I went to the mall today. Yeah, I'm still under the weather, but I still had to go. I needed to pick up a gift for a grab bag. I ended up wandering into Macy's and decided I should check out some cologne.
I haven't bought cologne in a while, but I did look some up on the old intraweb. Lo and behold, several of the colognes listed on askmen.com were on the counter. So I grabbed some cards and started spraying. A cute Asian counter girl offered assistance, but I declined.
To let my nose recover from the cologne sniffing, I walked around the store and found a nice box of chocolates for my grab bag. I walked back to the perfume counter to find the cute girl waiting.
"Can I ring you up for that," she asked.
"In a bit. I'm interested in getting some cologne," I replied.
"Any particular one?"
"I was thinking about the Cool Water."
The cute girl finds the tester bottle and we try some on my wrist. It smelled a bit fruity and playful on my skin, so I start having second thoughts about this scent. I asked the cute girl for her opinion.
"It smells nice. Is that the one you want?"
"I don't know. It's been a long time since I bought cologne so I'm not sure what I'm looking for."
"Oh? What did you used to wear?"
"Polo. How about you pick something for me?"
"Hmmmm. I like these," and she pulled out three bottles. Then she started searching for cards. Her coworker was wrestling with the plastic shrink wrap the cards come in. Once they were free, the cute girl grabbed three and sprayed the first one.
"Hmmm," I nodded. The cute girl sprayed the second.
"Um, I can't smell a thing. Might be because I'm sick," I said. The cute girl laughed then went behind the counter to get a bag of coffee beans. "No really, I am a bit sick," I declared again only to hear her laugh again. Then she sprayed the final bottle.
"OK, this one smells a bit fruity."
The cute girl removed the last bottle from the line up. Out of the two remaining, I asked her which was her favorite. I figure a woman would have a better opinion of what smells good on a man than a man himself.
"I like this one. Can I try it on your other wrist," the cute girl asked.
"Sure." And she sprayed my wrist. She sniffed my wrists and declared that it was the better scent.
"Yeah. I like this one, but I don't want to make the decision myself," the cute girl said. I looked around, hoping to grab another female as a smell tester. Unfortunately, the only females around were of a nice, tender age that would get me arrested as a sex offender. The cute girl must have read my mind and she started looking for another available counter girl. A cosmetics girl came around and asked the cute girl what was up.
"Can you tell us which one you prefer," the cute girl asked the cosmetics girl, who then sniffed my wrists.
"I like this one," the cosmetics girl said as she pointed to the wrist that smelled of the scent the cute girl chose.
"Alrighty then. I'll take it."
"OK, this one comes in a gift pack," said the cute girl as she dug through a pyramid of gift packs. Eventually she found none. "I'm sorry. Looks like we're out of the gift pack."
"What came in the gift pack?"
"Shower gel. . ."
"OK, that's a bit too gay for me. I don't need the gift pack."
The cute girl giggled and got out a regular bottle. "Would you like to put this on your Macy's card?"
"No thanks."
"Would you like to sign up for a Macy's card?"
"I actually have one, but I just don't know what I did with it."
The cute girl giggled and said, "I can ring it up on your card through a search if you want."
"Nah. That's OK. I'll just use my regular card."
The cute girl rang up my bottle of Armani Mania and box of chocolates.
"Thank you very much," the cute girl said as she handed me my card and receipt.
"Thank you. . .," I tried to read her nametag.
"Shaeja"
"Shaeja. Thank you Shaeja."
"You're welcome."
"And thank you for making me smell like two different people."
(Giggles)"You're welcome. Have a good evening."
"You too. Enjoy the rest of your night."
So now I have cologne. I am one step closer to being a metrosexual.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Monday, November 26, 2007
Back to the Beach
It's been about 10 years since I went to the beach to actually get in the water. So when the Band Teacher told me to go with her, I was a bit apprehensive. I mean, I'd have to get mostly naked in public. I haven't been naked in public since my stint as a stunt flasher. But the chance to ogle mostly naked women won out.
This is the view of the ocean from where we were sitting. It's at Poipu, Kauai.
You can't see the palm trees and pavilions behind us.
Once on the beach, I immediately began to warm up with some beers.
And I started to look for female butts. Sorry the picture quality is so poor. I have a crappy cell phone.
Lucky the BT is so cool. She said her cell phone camera was better than mine, so she tried to take some pics for me. She has lousy tastes though.
Beached whale?
Screw this. I'll just take a pic of the BT and post that up instead.
"Oh no. Don't post that pic on your blog. It makes me look fat," said the BT.
WHAT? where the hell is the fat? In your toes?
During this time, Riley was out on his lunch date. I had been egging him on all day yesterday, saying when I see his date, I'm going to hit on her soooo bad. I only did that so he would get off his ass and initiate a date with the poor girl. As proof that the girl did survive initial contact with the entity known as Riley, he sent me this pic. Of course, it could be a man in a wig.
After the beach, the BT and I headed off to a bar and grill for lunch. It's the same one where I hit on a waitress a couple of weeks ago. This time I didn't hit on any waitresses. A friend told me I shouldn't hit on the rest since they do share stories, and I would become famous.
Instead, I called over my waitress and said, "can I get your opinion on something?"
"Sure," she replied.
"My friend sent me this pic of his date. Does she look thirty-# to you?" I showed her the pic on my phone.
"No. Wait. No. She doesn't look thirty-#."
"That's what I thought. Hey, can I take a picture of you?"
"Well, I usually don't like how I look in photos, but ok," she said as she corrected her posture.
"Actually, let's take a picture together." I handed my phone to the BT.
She's right. She was way more attractive in person. The backlighting hurt the pic. And you can't see how great her legs looked. She said she was a runner. I believe her.
The BT said we should do this again next week. If I do, I'm buying a better camera.
This is the view of the ocean from where we were sitting. It's at Poipu, Kauai.
You can't see the palm trees and pavilions behind us.
Once on the beach, I immediately began to warm up with some beers.
And I started to look for female butts. Sorry the picture quality is so poor. I have a crappy cell phone.
Lucky the BT is so cool. She said her cell phone camera was better than mine, so she tried to take some pics for me. She has lousy tastes though.
Beached whale?
Screw this. I'll just take a pic of the BT and post that up instead.
"Oh no. Don't post that pic on your blog. It makes me look fat," said the BT.
WHAT? where the hell is the fat? In your toes?
During this time, Riley was out on his lunch date. I had been egging him on all day yesterday, saying when I see his date, I'm going to hit on her soooo bad. I only did that so he would get off his ass and initiate a date with the poor girl. As proof that the girl did survive initial contact with the entity known as Riley, he sent me this pic. Of course, it could be a man in a wig.
After the beach, the BT and I headed off to a bar and grill for lunch. It's the same one where I hit on a waitress a couple of weeks ago. This time I didn't hit on any waitresses. A friend told me I shouldn't hit on the rest since they do share stories, and I would become famous.
Instead, I called over my waitress and said, "can I get your opinion on something?"
"Sure," she replied.
"My friend sent me this pic of his date. Does she look thirty-# to you?" I showed her the pic on my phone.
"No. Wait. No. She doesn't look thirty-#."
"That's what I thought. Hey, can I take a picture of you?"
"Well, I usually don't like how I look in photos, but ok," she said as she corrected her posture.
"Actually, let's take a picture together." I handed my phone to the BT.
She's right. She was way more attractive in person. The backlighting hurt the pic. And you can't see how great her legs looked. She said she was a runner. I believe her.
The BT said we should do this again next week. If I do, I'm buying a better camera.
Friday, November 23, 2007
Two Turkeys on a Ride
Squiggy the sex offender flashes for Lauren.
"Great. Now we're trapped in here," said Gsxrgirrrl in a non-ending string of complaints.
Gsxrgirrrl found a dandelion to blow. In a related incident, Squiggy got pelted by dandelion seeds and spittle.
Squiggy still can't wear Women's Small.
"But," he said . . .
Gsxrgirrrl collapses after riding one handed for 20 minutes holding her fairing then wrenching it back on. "My butt looks big," she proclaimed.
Monday, November 19, 2007
I Should Not Be Allowed Near Women
Been a while since I wrote something. I actually had a busy October, but I promised not to write about it. So you guys will have to be satisfied with November. For November, I seem to be having weird interactions with women.
This is what happened when the Band Teacher and I went out to lunch one day:
We were seated and a nice caucasian waitress came over to take our order. After she left, I said, "she looks like she works out."
When the waitress came back with our drinks, I asked if she works out.
"I surf and swim a lot. I haven't been to a gym since I moved here though. But I love the beaches around here. I'm from San Diego, but the ocean around here is just so much better. Is it my large shoulders? Back in school, the guys used to ask me to flex. Do they look weird?"
"Not at all. In fact, I think you look very attractive."
After she thanked me, she went back to work. I talked to the BT about body language and how it's fun to see all these couples here and try to figure out what's going on. Then I said that if someone was watching us, they would be wondering what the hell was going on. I was looking at every single attractive female in the place while my "girl" took it casually. The BT said that if they paid attention to her body language, they should know we weren't a couple. I told her she was wrong. Then I pointed out how the hostess wanted to seat us side by side.
I then noticed the waitress had her back to us while she fiddled with those computerized drink terminal thingies. She had nicely shaped legs, but the BT refused to look when I told her to.
When the waitress came over with our food, I spoke again.
"I never got your name."
"Oops. I'm sorry. It's C*****. We're supposed to introduce ourselves when we first greet the customers. . . [she spoke too fast at this point]."
Lunch took some time to finish. I had a really big cheese burger and the BT had a fish taco. I told her to be ready because I was going to make a fool of myself. C***** came back with our bill.
"Hey C*****, what do you think of this? I'm a 35 year old teacher. I love mountain biking and riding motorcycles. Any of that sound interesting?"
"Yeah! I love motorcycles."
"How about movies? You interested in movies?"
"Oh, I do love going to the movies, but I have a boyfriend."
"Might not be a good idea then."
"Yeah. But um, aren't you with, um. . . your wife. . . girlfriend?"
The BT piped up, "oh no. I'm just the sister he never knew he had nor wanted."
"Oh, you two are just friends," C***** asked.
I replied, "yup. But the funny thing is we were just talking about how people would mistake us for a couple."
C***** finished with, "you know what? Thanks. You really made my day."
"No problem. In fact, I really enjoyed looking at you." [wtf was I saying? I need to stop drinking beer during lunch.]
Later that day, on my bike ride:
There's this one female security guard for the hotel where we ride our bikes. I saw she was working today, so I was determined to talk to her before I left.
I pulled up to the guard booth, and she waved. I stopped, took off my sunglasses, and said, "you know, I see you here often, but I've never introduced myself. My name is Squiggy."
She stood up and came closer to shake my hand. "My name is C*****."
"Hi C*****. So how does a girl like you become a security guard?"
"You know, I'm not quite sure myself. I keep trying to tell them to hire more women so I'm not the only one."
"Hmmm. I'm not sure how you'll take this. I was going to say that you were the most attractive security guard around here, but since you're the only female one. . ."
C***** smiles.
"Well, I guess I should let you get back to work. It does look rather boring though sitting here all night. Maybe I should sneak in some beers?"
"I'm allergic to beer."
I look stunned.
"So what do you do when you go out?"
"I hardly go out anymore. I usually stay home. When I did go out drinking, I would drink hards."
"You usually stay home? How old are you?"
"21"
"Twenty one??? And you don't go out drinking?"
"I used to drink a lot in high school," C***** smiles.
"Ah, I got it. It's no fun now that you're legal, huh. Well maybe I can take you out for drinks one night. I'll see you around."
"Yup. You will since you've seen me often before."
She later declined my offer a couple days later to get drunk.
This happened during the work week:
Girl Student: Mr. Squiggy, Miss [cute Science Teacher] told me to ask you something.
Me: Um, kay. . .
Girl: I'll tell you after class. (40 minutes later) Miss Science Teacher told me to tell you to buy a ticket to my hula performance.
Me: Huh? Why?
Girl: She bought one, but she doesn't want to go alone.
Me: So she told you to ask me?
Girl: Yeah.
Me: Um, kay. . . how much is a ticket?
Girl: $20 for the dinner too.
Me: Twenty bucks???
Girl: Yeah. Miss Science Teacher bought the $20 one.
Me: Great. OK. Meet me during lunch. I'll go get my money.
Email to Science Teacher: You're going to drive for this.
After mountain biking:
In the afternoon, while we were loading up our bikes, a rental car pulled up to the lookout. Out popped some old fogie and a tall, attractive blonde. We made some small talk about things to see around there. She, her mom I guess, her grandpa, and a hot sister were out for the day touring. They came on a cruise ship. The tall blonde looked good, and she was doing stretches in front of me, but I couldn't bring myself to flirt with her. I guess I R-tard.
After jogging that afternoon with a girl:
The girl adjusted her sanitary napkin in front of me. I also matter-of-factly pointed out her nipples were showing. To which she replied that it's natural since she was wearing a sports bra and she was active. Then she started to poke at her nipple while I watched.
"Um, let's get going before something else besides your nipples gets hard."
The BT and I went to a bar:
There was another attractive waitress, go figure. However, she was dressed differently from the other waitresses. Of course, me being me, I had to ask. She explain that she worked behind the bar, and was also a food runner. She also explained that her uniform matched the guys, but of course, the one she wore was a more feminine style. I agree.
While the BT was settling the tab, I kept watching that attractive waitress. She was stocking some drinks behind the bar, and whenever she bent over, her top would lift a little and expose her lower back. I thought it looked great. No muffin top, no tramp stamp, no blemishes. Nothing but smooth skin. (The BT later asked how I was able to determine that in the poorly lit conditions. I hate her for ruining my dreams.) I decided I had to say something to the attractive brunette.
I took my chance when she walked past me. "Excuse me." She stopped. I reached out my hand, and she put hers into mine. I got to look at her close up for the first time that night. She was very pretty. However, several hours of mountain biking, including a crash, a 2 mile walk/jog, a couple of hours wrenching on a motorcycle, and alcohol, all conspired to give me the equivalent of a first grade reading level.
"Yes," she asked as I held her hand.
"You remind me of a Gilmore Girl." DOH!
To the old saleslady in a jewelry store:
"Can I get a fiance to go with this wedding band?"
In Macy's when a 5'8" blonde walked past me:
"Careful sir," warned a saleslady.
"Thud," said my foot as a kicked a shoe display really hard.
"Sorry. I was just looking at the pretty tall girl."
In a different store, helping my friend find a gift for his girlfriend:
Friend and I: Hi H****. (She was a friend's wife)
Me: Hey H****. If you were a girl. . .
Friend: What do you mean, "if?"
Me continuing unabated: What would you do if you got a stuffed animal as a gift? You'd probably just put it on a shelf or something, right?
H****: Yeah, probably.
Me: But what if someone special gave you a cute blanket. Or maybe a cute pillow. Wouldn't you love to get that?
H****: Oh yes!
(I threw in that last one more for discussion. Would women prefer something like a blanket or pillow to a stuffed animal?)
This is what happened when the Band Teacher and I went out to lunch one day:
We were seated and a nice caucasian waitress came over to take our order. After she left, I said, "she looks like she works out."
When the waitress came back with our drinks, I asked if she works out.
"I surf and swim a lot. I haven't been to a gym since I moved here though. But I love the beaches around here. I'm from San Diego, but the ocean around here is just so much better. Is it my large shoulders? Back in school, the guys used to ask me to flex. Do they look weird?"
"Not at all. In fact, I think you look very attractive."
After she thanked me, she went back to work. I talked to the BT about body language and how it's fun to see all these couples here and try to figure out what's going on. Then I said that if someone was watching us, they would be wondering what the hell was going on. I was looking at every single attractive female in the place while my "girl" took it casually. The BT said that if they paid attention to her body language, they should know we weren't a couple. I told her she was wrong. Then I pointed out how the hostess wanted to seat us side by side.
I then noticed the waitress had her back to us while she fiddled with those computerized drink terminal thingies. She had nicely shaped legs, but the BT refused to look when I told her to.
When the waitress came over with our food, I spoke again.
"I never got your name."
"Oops. I'm sorry. It's C*****. We're supposed to introduce ourselves when we first greet the customers. . . [she spoke too fast at this point]."
Lunch took some time to finish. I had a really big cheese burger and the BT had a fish taco. I told her to be ready because I was going to make a fool of myself. C***** came back with our bill.
"Hey C*****, what do you think of this? I'm a 35 year old teacher. I love mountain biking and riding motorcycles. Any of that sound interesting?"
"Yeah! I love motorcycles."
"How about movies? You interested in movies?"
"Oh, I do love going to the movies, but I have a boyfriend."
"Might not be a good idea then."
"Yeah. But um, aren't you with, um. . . your wife. . . girlfriend?"
The BT piped up, "oh no. I'm just the sister he never knew he had nor wanted."
"Oh, you two are just friends," C***** asked.
I replied, "yup. But the funny thing is we were just talking about how people would mistake us for a couple."
C***** finished with, "you know what? Thanks. You really made my day."
"No problem. In fact, I really enjoyed looking at you." [wtf was I saying? I need to stop drinking beer during lunch.]
Later that day, on my bike ride:
There's this one female security guard for the hotel where we ride our bikes. I saw she was working today, so I was determined to talk to her before I left.
I pulled up to the guard booth, and she waved. I stopped, took off my sunglasses, and said, "you know, I see you here often, but I've never introduced myself. My name is Squiggy."
She stood up and came closer to shake my hand. "My name is C*****."
"Hi C*****. So how does a girl like you become a security guard?"
"You know, I'm not quite sure myself. I keep trying to tell them to hire more women so I'm not the only one."
"Hmmm. I'm not sure how you'll take this. I was going to say that you were the most attractive security guard around here, but since you're the only female one. . ."
C***** smiles.
"Well, I guess I should let you get back to work. It does look rather boring though sitting here all night. Maybe I should sneak in some beers?"
"I'm allergic to beer."
I look stunned.
"So what do you do when you go out?"
"I hardly go out anymore. I usually stay home. When I did go out drinking, I would drink hards."
"You usually stay home? How old are you?"
"21"
"Twenty one??? And you don't go out drinking?"
"I used to drink a lot in high school," C***** smiles.
"Ah, I got it. It's no fun now that you're legal, huh. Well maybe I can take you out for drinks one night. I'll see you around."
"Yup. You will since you've seen me often before."
She later declined my offer a couple days later to get drunk.
This happened during the work week:
Girl Student: Mr. Squiggy, Miss [cute Science Teacher] told me to ask you something.
Me: Um, kay. . .
Girl: I'll tell you after class. (40 minutes later) Miss Science Teacher told me to tell you to buy a ticket to my hula performance.
Me: Huh? Why?
Girl: She bought one, but she doesn't want to go alone.
Me: So she told you to ask me?
Girl: Yeah.
Me: Um, kay. . . how much is a ticket?
Girl: $20 for the dinner too.
Me: Twenty bucks???
Girl: Yeah. Miss Science Teacher bought the $20 one.
Me: Great. OK. Meet me during lunch. I'll go get my money.
Email to Science Teacher: You're going to drive for this.
After mountain biking:
In the afternoon, while we were loading up our bikes, a rental car pulled up to the lookout. Out popped some old fogie and a tall, attractive blonde. We made some small talk about things to see around there. She, her mom I guess, her grandpa, and a hot sister were out for the day touring. They came on a cruise ship. The tall blonde looked good, and she was doing stretches in front of me, but I couldn't bring myself to flirt with her. I guess I R-tard.
After jogging that afternoon with a girl:
The girl adjusted her sanitary napkin in front of me. I also matter-of-factly pointed out her nipples were showing. To which she replied that it's natural since she was wearing a sports bra and she was active. Then she started to poke at her nipple while I watched.
"Um, let's get going before something else besides your nipples gets hard."
The BT and I went to a bar:
There was another attractive waitress, go figure. However, she was dressed differently from the other waitresses. Of course, me being me, I had to ask. She explain that she worked behind the bar, and was also a food runner. She also explained that her uniform matched the guys, but of course, the one she wore was a more feminine style. I agree.
While the BT was settling the tab, I kept watching that attractive waitress. She was stocking some drinks behind the bar, and whenever she bent over, her top would lift a little and expose her lower back. I thought it looked great. No muffin top, no tramp stamp, no blemishes. Nothing but smooth skin. (The BT later asked how I was able to determine that in the poorly lit conditions. I hate her for ruining my dreams.) I decided I had to say something to the attractive brunette.
I took my chance when she walked past me. "Excuse me." She stopped. I reached out my hand, and she put hers into mine. I got to look at her close up for the first time that night. She was very pretty. However, several hours of mountain biking, including a crash, a 2 mile walk/jog, a couple of hours wrenching on a motorcycle, and alcohol, all conspired to give me the equivalent of a first grade reading level.
"Yes," she asked as I held her hand.
"You remind me of a Gilmore Girl." DOH!
To the old saleslady in a jewelry store:
"Can I get a fiance to go with this wedding band?"
In Macy's when a 5'8" blonde walked past me:
"Careful sir," warned a saleslady.
"Thud," said my foot as a kicked a shoe display really hard.
"Sorry. I was just looking at the pretty tall girl."
In a different store, helping my friend find a gift for his girlfriend:
Friend and I: Hi H****. (She was a friend's wife)
Me: Hey H****. If you were a girl. . .
Friend: What do you mean, "if?"
Me continuing unabated: What would you do if you got a stuffed animal as a gift? You'd probably just put it on a shelf or something, right?
H****: Yeah, probably.
Me: But what if someone special gave you a cute blanket. Or maybe a cute pillow. Wouldn't you love to get that?
H****: Oh yes!
(I threw in that last one more for discussion. Would women prefer something like a blanket or pillow to a stuffed animal?)
Monday, September 24, 2007
My Birthday Suit
"Hey, what are you doing," The Band teacher asked.
"I was just getting my things together to go riding," I replied.
"You want to get lunch first?"
"Hmmm. Well, Satoshi said he was going to ride later in the day, so I guess... sure."
I threw on a t-shirt and shorts and headed to the BT's house. From there, we took her car to lunch since her car is cooler. My car is a Yaris. It's frugal and sensible. Not sexy. She has a TC. It's aggressive with attitude. Also, if we take her car, it's like I have a chauffeur.
The BT said she was craving a Loco Moco. That's an over-easy egg on a hamburger patty, on rice, smothered with brown gravy. So we headed to a popular motel diner. I ate a saimin. That's Hawaii-style ramen. She paid for lunch since she was the one to ask me out. (See The Blonde? The one that asks the other out pays. Normal, eh?)
After we finished eating, The BT wanted to do something else. She missed my birthday the week before, and wanted to do something special to make it up to me. I didn't have any objections. My other option was to hang out with two other people who possess penises. We hopped into the BTmobile and moseyed on out.
The BT brought me to a small, private room where she had me take off my clothes. She was totally in charge of the situation. She was domineering and imperious. She broke me like a wild horse. I had no choice but to obey her every command.
"Take this one. Put this on. Take that off. Put that in. Pull it out."
But even though she was the boss, she was still caring and made sure I was ok.
"How does that feel? Do you like that? Is that nice? You like what you see?"
We did this for about 7 or 8 rounds. By the time we were done, I was broke. I was spent. I was a changed man.
When we started, I looked like this:
Now I look like this:
We went clothes shopping.
"I was just getting my things together to go riding," I replied.
"You want to get lunch first?"
"Hmmm. Well, Satoshi said he was going to ride later in the day, so I guess... sure."
I threw on a t-shirt and shorts and headed to the BT's house. From there, we took her car to lunch since her car is cooler. My car is a Yaris. It's frugal and sensible. Not sexy. She has a TC. It's aggressive with attitude. Also, if we take her car, it's like I have a chauffeur.
The BT said she was craving a Loco Moco. That's an over-easy egg on a hamburger patty, on rice, smothered with brown gravy. So we headed to a popular motel diner. I ate a saimin. That's Hawaii-style ramen. She paid for lunch since she was the one to ask me out. (See The Blonde? The one that asks the other out pays. Normal, eh?)
After we finished eating, The BT wanted to do something else. She missed my birthday the week before, and wanted to do something special to make it up to me. I didn't have any objections. My other option was to hang out with two other people who possess penises. We hopped into the BTmobile and moseyed on out.
The BT brought me to a small, private room where she had me take off my clothes. She was totally in charge of the situation. She was domineering and imperious. She broke me like a wild horse. I had no choice but to obey her every command.
"Take this one. Put this on. Take that off. Put that in. Pull it out."
But even though she was the boss, she was still caring and made sure I was ok.
"How does that feel? Do you like that? Is that nice? You like what you see?"
We did this for about 7 or 8 rounds. By the time we were done, I was broke. I was spent. I was a changed man.
When we started, I looked like this:
Now I look like this:
We went clothes shopping.
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Foreign Food
It's been a while since Biker Teacher tried to get a date. He wasn't feeling too marketable after failing to even get a response from the Drug Pusher. But his feelings of rejection started to disappear when he met The Blonde.
The Blonde is an athletic girl. She showed some of her abilities during one of those ridiculous "team building" activities employers make you do. Seems like once word got out that Japanese companies made their workers do calisthenics, everyone in the world wanted to jump on the bandwagon and do crazy stuff too. She also talked about how she jogs every morning before work. It shows too. The Blonde is very fit and firm.
However, while a firm body evokes feelings in the nether regions, a great mind provides much fodder for fantasies. The Blonde’s brains provides a cornucopia of lust-fuel. It turns out that The Blonde possesses an advanced college degree. Not only beauty, but brains as well. A great two-pronged attack.
And yet, smarts and a bod may not always be enough. You got to have personality. And once again, The Blonde does not disappoint. Although she is inexperienced, she shows passion for her work. She also demonstrates the go-for-broke attitude made famous by the 442. She’s running into a few snags, but she’s still determined to be a success.
The Blonde is also a beer girl. Some girls are prissy and only drink wine coolers. Others are uppity and only drink wine. Others are ultra-feminine and insist on drinking colorful drinks that come with an umbrella. Beer girls are down to earth. They know how to enjoy themselves without being caught up in appearances. They exude self confidence.
Another way self confidence shows is through eating habits. If a girl is not afraid to eat in front of a guy, then you know she’s not going to be the type who will BS you. At the local pizzeria, The Blonde easily ate the most out of all of the table-mates, and also drank two Heinekens.
Biker Teacher was smitten. If The Blonde was a car, she would have had 300 horsepower, turbo charged, rear wheel drive, race suspension, a great stereo system, bucket seats, and still get 42 miles per gallon. With such a prize before him, Biker Teacher mustered his courage and searched for his danglies, since they shriveled in fear, and approached The Blonde.
“If you’re free this week, I’d like to take you out and buy you dinner,” said Biker Teacher.
“I’m sorry. I’m so busy. I don’t even have time to think about going out. Plus, I’m not sure I feel comfortable with you buying,” was The Blonde’s reply.
“If a guy asks a girl to dinner, shouldn’t he pay?”
“Yeah, but I have a boy friend. Would it be ok if we go Dutch?”
“Dutch? I don’t think so. I think I’d rather eat local food. Maybe I’ll call you again sometime.”
And the Biker Teacher went home to walk his dog in the rain.
The Blonde is an athletic girl. She showed some of her abilities during one of those ridiculous "team building" activities employers make you do. Seems like once word got out that Japanese companies made their workers do calisthenics, everyone in the world wanted to jump on the bandwagon and do crazy stuff too. She also talked about how she jogs every morning before work. It shows too. The Blonde is very fit and firm.
However, while a firm body evokes feelings in the nether regions, a great mind provides much fodder for fantasies. The Blonde’s brains provides a cornucopia of lust-fuel. It turns out that The Blonde possesses an advanced college degree. Not only beauty, but brains as well. A great two-pronged attack.
And yet, smarts and a bod may not always be enough. You got to have personality. And once again, The Blonde does not disappoint. Although she is inexperienced, she shows passion for her work. She also demonstrates the go-for-broke attitude made famous by the 442. She’s running into a few snags, but she’s still determined to be a success.
The Blonde is also a beer girl. Some girls are prissy and only drink wine coolers. Others are uppity and only drink wine. Others are ultra-feminine and insist on drinking colorful drinks that come with an umbrella. Beer girls are down to earth. They know how to enjoy themselves without being caught up in appearances. They exude self confidence.
Another way self confidence shows is through eating habits. If a girl is not afraid to eat in front of a guy, then you know she’s not going to be the type who will BS you. At the local pizzeria, The Blonde easily ate the most out of all of the table-mates, and also drank two Heinekens.
Biker Teacher was smitten. If The Blonde was a car, she would have had 300 horsepower, turbo charged, rear wheel drive, race suspension, a great stereo system, bucket seats, and still get 42 miles per gallon. With such a prize before him, Biker Teacher mustered his courage and searched for his danglies, since they shriveled in fear, and approached The Blonde.
“If you’re free this week, I’d like to take you out and buy you dinner,” said Biker Teacher.
“I’m sorry. I’m so busy. I don’t even have time to think about going out. Plus, I’m not sure I feel comfortable with you buying,” was The Blonde’s reply.
“If a guy asks a girl to dinner, shouldn’t he pay?”
“Yeah, but I have a boy friend. Would it be ok if we go Dutch?”
“Dutch? I don’t think so. I think I’d rather eat local food. Maybe I’ll call you again sometime.”
And the Biker Teacher went home to walk his dog in the rain.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
I Get the Weirdest Questions
From girls on my cellphone.
One night, out of the blue, a girl calls and asks:
"Do you have a foreskin?"
Another girl on a Sunday evening:
"Are you in your pajamas?"
"No. You know I don't have pajamas."
"So you're naked?"
It was a roundabout way of asking if I would go to the bar.
She also asked, "are you on the toilet?"
"No. If I was dropping a log, I wouldn't have answered my phone."
"I would. Haha. Just kidding."
If I was dating these girls, then those questions would be a lot more fun, but I'm not, so they just leave me confused.
One night, out of the blue, a girl calls and asks:
"Do you have a foreskin?"
Another girl on a Sunday evening:
"Are you in your pajamas?"
"No. You know I don't have pajamas."
"So you're naked?"
It was a roundabout way of asking if I would go to the bar.
She also asked, "are you on the toilet?"
"No. If I was dropping a log, I wouldn't have answered my phone."
"I would. Haha. Just kidding."
If I was dating these girls, then those questions would be a lot more fun, but I'm not, so they just leave me confused.
From The Blues Brothers
Jake: It's good to see you, sweetheart.
Mystery Woman: You contemptible pig! I remained celibate for you. I stood at the back of a cathedral, waiting, in celibacy, for you, with three hundred friends and relatives in attendance. My uncle hired the best Romanian caterers in the state. To obtain the seven limousines for the wedding party, my father used up his last favor with Mad Pete Trullo. So for me, for my mother, my grandmother, my father, my uncle, and for the common good, I must now kill you, and your brother.
[Jake falls to his knees]
Jake: Oh, please, don't kill us. Please, please don't kill us. You know I love you baby. I wouldn't leave ya. It wasn't my fault.
Mystery Woman: You miserable slug! You think you can talk your way out of this? You betrayed me.
Jake: No I didn't. Honest... I ran out of gas. I, I had a flat tire. I didn't have enough money for cab fare. My tux didn't come back from the cleaners. An old friend came in from out of town. Someone stole my car. There was an earthquake. A terrible flood. Locusts. IT WASN'T MY FAULT, I SWEAR TO GOD.
[Elwood covers his head in anticipation of more gunfire, Jake removes his sunglasses to make a wordless appeal, and the Mystery Woman visibly softens]
Mystery Woman: Oh, Jake... Jake, honey...
[Jake embraces the Mystery Woman and they kiss]
Jake: [to Elwood] Let's go.
[He drops the Mystery Woman and walks off]
I know how the woman felt. Well, not exactly. At least the woman got some made up excuses. I got nothing.
If you read the previous posts, you know that I was trying to get a date with a pharmacist. How did it go during the last month and a half? That's what I'd like to know. You see, I got absolutely NOTHING from the pharmacist.
Of course I could probably use a slap on the head for some of the idiot moves I pulled. I left some terrible voice mail on her phone.
"Hi (name withheld), this is Squiggy again. I know I left you a few other voicemails, but the truth is, I'd actually like to get to know you better. I don't know what it is; maybe because you're an intelligent lady, or maybe because you play video games. I'm a video game um... geek too. (The Band Teacher) told me about it. Anyway, yeah. Um, so I want to get to know you. Maybe take you to lunch, or dinner, or uh shopping? So um, yeah. I hope to hear back from you. My number is 867-5309. Yeah."
I also sent her a virus plushie with a note to try and entice her to reply to me.
Still no reply. It's times like this when I feel like the Elephant Man. Why the fuck is it so hard to get a first date? At this point, I really don't even care for the date. I'd just like to know why the pharmacist never bothered to reply. Could it be she thinks I'm some psycho stalker? Maybe. But we did meet in person a few times, and that was cordial. Could it be she's some narcistic ego maniac? I'd like to think so. Makes it hurt less when the bitch is off her rocker.
Bottom line, Girls, if a guy works up the balls to ask you out, just give him an answer. Doesn't matter if it's positive or negative. Just answer. If not, I will hunt you down and cut your heart out with a spoon.
Guy of Gisborne: Why a spoon, cousin? Why not an axe?
Sheriff of Nottingham: Because it's DULL, you twit. It'll hurt more.
Jake: It's good to see you, sweetheart.
Mystery Woman: You contemptible pig! I remained celibate for you. I stood at the back of a cathedral, waiting, in celibacy, for you, with three hundred friends and relatives in attendance. My uncle hired the best Romanian caterers in the state. To obtain the seven limousines for the wedding party, my father used up his last favor with Mad Pete Trullo. So for me, for my mother, my grandmother, my father, my uncle, and for the common good, I must now kill you, and your brother.
[Jake falls to his knees]
Jake: Oh, please, don't kill us. Please, please don't kill us. You know I love you baby. I wouldn't leave ya. It wasn't my fault.
Mystery Woman: You miserable slug! You think you can talk your way out of this? You betrayed me.
Jake: No I didn't. Honest... I ran out of gas. I, I had a flat tire. I didn't have enough money for cab fare. My tux didn't come back from the cleaners. An old friend came in from out of town. Someone stole my car. There was an earthquake. A terrible flood. Locusts. IT WASN'T MY FAULT, I SWEAR TO GOD.
[Elwood covers his head in anticipation of more gunfire, Jake removes his sunglasses to make a wordless appeal, and the Mystery Woman visibly softens]
Mystery Woman: Oh, Jake... Jake, honey...
[Jake embraces the Mystery Woman and they kiss]
Jake: [to Elwood] Let's go.
[He drops the Mystery Woman and walks off]
I know how the woman felt. Well, not exactly. At least the woman got some made up excuses. I got nothing.
If you read the previous posts, you know that I was trying to get a date with a pharmacist. How did it go during the last month and a half? That's what I'd like to know. You see, I got absolutely NOTHING from the pharmacist.
Of course I could probably use a slap on the head for some of the idiot moves I pulled. I left some terrible voice mail on her phone.
"Hi (name withheld), this is Squiggy again. I know I left you a few other voicemails, but the truth is, I'd actually like to get to know you better. I don't know what it is; maybe because you're an intelligent lady, or maybe because you play video games. I'm a video game um... geek too. (The Band Teacher) told me about it. Anyway, yeah. Um, so I want to get to know you. Maybe take you to lunch, or dinner, or uh shopping? So um, yeah. I hope to hear back from you. My number is 867-5309. Yeah."
I also sent her a virus plushie with a note to try and entice her to reply to me.
Still no reply. It's times like this when I feel like the Elephant Man. Why the fuck is it so hard to get a first date? At this point, I really don't even care for the date. I'd just like to know why the pharmacist never bothered to reply. Could it be she thinks I'm some psycho stalker? Maybe. But we did meet in person a few times, and that was cordial. Could it be she's some narcistic ego maniac? I'd like to think so. Makes it hurt less when the bitch is off her rocker.
Bottom line, Girls, if a guy works up the balls to ask you out, just give him an answer. Doesn't matter if it's positive or negative. Just answer. If not, I will hunt you down and cut your heart out with a spoon.
Guy of Gisborne: Why a spoon, cousin? Why not an axe?
Sheriff of Nottingham: Because it's DULL, you twit. It'll hurt more.
Sunday, July 22, 2007
God Strikes Again
This morning I tried to call the Pharmacist before I went mountain biking.
(cellphone ringing)
Pharmacist: Hello?
Me: Hi, it's Squiggy...
Pharmacist: Hello?
Me: Hi. This is Squiggy. The Band Teacher's friend...
Pharmacist: Who is this?
Me: The Band Teacher's friend...
Pharmacist: I can't hear you. I'm having bad reception. Hang on a sec...
(call ended)
God: Take that, ya mutha (snickers)
(cellphone ringing)
Pharmacist: Hello?
Me: Hi, it's Squiggy...
Pharmacist: Hello?
Me: Hi. This is Squiggy. The Band Teacher's friend...
Pharmacist: Who is this?
Me: The Band Teacher's friend...
Pharmacist: I can't hear you. I'm having bad reception. Hang on a sec...
(call ended)
God: Take that, ya mutha (snickers)
Friday, July 20, 2007
God Said Squiggy Can't Be Happy
A couple of weeks ago, the Band Teacher introduced me to one of her friends. We'll call her the Pharmacist. I found her to be rather cute and intelligent. However, me being me, I didn't make any advances.
Of course, you need to remember that every woman I found myself attracted to has some serious issue. Two girls turned out to be lesbians. Another turned out to be really a guy.
Anyway, the Band Teacher and I went to the movies last night. I was hoping the Pharmacist would come, but seeing as we were going to the last show, it was a long shot. Throughout the evening, while shopping and eating, I kept bringing up the Pharmacist. This kind of grated the Band Teacher's nerves. She was like, "just go over to her work place and ask her to lunch. Some girls actually like the spontaneity."
BTW, this is making me excited:
So after about 10 hours of convincing, I decided I would ask the Pharmacist to lunch. I got up this morning, stoked my courage, and drove to the mall. I went in to the pharmacy.
Me: Hi, is **** working?
Helen, my brother's co-worker's wife: No, not yet. She works the evening shift today.
Me: Figures. I was going to ask her to lunch.
God: (chuckles)
Helen: Oh, that's nice! She should be in soon. Why don't you come back and ask?
I go off to another store to buy shoes for my trip. I return to the pharmacy about 40 minutes later. Lucky me, I see the Pharmacist working at the window, so I don't have to announce my intentions to everyone working.
So I chatted with the Pharmacist for a bit. I made her laugh a few times. Then I took the leap.
Me: I came by here earlier looking for you. I wanted to ask you to lunch.
Pharmacist: Oh. I just got in about a half hour ago. I don't get a break for about 4 hours. (The clock in the store reads 11:55)
Me: So what is that, like 5? (wtf? All of a sudden I can't do math.)
Pharmacist: About 3:45-4:00. I'll call you. You have a cellphone?
Me: Yeah. My number is ***-****.
Pharmacist: OK. I'll give you a call.
God: (mutter mutter)
Given I had time to kill, I figured I would do more shopping, and also go to lunch with my brother. Of course, I only ate a wee bit. I had to buy some shorts since I only have two everyday shorts and I don't think running shorts would look good in Connecticut. I also planned on buying a new bike seat, and a Green Day CD that the Band Teacher was looking for.
Right after I picked out a pair of shorts, my phone rang.
Pharmacist: Hey, my co-worker can't come in today, so I need to take my lunch early before the others finish work. I'm just going to grab something here. Sorry.
God: Haha! Take that, ya fukker! (pumping fist in the air)
Then the sky blackened and the clouds opened. Torrents of rain came crashing down. Squiggy knelt on the ground, soaking wet, with outstretched arms reaching for the heavens screaming, "Why?!? Wwwwhhhhhhhyyyyyyyyyy?!?"
Something like that.
Of course, you need to remember that every woman I found myself attracted to has some serious issue. Two girls turned out to be lesbians. Another turned out to be really a guy.
Anyway, the Band Teacher and I went to the movies last night. I was hoping the Pharmacist would come, but seeing as we were going to the last show, it was a long shot. Throughout the evening, while shopping and eating, I kept bringing up the Pharmacist. This kind of grated the Band Teacher's nerves. She was like, "just go over to her work place and ask her to lunch. Some girls actually like the spontaneity."
BTW, this is making me excited:
So after about 10 hours of convincing, I decided I would ask the Pharmacist to lunch. I got up this morning, stoked my courage, and drove to the mall. I went in to the pharmacy.
Me: Hi, is **** working?
Helen, my brother's co-worker's wife: No, not yet. She works the evening shift today.
Me: Figures. I was going to ask her to lunch.
God: (chuckles)
Helen: Oh, that's nice! She should be in soon. Why don't you come back and ask?
I go off to another store to buy shoes for my trip. I return to the pharmacy about 40 minutes later. Lucky me, I see the Pharmacist working at the window, so I don't have to announce my intentions to everyone working.
So I chatted with the Pharmacist for a bit. I made her laugh a few times. Then I took the leap.
Me: I came by here earlier looking for you. I wanted to ask you to lunch.
Pharmacist: Oh. I just got in about a half hour ago. I don't get a break for about 4 hours. (The clock in the store reads 11:55)
Me: So what is that, like 5? (wtf? All of a sudden I can't do math.)
Pharmacist: About 3:45-4:00. I'll call you. You have a cellphone?
Me: Yeah. My number is ***-****.
Pharmacist: OK. I'll give you a call.
God: (mutter mutter)
Given I had time to kill, I figured I would do more shopping, and also go to lunch with my brother. Of course, I only ate a wee bit. I had to buy some shorts since I only have two everyday shorts and I don't think running shorts would look good in Connecticut. I also planned on buying a new bike seat, and a Green Day CD that the Band Teacher was looking for.
Right after I picked out a pair of shorts, my phone rang.
Pharmacist: Hey, my co-worker can't come in today, so I need to take my lunch early before the others finish work. I'm just going to grab something here. Sorry.
God: Haha! Take that, ya fukker! (pumping fist in the air)
Then the sky blackened and the clouds opened. Torrents of rain came crashing down. Squiggy knelt on the ground, soaking wet, with outstretched arms reaching for the heavens screaming, "Why?!? Wwwwhhhhhhhyyyyyyyyyy?!?"
Something like that.
Friday, July 13, 2007
Sunday, July 1, 2007
Mountain Biking Rat
Riley and I had about two and a half hours to kill on the mountain so we decided to make yet another mtb video. God knows my mtb videos are sooooo popular. They get literally hundred of hits on youtube. (sarcasm)
I bet if I got video of those girls in boyshorts that we saw earlier, the hits would go through the roof.
I bet if I got video of those girls in boyshorts that we saw earlier, the hits would go through the roof.
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
What's In Your Wallet?
"OK. The tip comes out to $4.0125. Rounded off, that makes it $4.01. Now we divide that by three. . ."
Eight minutes later, Biker Teacher found himself at the motel diner's cashier. He handed the cashier his check card and waited while she rang up his tab. Out of the corner of his eye, Biker Teacher spotted a woman approaching him. Fast. He figured that at her elevated rate of speed, if she didn't stop soon, she would collide into him. A klaxon sounded in his head. All hands, brace for impact.
The woman didn't stop. She didn't even slow down.
Bang.
"Biker Teacher, long time no see," the woman said.
"Fearsome Sweetie! Hey, I was wondering who this woman was coming at me at ramming speed," Biker Teacher replied. He turned around for a second to sign his bill, then faced the encroaching female once again.
"I didn't know you were back on the island," Fearsome Sweetie said.
"Been back since 2000." It might have been 1999, but 2000 was an easier number to blurt out without thinking. Biker Teacher hugged Fearsome Sweetie.
"Really? Wow. So what have you been up to?" Fearsome Sweetie asked while keeping her body well within Biker Teacher's personal space.
"I've been teaching at Ass Crack Middle. Can you believe that?"
Fearsome Sweetie laughed. "I can't believe I haven't seen you around."
"I don't drink much, so I don't get out much," Biker Teacher said with a smile.
"I don't drink either. Hey, this is my friend Dar. Dar, this is my classmate, Biker Teacher." Biker Teacher shook Dar's hand while Fearsome Sweetie remain close. "So have you talked to Nicks?"
"Actually, yes. I had both of her kids as students."
"That must have been interesting," Fearsome Sweetie said with a smile. Biker Teacher remembered that during high school, he used to be afraid of Fearsome Sweetie. Now she never did anything to him to deserve that fear. In fact, she was a rather pleasant person. Biker Teacher just developed a sweetie-phobia because Fearsome Sweetie had a very rough exterior. However, her smile today was genuinely pretty.
And that's when Biker Teacher realized that Fearsome Sweetie was well inside his personal bubble, and it made him feel awkward since he was not used to having pretty women so close by. Well, at least not women of legal age anyway.
"You know, if you're going to stand so close to me, I may end up suggesting that we get a room. We are in a motel, after all," Biker Teacher attempted to be funny.
"Oh really?" Fearsome Sweetie laughed.
"Yup. I could just put the room on my credit card and earn airline miles."
"Biker, Biker, Biker. Tsk tsk. Have you forgotten me already?"
"Eh?"
"Biker, if you remembered me," Fearsome Sweetie started giggling, "you would know that I don't give a flying fuck."
Eight minutes later, Biker Teacher found himself at the motel diner's cashier. He handed the cashier his check card and waited while she rang up his tab. Out of the corner of his eye, Biker Teacher spotted a woman approaching him. Fast. He figured that at her elevated rate of speed, if she didn't stop soon, she would collide into him. A klaxon sounded in his head. All hands, brace for impact.
The woman didn't stop. She didn't even slow down.
Bang.
"Biker Teacher, long time no see," the woman said.
"Fearsome Sweetie! Hey, I was wondering who this woman was coming at me at ramming speed," Biker Teacher replied. He turned around for a second to sign his bill, then faced the encroaching female once again.
"I didn't know you were back on the island," Fearsome Sweetie said.
"Been back since 2000." It might have been 1999, but 2000 was an easier number to blurt out without thinking. Biker Teacher hugged Fearsome Sweetie.
"Really? Wow. So what have you been up to?" Fearsome Sweetie asked while keeping her body well within Biker Teacher's personal space.
"I've been teaching at Ass Crack Middle. Can you believe that?"
Fearsome Sweetie laughed. "I can't believe I haven't seen you around."
"I don't drink much, so I don't get out much," Biker Teacher said with a smile.
"I don't drink either. Hey, this is my friend Dar. Dar, this is my classmate, Biker Teacher." Biker Teacher shook Dar's hand while Fearsome Sweetie remain close. "So have you talked to Nicks?"
"Actually, yes. I had both of her kids as students."
"That must have been interesting," Fearsome Sweetie said with a smile. Biker Teacher remembered that during high school, he used to be afraid of Fearsome Sweetie. Now she never did anything to him to deserve that fear. In fact, she was a rather pleasant person. Biker Teacher just developed a sweetie-phobia because Fearsome Sweetie had a very rough exterior. However, her smile today was genuinely pretty.
And that's when Biker Teacher realized that Fearsome Sweetie was well inside his personal bubble, and it made him feel awkward since he was not used to having pretty women so close by. Well, at least not women of legal age anyway.
"You know, if you're going to stand so close to me, I may end up suggesting that we get a room. We are in a motel, after all," Biker Teacher attempted to be funny.
"Oh really?" Fearsome Sweetie laughed.
"Yup. I could just put the room on my credit card and earn airline miles."
"Biker, Biker, Biker. Tsk tsk. Have you forgotten me already?"
"Eh?"
"Biker, if you remembered me," Fearsome Sweetie started giggling, "you would know that I don't give a flying fuck."
Sunday, May 27, 2007
Mountain Biking Kauai
Hi boys and girls. I had planned on writing another installment of Biker Teacher last week. Biker Teacher ended up being designated a van driver for a state teacher conference. He also managed to get lost not only going to the conference, but also heading back to the airport. To make things more interesting, there was another teacher with the same name (Bikher Teacher), though different gender, from a school with a similar name. Biker Teacher's school is Ass Crack Middle. Bikher's is Ass Part Intermediate. Funny, no?
But I decided to not write. Instead, I've become engrossed in a new game. I'm playing Lord of the Rings Online. Yes, I'm a nerd.
To keep you occupied, I've made a video of our regular weekend mountain bike run. The first person footage is me. The third person stuff is Rat.
After we were done riding, and were eating lunch, Big Brother mentioned something to the group. He said, "you wouldn't think it from looking at him, but Nonwheezer used to night dive."
Yup. I used to speardive/freedive at night. Yes, it was dark. Yes, I killed fish. And yes, I've seen many sharks. A lot of people would be afraid to jump into the ocean at night. I guess that makes me a little less nerdy.
But I decided to not write. Instead, I've become engrossed in a new game. I'm playing Lord of the Rings Online. Yes, I'm a nerd.
To keep you occupied, I've made a video of our regular weekend mountain bike run. The first person footage is me. The third person stuff is Rat.
After we were done riding, and were eating lunch, Big Brother mentioned something to the group. He said, "you wouldn't think it from looking at him, but Nonwheezer used to night dive."
Yup. I used to speardive/freedive at night. Yes, it was dark. Yes, I killed fish. And yes, I've seen many sharks. A lot of people would be afraid to jump into the ocean at night. I guess that makes me a little less nerdy.
Monday, May 14, 2007
Hyper-Perverted-Paranoid-Stalker
How was your weekend? I had a hillbilly ho-down of a weekend myself.
My friends, Riley and Lornette, and my classmate, Sherri, and I got together on Friday night for a pizza dinner. I guess eating one of the most fattiest foods around (and most delicious) is a good idea when three people are dieting. The pizzeria of choice? Brick Oven. mmmmmmm. I can feel my gravity increasing, but it tastes sooo good.
I was hoping to reconnect ties to those I knew in my younger years. I'm realizing that I lost contact with those I grew up with. The only one I've keep in close contact with lives a couple of blocks away from me, and tends to scratch his private parts in public places.
So I was hoping to have a fun night with Sherri. But isn't life funny? Earlier that day I had an incident with a student. I pretty much screwed up, and it put me in a downer mood the whole weekend. So instead of the happy-go-lucky Biker Teacher-type character, I think I turned out to be something more akin to an undertaker. Sherri, on the other hand, is still rather attractive and full of energy. Seems like she burns the candle at both ends, but she does this by choice. Mistress of her own destiny and all that.
(yeah, I'm going to catch hell for that pic)
Boy did I screw up though. I sometimes type my name in Yahoo and see what kind of webpages come up. Apparently I'm some kind of stage actor or play director or something. Just for kicks, I typed in Sherri's name to see what came up. (No, I was not looking for nude pictures... yet) A photographer website popped up. There were some black and white scenery pictures accredited to Sherri. Unfortunately, when I tried to ask her about this, I came off as a pervert stalker. Sigh. Pervert, I can live with. Stalker? Ack!
At that point, I decided the best course of action was to just shut up and drink a beer.
And another.
The next day I got to ride my Marin on the Kokee trails. It was the official test of my new frame. I must say that I am pleased with the purchase. The bike handles much better than the old X6. However, I'm still sketchy on the Cable section- a steep, slippery, downhill.
Our normal mtb rides consist of two 4 mile downhill runs. Although it's downhill, the Kokee trails are very difficult, and also includes a few tough, big climbs. It's not a trail for the weak. Screw up and you can go falling down a cliff. The trail also starts at 2500 feet elevation.
For the last few months, I've been the only one to ride the rough sections on both runs. The other guys use the paved road to bypass the difficult uphill sections. I, on the other hand, seem to be a glutton for punishment.
Or is it because they're avoiding me? Great. Perverted-Paranoid-Stalker. It keeps getting better.
My friends, Riley and Lornette, and my classmate, Sherri, and I got together on Friday night for a pizza dinner. I guess eating one of the most fattiest foods around (and most delicious) is a good idea when three people are dieting. The pizzeria of choice? Brick Oven. mmmmmmm. I can feel my gravity increasing, but it tastes sooo good.
I was hoping to reconnect ties to those I knew in my younger years. I'm realizing that I lost contact with those I grew up with. The only one I've keep in close contact with lives a couple of blocks away from me, and tends to scratch his private parts in public places.
So I was hoping to have a fun night with Sherri. But isn't life funny? Earlier that day I had an incident with a student. I pretty much screwed up, and it put me in a downer mood the whole weekend. So instead of the happy-go-lucky Biker Teacher-type character, I think I turned out to be something more akin to an undertaker. Sherri, on the other hand, is still rather attractive and full of energy. Seems like she burns the candle at both ends, but she does this by choice. Mistress of her own destiny and all that.
(yeah, I'm going to catch hell for that pic)
Boy did I screw up though. I sometimes type my name in Yahoo and see what kind of webpages come up. Apparently I'm some kind of stage actor or play director or something. Just for kicks, I typed in Sherri's name to see what came up. (No, I was not looking for nude pictures... yet) A photographer website popped up. There were some black and white scenery pictures accredited to Sherri. Unfortunately, when I tried to ask her about this, I came off as a pervert stalker. Sigh. Pervert, I can live with. Stalker? Ack!
At that point, I decided the best course of action was to just shut up and drink a beer.
And another.
The next day I got to ride my Marin on the Kokee trails. It was the official test of my new frame. I must say that I am pleased with the purchase. The bike handles much better than the old X6. However, I'm still sketchy on the Cable section- a steep, slippery, downhill.
Our normal mtb rides consist of two 4 mile downhill runs. Although it's downhill, the Kokee trails are very difficult, and also includes a few tough, big climbs. It's not a trail for the weak. Screw up and you can go falling down a cliff. The trail also starts at 2500 feet elevation.
For the last few months, I've been the only one to ride the rough sections on both runs. The other guys use the paved road to bypass the difficult uphill sections. I, on the other hand, seem to be a glutton for punishment.
Or is it because they're avoiding me? Great. Perverted-Paranoid-Stalker. It keeps getting better.
Sunday, May 6, 2007
Mundane Adventure
Date: May 5, 2007
Soundtrack: Queen - Bicycle Race
Don't need to watch the video. Just listen to the music to set the mood.
I'd decided to get a new bike. My Haro X6 was an ok bike to begin with, but as I gained experience riding, I learned that it was not the bike I needed. You see, the X6's geometry matches other brands' XC bikes. XC bikes have aggressive head angles and short wheelbases to encourage quick turns. They usually have about 4" of suspension travel, and most people use them on smoother trails or dirt roads. However, Waimea Canyon trails are a lot more difficult than a dirt road. I always felt my bike was a bit unstable on the tough stuff.
Ouch. Actually, I only scraped my elbows. I was more embarrassed than hurt.
Riley, Kyle, and Will use freeride/downhill bikes. Their bikes have 7+" of suspension travel to soak up large hits. They also have long wheelbases and slack head angles for stability on the downhill slopes. I've ridden their bikes, and I could notice the stability right away.
But I still crash. But that's not the point.
Kyle's bike felt battleship-stable on the downhills, but turned a little too slow for me. I had to slow down a lot on the fast singletrack sections of the trail. I also crashed his bike by riding way over my head. I ended up unconscious while my so-called friends took pictures.
Riley's bike also felt great. But even with his $1200 downhill fork, I struggled to turn. I went wide on a few turns on the fast sections of the trail. Now my crash on Riley's bike was a freak accident. A branch got stuck in the spokes. I'll show you the mark on my ribs from the pungee sticks if you ask.
I decided I needed a true All-Mountain bike.
Alas, we teachers don't make much money. So instead of getting a complete bike that would cost $2000, I bought a frame for $500. Since I already had upgraded parts on the Haro, I could transfer those parts to the new frame and get good performance.
This is the Marin Rock Springs. It's a 6" travel frame designed to handle rougher trails than the X6. This picture was taken right when the frame arrived. Riley couldn't wait to touch things. If you ever take him for a ride in your car, he will touch every single control he can get his hands on. I'm not sure if it's ADHD or OCD.
Now because Riley makes $60-80k a year doing nothing but complaining, tuning bikes, and building ladder bridges, my bike was 90% complete in 2 hours. He likes to say that he's the hardest working guy around, but if that was true, my bike would still be in pieces.
And here it is. Almost totally complete. Only one part could not transfer from the X6 to the Marin.
The front derailleur. This is the part that moves the chain across the different front sprockets.
So off we went to Bicycle Johns.
It was Saturday. Riley is at the drag races, and I'm getting over a cold. So instead of riding, Kyle, Satoshi, and I went to the local bike shop to get the cables needed to finish my bike. (We didn't get the derailleur yet. Didn't figure it out until later.) Satoshi must have been hating life since my car is a no smoking zone. I quit smoking several years back. Yay me. I've taken up being an asshole instead. Trade one nasty habit for another, I say.
After picking up the parts we needed, Satoshi suggested we get some lunch.
I wanted to go inside to order, but Kyle insisted we go through the drive thru. Great idea. Let's make someone who is coughing and sounds like a frog order through a crap microphone.
Things went bad from the start. The car in front of me was a generic-too-big-to-be-useful-diesel-gigantosaurus-mobile-penis. I couldn't move far enough forward to get right to the mic. I had to project my feeble voice like the fat lady in the opera.
Me: What do you guys want?
Them: Don't know.
KFC: Hellow, welkum two kay ef see. Can eye take yor ordur plees?
Me: So what do you guys want?
Them: Don't know yet.
KFC: Can eye take yor ordur plees?
Me: Um.
Satoshi: Ask if they have that bowl stuff.
Me: Do you guys have that bowl stuff?
KFC: Dee kay ef see bole. Yes.
Me: OK, can I get one of those?
KFC: Wood yoo lik dee meel?
Me: OK.
KFC: Wat kine ov dreenk?
Satoshi: Diet Coke.
Me: Diet Coke.
KFC: No more die et koke. Die et pepschi?
Me: OK. Kyle, what do you want?
Kyle: Get me a 10 piece hot wings.
Me: There's no 10 piece. Only 6 or 18.
Kyle: Six.
Satoshi: Get me six too.
Me: Can we also get 2... 3... 18 pieces of hot wings?
KFC: No more dee hot weengs. Eets a ten meenut weight.
Kyle: Ah, just get the bowl.
Me: OK, make that three bowls altogether.
Satoshi: And two snackers.
Me: And two Snackers.
KFC: Tank yoo four yor ordur. Plees dribe fourward.
(I drive to the next window)
KFC: asdhjaksh tyhe dkiea dreenk?
Me: What?
KFC: asdhjaksh tyhe dkiea dreenk?
Kyle: Diet Pepsi.
Me: Diet Pepsi.
I hate drive thrus.
So we get to Kyle's workplace and eat. I get to see my bike for the first time. It looks really cool in person. Kyle routed the cables and removed the front derailleur so that the bike was usable. I rode that sucker around with an ear to ear grin. It feels more stable and plush than the X6. The front wheel feels slightly farther in front, which should add some confidence on the steep downhills. While the bike feel more stable, it still turns quick. The suspension even works like the magazine reviews said. It rolls over bumps without kicking you up. Of course this is just a test ride in an industrial zone. I can't wait to try it out on the trails. The amazing thing is that even though the suspension is plush enough for a smooth ride, there is no pedal bob. I'm hoping I will be able to tackle the steep hills without having to push the bike.
Friday, April 27, 2007
Bicycle Built for One
It was Wednesday afternoon. Wednesday was the day of the week Biker Teacher rode his mountain bike with Rat and Big Brother. They rode a seven mile road loop that passed behind a hotel and an airport. This is how they exercised and socialized amongst themselves.
It started off like any other day. Biker Teacher stretched before the ride. Big Brother and Rat chose not to. Biker Teacher suspected that they were too homophobic to bend at the waist to touch their toes. Once properly stretched, the trio geared up for the ride. Rat always wore a full-face motorcross helmet. It made him look like the hooligan he was. Biker Teacher and Big Brother wore their cyclist helmets that made their heads appear like larger versions of their smaller heads. With their melons properly encased in impact absorbing form, they set off on the ride.
Bicycle riding is a very good form of cardiovascular exercise. The constant effort on your large muscle groups is good for fat-burning and a stronger heart. The addition of gossiping, bullshitting, and one-up-manship doubles the effectiveness of the exercise.
"You guys coming out to the drag races this month?" asked Rat.
"Is the blonde going to be there?" asked Biker Teacher.
"Probably not. I'm over her," was the reply.
"Um, you had one date," Big Brother pointed out.
"Yeah. But she had her chance."
And they all laughed.
Most of their conversations went like that. They loved to kid each other about their non-existent love lives. Either that, or they tried to convince each other that perhaps an alternative lifestyle would be more to their liking.
"You're gay."
"No. YOU gay."
"Nah. YOU gay," ad nauseam.
Every now and then they would get lucky and cross paths with a well toned female jogger. Pure serendipity. Which is why whenever they passed one, they would immediately hush and ride while looking straight ahead for fear of getting caught looking.
It just so happened that on this particular Wednesday, they spotted a very firm XX chromosome on the road. As they approached from the rear, they noticed her rear. It was one that you could literally bounce quarters off of. Lycra running shorts, normally unkind, was very flattering on this wonderfully shaped woman. The trio rode past in their normal silent running mode. Big Brother was lucky enough to glance back at just the right moment. He got to watch Jogger Lady tend to her desert-beast-of-burden-foot-appendage. The trio looked at each other. Upraised thumbs were shown with nods of approval. Then the ride continued.
Biker Teacher had been debating on buying a new mountain bike. His current bike, a Haro X6, was a good entry bike, but now that he had more experience, he needed something that matched his riding style. Biker Teacher preferred to ride with the wheels on the ground. The Haro X6 preferred to ride with Biker Teacher on the ground.
"Maybe I could just get a frame and throw all these parts on it," said Biker Teacher.
"Well, you already got a good fork and new Saint cranks," said Big Brother, "in fact, the cranks came in a really nice box too."
"What about Girl-Friend's box?" asked Rat.
They all laughed.
Rat continued, "you know what though? I'm over women."
"Until the next one calls you, right?" asked Biker Teacher.
"Right. Because I'll just keep going back for more," Rat replied. And they rode on.
There is an old, abandoned shopping mall along the bike route. It was originally filled with classy stores with exorbitant prices designed to entice foreigners to open their wallets. That was before an act of God wrecked the place. Now it's a little freeride playground for Rat. Biker Teacher and Big Brother stopped at the mall to take a break while Rat played. Jogger Lady caught up and ran past.
"I remember who she is. She's your classmate's older sister," Big Brother said to Biker Teacher.
"No shit?" Biker Teacher rode off to catch Jogger Lady. Once he caught up to her he called out.
"Hey. You remember me? I'm Chad's classmate."
"Oh hey. Yeah, I do remember you. How you doing?" Jogger Lady asked while still running.
Biker Teacher kept pace. "I'm fine. From the looks of things, you're real fine too."
Jogger Lady smiled. She seemed happy hearing the compliment.
"I haven't seen you before. You jog here regularly?" queried Biker Teacher.
"I used to jog around the stadium, but this route is more interesting."
"Sweet. You know, this is odd. I'm the type of guy who can approach and talk to ugly chicks, but I get tongue tied around beautiful women," he said.
"And?" she asked.
"And? Nothing really. Just stating a simple fact that I seem to be able to approach and talk to you," he replied.
"I see." The happiness had left her.
"I'm glad you're jogging. It's great. I thought I was looking at a 25 year old. It wasn't until I saw your face that I realized you were 39," said Biker Teacher.
"I'm 36, ass," mutter Jogger Lady.
"Yeah, that's right. You were always older than me."
Jogger Lady stopped. "You know what? I'm going to stop talking now and continue running. You don't have to follow me. Have a nice life." And she ran off without delay.
Biker Teacher stood there feeling dejected for a minute. Then he shrugged and rode back to the mall. Big Brother and Rat were waiting for him.
"So, did she touch your penis?" Rat had been quoting Harold and Kumar that week.
"Man, I am so over her," announced Biker Teacher.
"Until she calls," said Big Brother.
"Yeah, because I just keep going back for more," said Biker Teacher.
It started off like any other day. Biker Teacher stretched before the ride. Big Brother and Rat chose not to. Biker Teacher suspected that they were too homophobic to bend at the waist to touch their toes. Once properly stretched, the trio geared up for the ride. Rat always wore a full-face motorcross helmet. It made him look like the hooligan he was. Biker Teacher and Big Brother wore their cyclist helmets that made their heads appear like larger versions of their smaller heads. With their melons properly encased in impact absorbing form, they set off on the ride.
Bicycle riding is a very good form of cardiovascular exercise. The constant effort on your large muscle groups is good for fat-burning and a stronger heart. The addition of gossiping, bullshitting, and one-up-manship doubles the effectiveness of the exercise.
"You guys coming out to the drag races this month?" asked Rat.
"Is the blonde going to be there?" asked Biker Teacher.
"Probably not. I'm over her," was the reply.
"Um, you had one date," Big Brother pointed out.
"Yeah. But she had her chance."
And they all laughed.
Most of their conversations went like that. They loved to kid each other about their non-existent love lives. Either that, or they tried to convince each other that perhaps an alternative lifestyle would be more to their liking.
"You're gay."
"No. YOU gay."
"Nah. YOU gay," ad nauseam.
Every now and then they would get lucky and cross paths with a well toned female jogger. Pure serendipity. Which is why whenever they passed one, they would immediately hush and ride while looking straight ahead for fear of getting caught looking.
It just so happened that on this particular Wednesday, they spotted a very firm XX chromosome on the road. As they approached from the rear, they noticed her rear. It was one that you could literally bounce quarters off of. Lycra running shorts, normally unkind, was very flattering on this wonderfully shaped woman. The trio rode past in their normal silent running mode. Big Brother was lucky enough to glance back at just the right moment. He got to watch Jogger Lady tend to her desert-beast-of-burden-foot-appendage. The trio looked at each other. Upraised thumbs were shown with nods of approval. Then the ride continued.
Biker Teacher had been debating on buying a new mountain bike. His current bike, a Haro X6, was a good entry bike, but now that he had more experience, he needed something that matched his riding style. Biker Teacher preferred to ride with the wheels on the ground. The Haro X6 preferred to ride with Biker Teacher on the ground.
"Maybe I could just get a frame and throw all these parts on it," said Biker Teacher.
"Well, you already got a good fork and new Saint cranks," said Big Brother, "in fact, the cranks came in a really nice box too."
"What about Girl-Friend's box?" asked Rat.
They all laughed.
Rat continued, "you know what though? I'm over women."
"Until the next one calls you, right?" asked Biker Teacher.
"Right. Because I'll just keep going back for more," Rat replied. And they rode on.
There is an old, abandoned shopping mall along the bike route. It was originally filled with classy stores with exorbitant prices designed to entice foreigners to open their wallets. That was before an act of God wrecked the place. Now it's a little freeride playground for Rat. Biker Teacher and Big Brother stopped at the mall to take a break while Rat played. Jogger Lady caught up and ran past.
"I remember who she is. She's your classmate's older sister," Big Brother said to Biker Teacher.
"No shit?" Biker Teacher rode off to catch Jogger Lady. Once he caught up to her he called out.
"Hey. You remember me? I'm Chad's classmate."
"Oh hey. Yeah, I do remember you. How you doing?" Jogger Lady asked while still running.
Biker Teacher kept pace. "I'm fine. From the looks of things, you're real fine too."
Jogger Lady smiled. She seemed happy hearing the compliment.
"I haven't seen you before. You jog here regularly?" queried Biker Teacher.
"I used to jog around the stadium, but this route is more interesting."
"Sweet. You know, this is odd. I'm the type of guy who can approach and talk to ugly chicks, but I get tongue tied around beautiful women," he said.
"And?" she asked.
"And? Nothing really. Just stating a simple fact that I seem to be able to approach and talk to you," he replied.
"I see." The happiness had left her.
"I'm glad you're jogging. It's great. I thought I was looking at a 25 year old. It wasn't until I saw your face that I realized you were 39," said Biker Teacher.
"I'm 36, ass," mutter Jogger Lady.
"Yeah, that's right. You were always older than me."
Jogger Lady stopped. "You know what? I'm going to stop talking now and continue running. You don't have to follow me. Have a nice life." And she ran off without delay.
Biker Teacher stood there feeling dejected for a minute. Then he shrugged and rode back to the mall. Big Brother and Rat were waiting for him.
"So, did she touch your penis?" Rat had been quoting Harold and Kumar that week.
"Man, I am so over her," announced Biker Teacher.
"Until she calls," said Big Brother.
"Yeah, because I just keep going back for more," said Biker Teacher.
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
I'm Not On Strike
I do have a story to write, however, I don't have the time to write it right now. I'm a union rep and we have a contract that needs to be ratified this week. That's killing my time and creativity.
I love teaching. It's a wonderful feeling when kids learn something new from you. However, the State of Hawaii tries its best to make teachers committed. To the funny farm.
If your name is Alison and you're reading this: Hi. I'm as clueless as Biker Teacher, but only half as rude.
I love teaching. It's a wonderful feeling when kids learn something new from you. However, the State of Hawaii tries its best to make teachers committed. To the funny farm.
If your name is Alison and you're reading this: Hi. I'm as clueless as Biker Teacher, but only half as rude.
Sunday, April 15, 2007
English 101
Today was the day Girl-Friend's research project was due. Just so you know, Girl-Friend wasn't Biker Teacher's girlfriend. Instead, she was friend who happened to be female. Now if that teenager description doesn't explain the situation, Girl-Friend and Biker Teacher had a platonic relationship. Which means, although Biker Teacher found Girl-Friend attractive, he stood no chance of getting any play because he looked like Thurlug the Orc.
Although Biker Teacher had long since graduated from college, and even completed an extra bout of accredited lobotomies, he was there at the school. He had a vested interest in Girl-Friend's research project. He had spent the week editing her paperwork. It was important for him to see if his expository writing skills were still butterknife sharp.
And he also saw a picture of Research Partner. Rawr!
Research Partner was a petite, lightly tanned, young Asian woman. She had a nice smile, and brown hair, which was a result of a stylish bleaching. But most importantly, she was single.
Biker Teacher skipped over to meet Girl-Friend in the college library. Normally men don't skip. However, since he possessed a college degree, and the other lesser male college students didn't, he felt it ok to be a little whimsical.
"How did it go?" he asked, with a slight pant.
"Not sure yet," was the reply. "But our professor is the type to lower your grade if the formatting is off."
Biker Teacher rubbed his scruffy, scarred chin. "Ah yes. I had professors like that before. They were called 'bitches.'"
Girl-Friend chuckled, then her attention was drawn elsewhere. "There's Research Partner. She's coming over."
An Asian goddess appeared before Biker Teacher. His mind fumbled with words. Do he prostate himself? Prostate? He wondered why he thought of the little rectal walnut instead of prostrate.
"What is he doing?" Research Partner inquired.
"Don't worry. He does that when he's lost in thought. Hey, Biker Teacher. Wake up."
Biker Teacher's mind still raced with a million things to say. He finally settled on being romantic, which, to those on the receiving end, could be fatal.
Biker Teacher assumed his best Rico Suave look and managed to utter a string of mangled thoughts. "So you must be Research Partner. Girl-Friend told me about you. But I can see now that she grossly over-stated your beauty."
"Excuse me?" Research Partner furrowed her brow.
"That means you're pretty. Maybe you should take some English classes. It might help you. And if you get stuck with the larger words, I can help out," Biker Teacher was eager to offer his services.
It was at this point that Girl-Friend tried to use her powers of invisibility for selfish reasons. She camouflaged herself as best she could next to the bulletin board covered with ads. She knew better than to associate herself with Biker Teacher once he gets on a roll.
Research Girl turned away from Biker Teacher and faced the translucent Girl-Friend. "I have our project board done and was about to..."
"I heard you were single and desperate. Want to get a coffee?" Biker Teacher interrupted.
Research Partner took a deep breath, grit her teeth, and rolled her eyes. Her lightly tanned complexion took on a reddish hue.
He continued unabated, "I heard you're a single parent. That must be tough. Mr. Esquire says I would make a good father."
"Oh really now," said Research Partner with obvious disbelief.
Girl-Friend was using her 14th level Hide in Shadows skill and was just a few yards from the exit now.
"Yes," Biker Teacher stated boldly, "in fact, Mr. Esquire said I should do my utmost to give your kid a baby brother or sister."
Girl-Friend slipped out the door unnoticed.
Research Partner clenched her fists tightly at her sides. She spoke through her teeth as she scowled. "Look, I don't know who you are..."
"Biker Teacher."
"Or where you came from..."
"The westside."
"Or what you're doing here..."
"Trying to get a date with you."
"But it will be a cold day in Hell when I go out on a date with you!" She stomped her foot, punched the bulletin board, and kicked open the door as she stormed out.
Biker Teacher skipped out of the library. He found Girl-Friend waiting just outside. She seemed confused by the look of victory on his face. He leaned over and whispered in her ear.
"I've got a date for winter solstice."
Although Biker Teacher had long since graduated from college, and even completed an extra bout of accredited lobotomies, he was there at the school. He had a vested interest in Girl-Friend's research project. He had spent the week editing her paperwork. It was important for him to see if his expository writing skills were still butterknife sharp.
And he also saw a picture of Research Partner. Rawr!
Research Partner was a petite, lightly tanned, young Asian woman. She had a nice smile, and brown hair, which was a result of a stylish bleaching. But most importantly, she was single.
Biker Teacher skipped over to meet Girl-Friend in the college library. Normally men don't skip. However, since he possessed a college degree, and the other lesser male college students didn't, he felt it ok to be a little whimsical.
"How did it go?" he asked, with a slight pant.
"Not sure yet," was the reply. "But our professor is the type to lower your grade if the formatting is off."
Biker Teacher rubbed his scruffy, scarred chin. "Ah yes. I had professors like that before. They were called 'bitches.'"
Girl-Friend chuckled, then her attention was drawn elsewhere. "There's Research Partner. She's coming over."
An Asian goddess appeared before Biker Teacher. His mind fumbled with words. Do he prostate himself? Prostate? He wondered why he thought of the little rectal walnut instead of prostrate.
"What is he doing?" Research Partner inquired.
"Don't worry. He does that when he's lost in thought. Hey, Biker Teacher. Wake up."
Biker Teacher's mind still raced with a million things to say. He finally settled on being romantic, which, to those on the receiving end, could be fatal.
Biker Teacher assumed his best Rico Suave look and managed to utter a string of mangled thoughts. "So you must be Research Partner. Girl-Friend told me about you. But I can see now that she grossly over-stated your beauty."
"Excuse me?" Research Partner furrowed her brow.
"That means you're pretty. Maybe you should take some English classes. It might help you. And if you get stuck with the larger words, I can help out," Biker Teacher was eager to offer his services.
It was at this point that Girl-Friend tried to use her powers of invisibility for selfish reasons. She camouflaged herself as best she could next to the bulletin board covered with ads. She knew better than to associate herself with Biker Teacher once he gets on a roll.
Research Girl turned away from Biker Teacher and faced the translucent Girl-Friend. "I have our project board done and was about to..."
"I heard you were single and desperate. Want to get a coffee?" Biker Teacher interrupted.
Research Partner took a deep breath, grit her teeth, and rolled her eyes. Her lightly tanned complexion took on a reddish hue.
He continued unabated, "I heard you're a single parent. That must be tough. Mr. Esquire says I would make a good father."
"Oh really now," said Research Partner with obvious disbelief.
Girl-Friend was using her 14th level Hide in Shadows skill and was just a few yards from the exit now.
"Yes," Biker Teacher stated boldly, "in fact, Mr. Esquire said I should do my utmost to give your kid a baby brother or sister."
Girl-Friend slipped out the door unnoticed.
Research Partner clenched her fists tightly at her sides. She spoke through her teeth as she scowled. "Look, I don't know who you are..."
"Biker Teacher."
"Or where you came from..."
"The westside."
"Or what you're doing here..."
"Trying to get a date with you."
"But it will be a cold day in Hell when I go out on a date with you!" She stomped her foot, punched the bulletin board, and kicked open the door as she stormed out.
Biker Teacher skipped out of the library. He found Girl-Friend waiting just outside. She seemed confused by the look of victory on his face. He leaned over and whispered in her ear.
"I've got a date for winter solstice."
Sunday, April 8, 2007
Sun Tzu's Art of Conversation
The Biker Teacher walked into Margins, the large discount books and music store. He was an average guy, but always felt more of a square peg in a round world. He liked to think he and Harrison Bergeron had a lot in common, except for the scrap metal. And the ear radio. And the spectacles. And the red rubber ball. Actually, Biker Teacher realized he didn't have much in common with Harrison Bergeron except that they both seem stuck in some surreal world of someone else's creation. Biker Teacher stopped thinking about it when a loud buzzer sounded in his head.
Once inside, the Biker Teacher surveyed the area. He carefully studied each book monger he saw. He was there specifically to look for one particular monger. Panning his view from right to left, the Biker Teacher searched for his prey. Aha, he spotted her.
Pierced Girl had her shoulder-length raven hair in two ponytails. She wore a black dress which seemed to be systematically torn vertically along the hem. She had a pierce brow and a lip ring. Biker Teacher wondered if perhaps she got her fashion cues from the movie Beetlejuice.
Now Biker Teacher is known for his wit and charm. However, he suffers from chronic shyness. He was diagnosed with this affliction after he realized that he resembled Goofy more than Mickey. So although he could think of a million things to say at any given point in time, he could never bring himself to actually say anything. That is, until today.
Biker Teacher's friend, Mr. Esquire, had given him several tips on the art of conversation. Mr. Esquire is a successful attorney. As everyone knows, attorneys need to be able to blow a lot of hot air in order to survive. That's because once they pass the bar, they sell their souls to Satan, and the empty cavity that used to house their souls now house fire and brimstone. If the attorney was not able to expel the heat of hades, they would suffer a core melt down much like Chernobyl.
Biker Teacher chuckled to himself, then realized he looked like a fool laughing to himself, so he soldiered on. He approached the lovely Pierced Girl and attempted to start a dialog.
"Hi. I just recently learned how to read. I've managed to get through several of Dr. Seuss's books and now I'm looking for something meatier. A friend suggested something by Terry Hatchet. Or Lachet. Was it Matchet?"
"Pratchett," Pierced Girl corrected.
"Yes, Pratchett. That's the ticket." Biker Teacher really did know it was Pratchett. He just feigned stupidity for the sake of starting a conversation. "Can you show me where his books are?" Biker Teacher asked.
"Sure. Follow me," Pierced Girl said as she gestured Biker Teacher to follow by curling a single digit. He noticed that the single digit was not only clean and well manicured, but it had an appealing set of proportions. Then he wondered why he was so fascinated by a finger. "Here they are," Pierced Girl pointed to a selection of books on a shelf at shoulder height. She really did have a lovely finger.
"Thank you. Now this may sound a bit forward, but I figure sometimes you need to take a chance. If that there cash register prints out a coupon for the Starbucks, could I buy you a coffee?"
"And what if it doesn't print out a coupon?" Pierced Girl giggled.
"Um, juice ok?"
Pierced girl let out a laugh and a half snort. She caught herself just before she fully snorted. "It's about time for my break anyway. I'll meet you at the Starbucks in five minutes. Get me something strong."
The coupon read: Take 30% off your next purchase of Folk Music CDs. The Biker Teacher didn't care. He was way too elated. The fat-guy-with-curly-hair could have rung him up for an entire encyclopedia set and the Biker Teacher wouldn't have noticed. He waltzed over to the next door Starbucks. He literally waltzed. Well, not so much a waltz, but an attempt at something resembling a dance. Biker Teacher was absent the day they taught grace.
A few minutes went by and the Pierced Girl arrived and sat next to him. He handed her a Latte. He had a fruit smoothie for himself. He was concerned about staining his teeth.
Now the pressure was on for the Biker Teacher. He managed to get the Pierced Girl to have coffee with him, but now he has to make a good impression in a short amount of time. He remembered Mr. Esquire's suggestion about looking for her choices on a Staff Picks.
"I didn't see any books under your name on the Staff Picks list," said the Biker Teacher.
"Oh. I didn't list any books. I did list a few CDs I like," replied the Pierced Girl.
"Ah. I've been meaning to expand my music library. What did you pick? Maybe I could buy it."
"AFI"
The Biker Teacher heard of this band before. "Aren't they a punk rock band? Why do you listen to crap like that?"
And there was a moment of silence. Biker Teacher realized he said something inappropriate, but he wasn't sure what. He thought back to something else that Mr. Esquire suggested. Mr. Esquire noted that females like to talk about themselves. It would be a good idea to get the topic of conversation focused on the girl, and to let her talk. This was a good idea. If Pierced Girl was doing the talking, and Biker Teacher tried his best to look interested, there should be little chance for more Hoof-in-Mouth disease. The Biker Teacher tried again.
"Errr, ummm. I've been meaning to ask, what ethnicity are you? I mean, you're very pretty, and I'm curious as to where you got that rather large nose of yours."
Pierced Girl seemed taken aback. Her body stiffened as she shifted away from the table. She seemed agitated. Biker Teacher was starting to worry. How could the conversation be going all wrong? Didn't he get good advice from Mr. Esquire? Wait a tick. Mr. Esquire mentioned that since Pierced Girl has piercings, she may have tattoos, and that could lead to more conversation.
"I'm sorry. That came out wrong. Please forget what I said. I love your piercings, by the way. Normally I think they look disgusting, but on you, they look great. You wouldn't happen to have any tattoos? Perhaps a small one on your inner thigh? Or even a bitch patch on your back?"
The corners of Pierced Girl's mouth turned south as she scowled. Biker Teacher is good at reading people. He noticed that something was bothering the girl. Perhaps Pierced Girl had a really ugly tattoo, and it embarrasses her to talk about it. What ever the reason though, Biker Teacher was worried. The conversation was taking a turn for the worse. Luckily he remembered Mr. Esquire's last bit of advice. A brilliant conversationalist would be able to keep everyone in the conversation. If someone was being left out, a simple question would help to bring them back in.
The Biker Teacher looked at the old man sitting on the next table. "Hey you! What the hell you looking at?" The old man looked frightened and confused. Pierced Girl's lower jaw hit the floor.
Mr. Esquire's advice failed to work. "Stupid Mr. Esquire, and stupid advice," Biker Teacher thought to himself.
"I have to get back to work," Pierced Girl declared and she hurried to gather her things.
"Would it be ok if I asked you out for coffee again some time?" asked the Biker Teacher.
"Yeah. Sure. Whatever. I'm in the yellow-pages," Pierced Girl's voice dripped with sarcasm.
Luckily the Biker Teacher was also absent the day they taught sarcasm. He sprang to his feet, pumped his fist, and shouted, "Yes!" Then he pranced to the door filled with amore.
Once inside, the Biker Teacher surveyed the area. He carefully studied each book monger he saw. He was there specifically to look for one particular monger. Panning his view from right to left, the Biker Teacher searched for his prey. Aha, he spotted her.
Pierced Girl had her shoulder-length raven hair in two ponytails. She wore a black dress which seemed to be systematically torn vertically along the hem. She had a pierce brow and a lip ring. Biker Teacher wondered if perhaps she got her fashion cues from the movie Beetlejuice.
Now Biker Teacher is known for his wit and charm. However, he suffers from chronic shyness. He was diagnosed with this affliction after he realized that he resembled Goofy more than Mickey. So although he could think of a million things to say at any given point in time, he could never bring himself to actually say anything. That is, until today.
Biker Teacher's friend, Mr. Esquire, had given him several tips on the art of conversation. Mr. Esquire is a successful attorney. As everyone knows, attorneys need to be able to blow a lot of hot air in order to survive. That's because once they pass the bar, they sell their souls to Satan, and the empty cavity that used to house their souls now house fire and brimstone. If the attorney was not able to expel the heat of hades, they would suffer a core melt down much like Chernobyl.
Biker Teacher chuckled to himself, then realized he looked like a fool laughing to himself, so he soldiered on. He approached the lovely Pierced Girl and attempted to start a dialog.
"Hi. I just recently learned how to read. I've managed to get through several of Dr. Seuss's books and now I'm looking for something meatier. A friend suggested something by Terry Hatchet. Or Lachet. Was it Matchet?"
"Pratchett," Pierced Girl corrected.
"Yes, Pratchett. That's the ticket." Biker Teacher really did know it was Pratchett. He just feigned stupidity for the sake of starting a conversation. "Can you show me where his books are?" Biker Teacher asked.
"Sure. Follow me," Pierced Girl said as she gestured Biker Teacher to follow by curling a single digit. He noticed that the single digit was not only clean and well manicured, but it had an appealing set of proportions. Then he wondered why he was so fascinated by a finger. "Here they are," Pierced Girl pointed to a selection of books on a shelf at shoulder height. She really did have a lovely finger.
"Thank you. Now this may sound a bit forward, but I figure sometimes you need to take a chance. If that there cash register prints out a coupon for the Starbucks, could I buy you a coffee?"
"And what if it doesn't print out a coupon?" Pierced Girl giggled.
"Um, juice ok?"
Pierced girl let out a laugh and a half snort. She caught herself just before she fully snorted. "It's about time for my break anyway. I'll meet you at the Starbucks in five minutes. Get me something strong."
The coupon read: Take 30% off your next purchase of Folk Music CDs. The Biker Teacher didn't care. He was way too elated. The fat-guy-with-curly-hair could have rung him up for an entire encyclopedia set and the Biker Teacher wouldn't have noticed. He waltzed over to the next door Starbucks. He literally waltzed. Well, not so much a waltz, but an attempt at something resembling a dance. Biker Teacher was absent the day they taught grace.
A few minutes went by and the Pierced Girl arrived and sat next to him. He handed her a Latte. He had a fruit smoothie for himself. He was concerned about staining his teeth.
Now the pressure was on for the Biker Teacher. He managed to get the Pierced Girl to have coffee with him, but now he has to make a good impression in a short amount of time. He remembered Mr. Esquire's suggestion about looking for her choices on a Staff Picks.
"I didn't see any books under your name on the Staff Picks list," said the Biker Teacher.
"Oh. I didn't list any books. I did list a few CDs I like," replied the Pierced Girl.
"Ah. I've been meaning to expand my music library. What did you pick? Maybe I could buy it."
"AFI"
The Biker Teacher heard of this band before. "Aren't they a punk rock band? Why do you listen to crap like that?"
And there was a moment of silence. Biker Teacher realized he said something inappropriate, but he wasn't sure what. He thought back to something else that Mr. Esquire suggested. Mr. Esquire noted that females like to talk about themselves. It would be a good idea to get the topic of conversation focused on the girl, and to let her talk. This was a good idea. If Pierced Girl was doing the talking, and Biker Teacher tried his best to look interested, there should be little chance for more Hoof-in-Mouth disease. The Biker Teacher tried again.
"Errr, ummm. I've been meaning to ask, what ethnicity are you? I mean, you're very pretty, and I'm curious as to where you got that rather large nose of yours."
Pierced Girl seemed taken aback. Her body stiffened as she shifted away from the table. She seemed agitated. Biker Teacher was starting to worry. How could the conversation be going all wrong? Didn't he get good advice from Mr. Esquire? Wait a tick. Mr. Esquire mentioned that since Pierced Girl has piercings, she may have tattoos, and that could lead to more conversation.
"I'm sorry. That came out wrong. Please forget what I said. I love your piercings, by the way. Normally I think they look disgusting, but on you, they look great. You wouldn't happen to have any tattoos? Perhaps a small one on your inner thigh? Or even a bitch patch on your back?"
The corners of Pierced Girl's mouth turned south as she scowled. Biker Teacher is good at reading people. He noticed that something was bothering the girl. Perhaps Pierced Girl had a really ugly tattoo, and it embarrasses her to talk about it. What ever the reason though, Biker Teacher was worried. The conversation was taking a turn for the worse. Luckily he remembered Mr. Esquire's last bit of advice. A brilliant conversationalist would be able to keep everyone in the conversation. If someone was being left out, a simple question would help to bring them back in.
The Biker Teacher looked at the old man sitting on the next table. "Hey you! What the hell you looking at?" The old man looked frightened and confused. Pierced Girl's lower jaw hit the floor.
Mr. Esquire's advice failed to work. "Stupid Mr. Esquire, and stupid advice," Biker Teacher thought to himself.
"I have to get back to work," Pierced Girl declared and she hurried to gather her things.
"Would it be ok if I asked you out for coffee again some time?" asked the Biker Teacher.
"Yeah. Sure. Whatever. I'm in the yellow-pages," Pierced Girl's voice dripped with sarcasm.
Luckily the Biker Teacher was also absent the day they taught sarcasm. He sprang to his feet, pumped his fist, and shouted, "Yes!" Then he pranced to the door filled with amore.
Monday, April 2, 2007
More Than the Ego
I swear, I must be one of the clumsiest mountain bike riders ever. Besides the numerous scratches and bruises, I've also managed to knock myself unconscious and got myself a trip to the ER. And this weekend I got to add yet another injury to the list.
It all started on Friday. Riley called me and asked if I could bring a truck over to pick up my bike. He normally transports our bikes himself since they're stored at his workplace. This time though, his friend was supposed to come with us on Saturday, which meant he needed to transport an extra bike.
His friend didn't show on Saturday. He showed up at my house with both of his Gary Fisher Kingfisher 2 freeride/downhill bikes. He told me to leave my Haro X6 at home and to ride one of his bikes.
The Kingfisher 2 has a suggested retail of over $2000. The one he let me ride had a $1300 Fox 40R fork on it.
Now Riley is a bit... um... tight. And anal. While the words "tight" and "anal" would have me giggling like a school girl, I was a bit apprehensive. I am known for crashing on the trails, and the thought of crashing this expensive bike had me worried. If I put a scratch on the bike, I wouldn't hear the end of it.
Luckily, most of the day went well. Even this one particular section that causes me grief was easily handled with the freeride bike. Things felt good.
Then on our second run of the day it happened. I crashed. I was following the same path as normal and did nothing out of the ordinary. I did not lock up the brakes. In fact, I had both hands off the brake levers. The front wheel did not lock up in a rut, nor did it wash out. The wheels did not lose traction and slide out. It just felt like something grabbed the back wheel and pulled the bike out from under me.
So the bike stopped forward momentum, while my body continued on. I know the bike stopped because when I got up, it was right where I left it. I don't think it suffered any damage since Riley did not call me. He wouldn't miss a new ding.
My body didn't fare so well.
As I felt the body leaving the bike, I swore to myself, then looked at my landing zone. I was going to land on some left over stumps from some cut down shrubs. The stumps looked like pungee sticks. I thought, "this is going to rip me open." Fortunately it didn't.
I got up and dusted myself off. I stuck a gloved hand under my jersey to check for blood. There was none, so I turned to see what caused my fall. The only thing different on the trail from before was a couple of three foot long, freshly cut branches. They were laying next to the rear tire of the bike. My best guess is that I may have gotten those branches stuck in the wheels.
Later that night I realized the injury was a lot larger. I added in the parts that you couldn't see in the picture.
To add insult to injury, my brother and I headed into town to return our bikes. We stopped by Borders Books to pick up some magazines.
Remember that pretty girl with the piercings? She was there again.
Yup yup. Macho Nonwheezer could only manage to watch her work and couldn't work up the courage to talk to her. Rawr! I'm a kitten in a lion's world.
It all started on Friday. Riley called me and asked if I could bring a truck over to pick up my bike. He normally transports our bikes himself since they're stored at his workplace. This time though, his friend was supposed to come with us on Saturday, which meant he needed to transport an extra bike.
His friend didn't show on Saturday. He showed up at my house with both of his Gary Fisher Kingfisher 2 freeride/downhill bikes. He told me to leave my Haro X6 at home and to ride one of his bikes.
The Kingfisher 2 has a suggested retail of over $2000. The one he let me ride had a $1300 Fox 40R fork on it.
Now Riley is a bit... um... tight. And anal. While the words "tight" and "anal" would have me giggling like a school girl, I was a bit apprehensive. I am known for crashing on the trails, and the thought of crashing this expensive bike had me worried. If I put a scratch on the bike, I wouldn't hear the end of it.
Luckily, most of the day went well. Even this one particular section that causes me grief was easily handled with the freeride bike. Things felt good.
Then on our second run of the day it happened. I crashed. I was following the same path as normal and did nothing out of the ordinary. I did not lock up the brakes. In fact, I had both hands off the brake levers. The front wheel did not lock up in a rut, nor did it wash out. The wheels did not lose traction and slide out. It just felt like something grabbed the back wheel and pulled the bike out from under me.
So the bike stopped forward momentum, while my body continued on. I know the bike stopped because when I got up, it was right where I left it. I don't think it suffered any damage since Riley did not call me. He wouldn't miss a new ding.
My body didn't fare so well.
As I felt the body leaving the bike, I swore to myself, then looked at my landing zone. I was going to land on some left over stumps from some cut down shrubs. The stumps looked like pungee sticks. I thought, "this is going to rip me open." Fortunately it didn't.
I got up and dusted myself off. I stuck a gloved hand under my jersey to check for blood. There was none, so I turned to see what caused my fall. The only thing different on the trail from before was a couple of three foot long, freshly cut branches. They were laying next to the rear tire of the bike. My best guess is that I may have gotten those branches stuck in the wheels.
Later that night I realized the injury was a lot larger. I added in the parts that you couldn't see in the picture.
To add insult to injury, my brother and I headed into town to return our bikes. We stopped by Borders Books to pick up some magazines.
Remember that pretty girl with the piercings? She was there again.
Yup yup. Macho Nonwheezer could only manage to watch her work and couldn't work up the courage to talk to her. Rawr! I'm a kitten in a lion's world.
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Musical Youth!
A girl just badgered me into burning a CD for her. She said she wanted to hear something different, and if you heard me and Riley get into it about music, you'd know I listen to some non-lemur music. At first I tried to beg off. I was afraid to reveal my audio inclinations to this girl. But then she threatened my manhood with references to TNKOTB. I was forced into action. Yes, my manhood is tiny and fragile.
Anyway, since Photobucket is down and I can't work on the other blog I wanted, I guess I'll surf YouTube and post some songs that I enjoy.
Real Life: Send Me an Angel
Sugar Ray: Someday
Eddie Money: Take Me Home Tonight
Pet Shop Boys: West End Girls
Foreigner: I Want to Know What Love Is
Icehouse: Electric Blue
Meatloaf: I'd Do Anything For Love (But I won't Do That)
Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers: Mary Jane's Last Dance
The Cranberries: Dreams
Vanilla Ice: Ice Ice Baby (hehe)
Deee-Lite: Groove is in the Heart
Heart: These Dreams
BoA: Milky Way
Psy: Champion
Fatboy Slim: Right Here Right Now
Alan Kuo: Ling
Nickelback: Photograph
Orange Range: Shanghai Honey
Roxette: Joyride
Weezer: Buddy Holly
Lisa Loeb: Stay
LEN: Steal My Sunshine
Journey: Open Arms
Maxi Priest and Roberta Flack: Set the Night to Music
Timmy T: One More Try
Fine Young Cannibals: She Drives Me Crazy
Groove Coverage: Poison
Human League: Don't You Want Me Baby
Men Without Hats: Pop Goes the World
Baltimora: Tarzan Boy
Breathe: How Can I Fall
That should tide you over for a while.
Anyway, since Photobucket is down and I can't work on the other blog I wanted, I guess I'll surf YouTube and post some songs that I enjoy.
Real Life: Send Me an Angel
Sugar Ray: Someday
Eddie Money: Take Me Home Tonight
Pet Shop Boys: West End Girls
Foreigner: I Want to Know What Love Is
Icehouse: Electric Blue
Meatloaf: I'd Do Anything For Love (But I won't Do That)
Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers: Mary Jane's Last Dance
The Cranberries: Dreams
Vanilla Ice: Ice Ice Baby (hehe)
Deee-Lite: Groove is in the Heart
Heart: These Dreams
BoA: Milky Way
Psy: Champion
Fatboy Slim: Right Here Right Now
Alan Kuo: Ling
Nickelback: Photograph
Orange Range: Shanghai Honey
Roxette: Joyride
Weezer: Buddy Holly
Lisa Loeb: Stay
LEN: Steal My Sunshine
Journey: Open Arms
Maxi Priest and Roberta Flack: Set the Night to Music
Timmy T: One More Try
Fine Young Cannibals: She Drives Me Crazy
Groove Coverage: Poison
Human League: Don't You Want Me Baby
Men Without Hats: Pop Goes the World
Baltimora: Tarzan Boy
Breathe: How Can I Fall
That should tide you over for a while.
Monday, March 26, 2007
Waimea Canyon Run
My legs were really tired after filming this.
Art on the GSX-R750
Me on the SV650S
Shige on the R6
Thursday, March 22, 2007
More Wood References
My brother and I were out riding our mountain bikes this afternoon. We were just getting some exercise. Normally Riley would be with us, but he had to go see about a girl.
As we rode, we shot the shit. It's just a normal routine. We're usually laughing at something. So I smiled.
That's when my brother hit me with the bad news.
K: Your teeth are really yellow.
K: Looks almost like your teeth are made of wood.
Great. So now I'm self-conscious about my smile. Once we get back to my brother's work place, I check my teeth in my car's mirror. Ack! He was right! My teeth are horrible! I never noticed since my bathroom light isn't really white. I have an Austin Power's smile.
My teeth are more stained now than when I smoked. They're so stained that people must think I still smoke or chew tobacco. sniffle.
I think what happened is that I stained my teeth with too much soda. After I quit smoking, I picked up another addiction. Diet Pepsi. If I'm left unattended, I can drink a 12 pack a day easy. All that acid and caramel did a number on my pearly yellows.
So off to Walmart we went. I picked up some whitening strips. The box says I should see results in three days.
Guess I will see in three days.
As we rode, we shot the shit. It's just a normal routine. We're usually laughing at something. So I smiled.
That's when my brother hit me with the bad news.
K: Your teeth are really yellow.
K: Looks almost like your teeth are made of wood.
Great. So now I'm self-conscious about my smile. Once we get back to my brother's work place, I check my teeth in my car's mirror. Ack! He was right! My teeth are horrible! I never noticed since my bathroom light isn't really white. I have an Austin Power's smile.
My teeth are more stained now than when I smoked. They're so stained that people must think I still smoke or chew tobacco. sniffle.
I think what happened is that I stained my teeth with too much soda. After I quit smoking, I picked up another addiction. Diet Pepsi. If I'm left unattended, I can drink a 12 pack a day easy. All that acid and caramel did a number on my pearly yellows.
So off to Walmart we went. I picked up some whitening strips. The box says I should see results in three days.
Guess I will see in three days.
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Singularity
Well, it's Spring Break, and I got two weeks off from school. This gives me lots of time to look at porn and learn things from the internet.
I got to learn something special about my body's health. I was perusing a mountain biking forum when I came upon a discussion about bike saddles. The original poster was looking for a more comfortable saddle for long distance rides. Someone replied with a link to a study on saddle designs.
It turns out that many bike saddles are poorly designed. The bulk of your bulk when seated rest squarely on your perineum. My seat is similar to this picture. Don't know what a perineum is?
This is it. It's that spot between the recreation area and the dump. Having the seat pressing against this area cuts off blood flow to the pecker. Over time, it could cause damage. Your wang can get out of whack, making it hard to whack. Women don't have wangs, but the pressure of the seat could cause discomfort. Or comfort. Whatever. A wangless friend once told me that she could get off driving with tight jeans. But I digress.
I went out and bought this saddle.
It has gel material which is nice. It also has a "comfort channel" that moves the pressure points off of the peepee anchor. I didn't get a chance to try it out yet, but I'm hoping it will work to stop the head numbing, errr... numbing.
And since this is a new month, I stopped by Borders Books to pick up some magazines.
Hehe. Not that kind. I picked up Superbike and Sport Rider. I also picked up Rocky Balboa and Casino Royale. Then I waited in the queue.
There were only two cashiers and a line was starting to form. So another salesperson opened her register for me. She had a pierced nose and two lip rings. She dressed in black and had dark features. I wouldn't describe her as goth though. Maybe more bohemian. I know she wasn't northern European nor Asian. But she was pretty.
She vaguely looked like Caterina Murino (she was in Casino Royale. Coinkidink!), so I guess she was a Mediterranean breed.
Bohemian Chick: Do you have a Rewards Card?
(I whip it out)
BC: It looks like you have a personal shopper day. Would you like to use it?
(At this point, she could have told me my hair was on fire and I wouldn't have heard a word. I just stood there with my mouth agape.)
BC: You don't know what that is, right? (long explanation that gave me time to look at her some more.)
Me: Are you always so polite and cheerful? I only ask because you are seriously making me feel really special here.
Now here's the rub. I can think that kind of stuff, but I can never say it. Now I would have loved to give her that line, but all I could manage was some incomprehensible murmur of acknowledgment.
I was Helen Keller. Wah-ter! Wah-ter! I couldn't speak in anything other than non-human grunts. I also misspelled my name when I signed the credit card slip. Luckily I played it off by pretending that my pen was dry. But it just goes to show you:
THAT IS WHY I AM STILL SINGLE!!!
Fuck. At least this time it wasn't a shemale.
I got to learn something special about my body's health. I was perusing a mountain biking forum when I came upon a discussion about bike saddles. The original poster was looking for a more comfortable saddle for long distance rides. Someone replied with a link to a study on saddle designs.
It turns out that many bike saddles are poorly designed. The bulk of your bulk when seated rest squarely on your perineum. My seat is similar to this picture. Don't know what a perineum is?
This is it. It's that spot between the recreation area and the dump. Having the seat pressing against this area cuts off blood flow to the pecker. Over time, it could cause damage. Your wang can get out of whack, making it hard to whack. Women don't have wangs, but the pressure of the seat could cause discomfort. Or comfort. Whatever. A wangless friend once told me that she could get off driving with tight jeans. But I digress.
I went out and bought this saddle.
It has gel material which is nice. It also has a "comfort channel" that moves the pressure points off of the peepee anchor. I didn't get a chance to try it out yet, but I'm hoping it will work to stop the head numbing, errr... numbing.
And since this is a new month, I stopped by Borders Books to pick up some magazines.
Hehe. Not that kind. I picked up Superbike and Sport Rider. I also picked up Rocky Balboa and Casino Royale. Then I waited in the queue.
There were only two cashiers and a line was starting to form. So another salesperson opened her register for me. She had a pierced nose and two lip rings. She dressed in black and had dark features. I wouldn't describe her as goth though. Maybe more bohemian. I know she wasn't northern European nor Asian. But she was pretty.
She vaguely looked like Caterina Murino (she was in Casino Royale. Coinkidink!), so I guess she was a Mediterranean breed.
Bohemian Chick: Do you have a Rewards Card?
(I whip it out)
BC: It looks like you have a personal shopper day. Would you like to use it?
(At this point, she could have told me my hair was on fire and I wouldn't have heard a word. I just stood there with my mouth agape.)
BC: You don't know what that is, right? (long explanation that gave me time to look at her some more.)
Me: Are you always so polite and cheerful? I only ask because you are seriously making me feel really special here.
Now here's the rub. I can think that kind of stuff, but I can never say it. Now I would have loved to give her that line, but all I could manage was some incomprehensible murmur of acknowledgment.
I was Helen Keller. Wah-ter! Wah-ter! I couldn't speak in anything other than non-human grunts. I also misspelled my name when I signed the credit card slip. Luckily I played it off by pretending that my pen was dry. But it just goes to show you:
THAT IS WHY I AM STILL SINGLE!!!
Fuck. At least this time it wasn't a shemale.
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