My overall state of Endo

10 November 2008

I get up to go to work, and I have an old pair of corduroys, they are known to me as “my skinny pants”  They are the only pair of pants which I have never needed a belt with, but have been unable to wear since I stopped riding last year.  All those empty beer calories are my guess.  I have been feeling thin lately figured I would giv them a shot.  I slipped right in; I know I am a woman.  I was so happy, I am officially almost skinny.   Later in the day, while working I am moving some sheet stock and the pants get caught a machine.  As I turn with the sheet of plywood I end up tearing the ass off of my skinny pants.  Literally the back of one legs ripped from the pocket to behind my knee.  As I notice this I am thankful I actually wore long johns, otherwise my new coworkers would have seen all my junk.   It was sad, it seems like everyday I am forced to throw up some clothing, and my socks are slowly losing their fight.

 I finished up my first week of work Friday, and I am enjoying the job. I finally got a bench since there has been a shuffle due to someone leaving for rotor cuff surgery.  I will post pictures next week of my lovely little corner in the shop, exciting stuff, ok not quite.  I feel like I need to go buy a poster or something just to help dress it up a bit.    

 So, the last few mornings on my ride to the bus stop I have seen someone else riding a small stretch of road with.  Thursday I caught and passed him in a blink of an eye, and didn’t have a chance t talk.  Then Friday I noticed him up ahead, and slowed a touch to at least say hello prior to leaving him behind.  Keep in mind this is at 5 am so it’s cold and dark so you don’t see many people on the road.  I see him up ahead with his 3 blinking lights, full fenders complete with mud flaps, and I am serious a mud flap.  As I caught him I said good morning, and proceeded to pass (he rides slow) I hear him say something behind me, so I slow down to chit chat.

 Him:  “Where did you get your reellights?”

 Ok reellights are these little lights which attach to your axle.  You mount 2 magnets to your spokes, and every time a magnet passes the light flashes.  They use no batteries, and as you ride they build up a charge so if you stop at a red light they keep blinking for a period of time.  I have never seen anyone else with a set; I ended up ordering them last year, after searching for a supplier.  You got to love the internet I was finally able to find a company in Sweden that was selling them.  I was actually amazed he knew what they were since you do not se them in shops.  I explain the story about where I got them etc, and how they are the best lights ever.  After my story, his expression changes as he responds. 

 Him: “Hang on I know you!”

Me: “What?”

Him: “Yeah, you spent some time at 3220 Airport Road.”

Me: “Yeah?”

Him:  “I was the guy who commented on your saddle height.  You changed your handlebars.”

 3220 Airport Road is the address of Boulder County Sherriff’s Office aka the jail.  A month or so ago, I was returning for the day, and someone asked my buddy “Tim” if he had the Pista outside.  I said no it’s mine, he made a joke about how could I reach the pedals. He thought it was “Tim’s” bike since “Tim” is a good 3” taller than me.  What this dudes capacity is at the jail, I have no clue.  It was sort of odd being noticed in public by someone from the jail, and even more strange since it was dark and only talked o him the one time.  I think he noticed my bike more than anything else.  So, we talked a bit as we both headed to our bus stops, both heading to work.

 My commute these days consists of riding my bike 4 miles to downtown Longmont, and catching the 528 AM bus to Denver.  The bus ride takes about an hour, and then I hop on the bike and ride another 5 miles to work, overall it’s not too bad.  Though I can’t wait to move, I will gain 3 hours a day, which Jazmine will appreciate.  One thing I figured out lately is brakes on a bike have their purpose. 

 Over the last few days I have been pushing the envelope more and more riding through the city.  The other day while going to look at apartments I realized I need to get better at skidding, or else I will end up under a car soon.  Friday morning as I am on my way into work I come a series of 4 way stops. I usually just ride through; instead I decide to practice my skid. As I reach work I am getting good, and confident which is key.  After work I do the same on the way home and start to feel a little better about keeping myself from getting hit by a car.

 A few years ago I remember an ex comparing me to a child since every time she came over I was in the street riding my bike.  Friday I was in just such a mood, as I returned to my apartment complex I start screwing around skidding in the parking lot.  I then ride up the side walk to my apartment to finish off with a final skid.  I lean forward, lock my legs, and my pant gets caught in the spokes of the front wheel and I go over the handlebars.  I do this right in front of my neighbor who is sitting on here porch.  I do a little summersault and the bike lands on top of me.  I start laughing at my stupidity; I was not going fast thus the whole thing was very slow.  I look over to the little old lady whose jaw has dropped; she asks if I am alright.   I tell her I am fine, just a little stupid. 

 

Talking to Skippy:

Sunday I was talking to Skippy about my drinking amongst other topics, and I was feeling well sort of grown up.  To clarify I was feeling the situations in my life have grown up, but I am still a child.  We are having this conversation while I am eating chocolate chip cookies, with chocolate milk, while listening to a CD I bought in 1998.  This is not quite the breakfast of a 30 year old male with his life together.  At this point I really started to notice that I have never become an adult.  The real acceptance came when I looked around and noticed my apartment looks like a college dorm.  Bikes, kegorator, dart board, air hockey table, snowboard and a huge stack of dirty dishes.

 I have always prided myself as being young at heart, but really I am just a kid.  I find it funny when asked my age I say I am 30 but it takes a second for me to realize I am not 22 anymore.  While women cling to the age of 29 year after year I always think of myself as 22. 

 I am starting to think its time for a witch hunt to make myself feel better. Back in the 80’s parents attacked Judas Priest and other bands saying their children committed suicide because of the lyrics of their music.  My case is slightly different; I want to sue Rancid, The Casualties, and Social Distortion for keeping me immature and not growing up. 

I actually went to see Rancid in June and I was one of the oldest people at the show. My date (she was 28) and I were discussing how old we were compared to everyone there when I noticed an older guy, male pattern baldness, polo shirt, and khakis.  I point to him as though now I am not old, but she was quick to point out that the little 17 year old next to him was clearly his son.  Now, Rancid is old!  After the show I googled Tim Armstrong’s age (lead singer) he is 42 (think he is 43 now, thinking he was born in November).  They still go out rocking every night though I am sure they have slowed down, and that is all I have ever wanted.  Prior to this past hiccup, I was looking to move to downtown Denver so I could ride my bike everywhere, drink, party, and not have a care in the world.  I wanted to get some mindless jobs, and drive a pedicab (a bike cab) and live life like I was 22. 

 I am moving to downtown later this month, and until 2 weeks ago I was still planning to get a job as a bike messenger and party like I was 22, which would probably lead right back to jail.  Instead, I found a “real job” in which being hung over is not a good idea on many levels.  I know this will not make me a responsible grown up, but I do wonder if it is a small step in becoming an adult.  After all I did throw out a sock, now I will never be able to wear a matching set.