oppression neon green and blue pours in my window at this ungodly hour. again with les humouristes.
half-assed story time, told in totally half-assed narrative form because i am le tired. (welllll, have a nap)...
i got no brakes. everyday i be putting my life on the line just to get to work (and so the melodrama begins). so i think to myself, "hey linds, isnt it time you fixed your brakes?"
shit yes. and i had some extra bucks to spend/spoil myself on some life saving device that aids greatly when travelling down montreal hills.
so there's this right to move coop that offers technical bike servicing by volunteers at prices fit for those dwelling somewhere along the poverty line, so i go meet these fine people.
i love learning. i do. especially those transferrable life skills like knowing how to trew your wheels, change an axel, change the spokes, fix gears, and what have you. HOWEVER, i had no idea that this special bike coop was hoping i would activate these learning skills as i went.
i know, this is fairly anti-climactic, but bear with me. i spent the last 4 hours rebuilding my bike. yes, mmmeeee. and its not nearly as liberating as it sounds.
so it begins with the brakes. ... i just want brakes. i dont care if their the front or the back, just one or the other, just brakes.
next thing i know, my bike is in peices, and im crying in my inside pants.
"hey, uhm, help a bitch out?"
i was the last person to leave this damn coop.
needless to say, my story telling via text is experiencing some lack, due to my inability to convey the facial/hand expressions that best fit my rage and disbelief for 4 hours.
$5.34 and two anti-car stickers later, im free, and apparently still alive despite being certain that it would all end up in a pile of rubble before i could make it home to the neon lights.
oh, and buddy bought me a chocolate milk, because he could see right through my bike-angst.
to top it all off, there's 4 guys left and me, as we all try to pull together a greasy masterpeice, and im talking about something and it slipped out, the Lanark twang, or, well, some bloody dialect ive aqquired somewhere along the way.
"heyyy, that sounded kinda, .....Southern....?"
"no no, she's a VALLEY girl."
OOHHHH RIGGHHT. yeah, that's it. BINGO . good god.
3 comments:
dowload xiu xiu - i luv the valley, oh.
effing good song. i don tknow which valley he's talking about but it's damn suiting, an orphan of the valley.
ummmmm i hope those drunk dudes learn to handle their booze better... the crying part is just hilarious. but sadly for your poor face. are you at least lurving being able to wander the streets with a hugeo straw in zee box of sangria mangria?
all i can smell is DEAD PIG.
s
you make my days complete!
i have yet to find a straw suitable/large enough for my sangria, although, im working it.
i got a new cameraaaa though, expensive but its a beaut, and thus i am in love again.
i was listening to that xiu xiu song and it pretty much rocks my socks. all day ive been listening to cross bones style on ad-continuum repeat-for-life at work. luckyyyy you for the show!
someone makin' bacon? yer fave?
yesterday my work had a pig roast, wtf. a whole pig. i saw it.. its pinky skin was all charred and black. it stunk up the entire office, you can imagine my horror.
-go to macs and get one of those slushy straws.. the ones with the shovel on the other end. ! you can shovel sangria into your mouf.
-camera!!!!!!!!!!!
i hate meatloaf.
s
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