed and you’ll have no one to blame but yourself. And don’t even get me started on when they get that motorized scooter in their late thirties.
Despite all the obstacles, human and otherwise, I went for the longest bike ride of my life. I just kept pedaling. Through the heat and the steady transformation of my hair from flat ironed loveliness, to the Irish girl afro, I just kept pedaling. Through the screaming kids and rows of hotdog stands, I just kept pedaling. Past the guy with the body of an adonis who was jumping rope and dripping sweat, I stopped pedaling and damn near hit a tree, but that’s not the point. I wanted to take in every last bit of this summer, because it has been a great one. I pedaled so much, I think I ended up in upstate New York.
For most, Labor day symbolizes the end of summer, but you know what it means to me? Time to start shopping for my fall wardrobe. Happy days!
Tags: bikes, summer, the gays, toronto, waxing
Posted in life | 5 Comments »
Thursday, July 17th, 2008
A few weeks ago, I wrote my life list.
So, I figured, I better get cracking on some of this stuff.
This week’s challenge was number ten on my list: Get back into dance and perform.
I’m not quite at the performance stage just yet, but I took my first jazz class in over 3 years and frankly, I rocked it.
I was a little apprehensive as I stepped into the large studio space into a room full of serious looking leotard-donned people (I opted for the track pants/tank top casual dance ensemble). I sat down and did some random stretches, hoping the basic warm-up techniques would come back to me.
The teacher arrived and did the first half of the warm up on the floor. I stretched and got loose to the sounds of Janet Jackson and followed along quite nicely. The second half of the warm up was a whole bunch of ballet, which caught me off guard. I tried to blend in, but most likely looked like someone who just got off the ‘special bus’.
Then came the ‘routine’ portion of the class. Mid way through, I needed CPR, but I battled through to the end. And as my toes pointed and my arms stretched and my body twisted, turned and leaped, I realised, I’ve missed this. So much. I wanted the beat to keep playing and my body to just keep moving.
I left sweaty, tired and blissfully happy.
Then came the next day. I woke up with that satisfied feeling, you know the one, where your body feels a little fatigued because you put it through its paces. The bike ride to work wasn’t too bad. Over the course of the day, I noticed that when I’d get up from my desk, my legs weren’t cooperating with the program with their usual ease. The pace of my walk slowed down somewhat and a dull ache spread throughout my entire body, to the point that lifting my pen felt like championship weightlifting.
As you’ve probably guessed, the bike ride home was not pretty. Come home time, my legs were in full on failure. The pedals on Clooney felt like giant rocks that I was trying to push up hill. ‘Are those….muscles?’ I asked myself, looking down at my shaky legs as they attempted to get me home. The harder I tried to pedal, the more I appeared to be going in slow motion. I had to stop midway up a hill and wave the cars around me as I caught my breath (and it wasn’t even really a hill, more of a ‘slight incline’, I just thought ‘hill’ would make it sound better).
As I sit here now, I’m not sure if I’ll ever regain full use of my legs, my right shoulder and I think I have sustained permanent damage to my pinky toe, but I can’t wait for next week’s class.
Bring it bitches, bring it all on!
Tags: bikes, Clooney., dancing, pain
Posted in life | 3 Comments »
Tuesday, June 17th, 2008
It’s the dawn of a new day bitches! And this day involves me riding a bike. Yup, that’s how I roll. Literally.
On Saturday, after weeks of intense pondering, I decided to bite the bullet and buy myself a two-wheeled wonder. Understand, I had not been on a bike since I was about 12, so it was a big decision, centered mainly around how ridiculous I would look on it.
Saturday morning, bright and early, I took myself to Canadian Tire to test drive a few bikes. I had had my heart set on a cruiser, but it was way bigger than I thought it would be. I couldn’t figure out a dainty way to swing my leg over the seat. Just then, I glanced to my left and there He was. The bike of my dreams. A spotlight zoomed in on it and a choir of angels sang as the voice of God (played by the voice of Tim Gunn of TV’s Project Catwalk) said, ‘Oh honey, that’s the one.’
It’s a Schwinn folding bike in a fetching shade of maroon (normally not a great color, but on my bike, it’s the shit, OK?) I told my sales assistant (a guy in his 40s who had a weave that made him look like a pimp from the 70s) ‘pump up those tires, I’m taking that bad boy!’
A few minutes later, I out of the store, but too scared to actually ride the bike, so I just walked with it for a few blocks trying to look cool. Three blocks later, I decided I had to get on. I mounted Clooney (yes, that is what I named him. Let’s face it, it’s the closest I’m going to get to George) and after a couple of shaky seconds, I was cruising. I decided to bike to another shop to buy myself a good lock. It was a perfect day for biking; the sunshine, the wind blowing through my hair, the near brushes with death – it made me feel alive, I tell ya!
I bought the lock and biked home. But I could not stay put. I was looking for any excuse to get out on Clooney. I biked to the other side of town to visit my friend at work. I biked home. I biked to get a facial. I biked home. I biked to my friend’s house party. I biked home. By the end of the day, I’d clocked up over 20 miles.
Sunday, I cycled downtown again to get a basket for Clooney. The guys in the shop convinced me to get two; one on the front for my purse and one on the back for ‘cargo’. I’m not exactly sure what ‘cargo’ I’ll have, but I liked the fact that they thought I might have some. ‘So, you can just attached them on there and you’re good to go,’ says the dopey sales assistant. ‘Um, that would imply that I own tools, ‘ I say. ‘Do I look like I own tools?’ Dopey sales guy agreed that his assumption was stupid as hell and got to work screwing on the baskets.
Then I rode Clooney uptown to go shoe shopping. I went in for shoes and came out with sandals, a clutch purse, earrings and a bangle. (I blame my lack of focus on the heat.) When I finally emerged from the store, I felt a few raindrops. I dashed across the street to where I’d parked Clooney, shoved my goods in my ‘cargo’ basket and scrambled to get on the seat. I had barely cycled a couple of yards when the heavens opened and absolutely drenched me. Let me tell you, rain hurts when you’re going at high speeds! I just wanted to get home as quickly as possible so I kept peddling, saying ‘ow, ow, OW!’ as the rain thrashed against my face and soaked through my clothes. By the mid-way point, I was praising Jesus that I had decided to wear a bra.
I made it home before the thunder and lightening hit. I lay in bed, watched the sky light up and listened to the thunder, feeling satisfied that I finally made a commitment to get active. My ass is killing me and my legs are in a constant state of cramp, but it is damn worth it.
So, here’s to Clooney, the new man in my life (and to me having buns of steel by august).
Tags: bikes, Clooney., fitness, shopping
Posted in life | 4 Comments »