Dreams!

Last night I dreamed that I was at a function for my parents' church, and all these old men kept hitting on me. One kept following me around the function, and one kept whispering in my ear. Then, I left and went for a bicycle ride with Leah. She was on a little red fixie while I was on an adult tricycle with a large basket between the rear wheels. We rode through a vintage clothing store, which was particularly difficult with my extra width. Escaping from the ridiculous amount of purple clothing in the store, we met up with a hip bicycle gang and cruised down the street.

Short rides

I rode my bicycle to a job interview last week, past a playground full of children. "Hey!" One of them called at me. "I'll buy your bike for five thousand dollars!"

"FIVE THOUSAND DOLLARS?" I called back, laughing, before continuing on my ride.It's a shame little kids don't actually have money, otherwise I would obviously have no need to go to job interviews. I spent $115 on my bicycle originally, and nows she got a new rear brake cable, some new tubes, and trued truer wheels. However, I strongly doubt that these improvements have added $4,885 to the value of my bicycle. This means I would be making quite a profit on my $5,000 bicycle sale--and demonstrates to me just how profitable taking advantage of small children could be. If only they had the funds.

Dear World,

Today it snowed in Austin, Texas. I called half the people in my phone as I spun around, through the puddles in my parking lot, with an unconquerable smile, giggling while the flakes stung my face and scattered my coat.

My smile still will not go away. I don't think the weather has ever made me happier.

It's snowing.

Rude Girl Update

Today, once again, I was behind Rude Girl at the stoplight at Speedway and 38th. Today she was wearing brown shorts over black tights, the only fashion faux pas that I actively campaign against.

My dislike of her has increased, but at least today I rode faster than she did.

Technological progress.

Cell phones are the perfect example of the ubiquity of technology these days. They're also a great example of the current trend of bringing the private into public. For example, the woman next to me right now in the coffee shop just made a call. "Hi! Whoever left me a message saying I needed to come in for another pap because there was something abnormal or something about the last one!"

Pets and Pet Peeves

I have decided that, at least of late, the quality of my life has been reflected by the number of kitty cats surrounding me.

About four months ago, my life was devoid of cats (with the exception of the insane monsters that live at Darlene's house, but those hardly reflect happiness). Then, on a bike ride home one day, I was met with the loudest yowl I've heard in ages. YOOOOWL, YOOOOWL. It pierced the air, and I stopped to see if I could find and help the cat, which must have been seriously injured.

Instead, an adorable little fluff ball presented itself to me, coming up to where I had stopped and rubbing itself on my legs. It looked up at me. YOOOOWL.

I don't know the cat's name, but we'll call it Poodle. This is not the cat. This is an image I found
on Google image search and stole. But this is what Poodle looks like.

Poodle then tried to get me to follow him/her into his/her house, turning to YOOOOWL at me every foot or so, but, as cute as he/she is, I didn't. I've seen Poodle numerous times since, but he/she's never made as much noise as the first time. He/she was my first neighborhood cat-friend.

Some weeks later, I met Corey's cat, a beautiful grey/brown/reddish tabby. She bit me. It turns out, she bites everyone until they figure out just how to pet her. Her name is Iris, and it turns out she's quite a friendly little cat.

She looks like this, but even prettier. I also stole this image.

I had gone from 0 cat friends to two in almost no time, but I wasn't done yet. The next cat was also absolutely fabulous, and entirely gorgeous. She's a long-haired black and white cat named Lola who lives near my complex. She's super friendly and likes to roll in the dirt.

I stole THIS one from the BBC.

Last night, as I was leaving my apartment to head to Corey's, a mighty fine, short-haired black cat met me in the parking lot, escorting me to my car. Totally lovable, she sported a sophisicated leopard print color with matching bell, but no name tag (however, leopard print means I assume the cat is a she). I'll call her Panther.Like this, but with two eyes.

This morning, as I was leaving Corey's, I finally met his neighbor's cat, which has a name that I can't remember, so I won't rename it. It is also very sweet, and also likes to roll in the dirt.

Not really like this cat, but sort of. Kind of.

I am quite happy right now, and I think that the number-of-cat-friends index is a good indicator of happiness. In any case, there seems to be a very strong correlation--and to further support this, there were no cats present anywhere on Friday night.

There were also no cats present this morning when some twat on a mountain bike got in front of me at the stoplight. Granted, perhaps he thought that the fact that I was road biking with a cup of coffee would slow me down sufficiently that he would be faster than I would be, but this was entirely foolish.

Now, there are lots of people who ride mountain bikes around seriously who know how to the ride. Many of these people have better bicycles than I do, and are more experienced bicycle riders. Additionally, I have never seen any of them riding with cups of coffee. All of these factors make it entirely possible that the bicycle rider would be much faster than I am.

However, none of these factors applied to this twat, who appeared to still be learning how to use his gears correctly. It drives me nuts when people who suck at bicycle riding don't even know that they suck at bicycle riding, like the girl riding down Cesar Chavez a couple weeks ago, changing lanes without looking backwards over her shoulder. In any case, I was forced to (even more dangerously) remanuever past this twat while holding my coffee and avoiding the pot holes which are endemic at 38th and Speedway.



Then a guy on an expensive mountain bike who seriously knew how to ride it passed both of us.

Bad night.

She blinked, bleary, at the clock and rolled over, cold and alone, in last night’s jewelry. Her eyes were swollen, and she remembered staring through the mirror, tears rolling past contacts sitting on her cheeks.

She rolled out of bed, looking for pajamas, cold, bare legs goosepimpled in the midmorning interior. She didn’t know what she’d done last night, but hoped she never did it again.

The speakers chattered, and she pretended they were predicting his phone call, knowing they weren’t. He wouldn’t be awake for hours. She looked at the phone, wondered if she regretted last night’s voice mail.

A car alarm sounded outside, not hers. Her car was in South Austin, hopefully still, and she regretted telling him he’d have to pay for it if it got towed. Maybe that was where everything started. She couldn’t remember.

Edwige had been upset. Thump, thump, she’d gone, slapping powerful back feet hard against the floor of her cage. “I’m sorry, precious,” she’d told the bunny through her tears. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Her neighbors were having sex above her, and she didn’t try to escape. She laid, pressed in bed, and cried for all the things she was afraid she didn’t have anymore.