Addicted

Houston, I have a problem: I am addicted to bikes.

Or maybe it is not a problem, not a bad one anyways. But I am. Ok, let’s face it: there are worse things to be addicted to. 

The evidence:

(1) I have 5 bicycles, which are not that many by *some* of my friends’ standards (not naming any names here!). But I always want more, can convince myself I *need* more, and I can’t imagine letting go of any of the ones I currently have… As someone said in a Facebook post last weekend: "Correct numbers of bikes is n+1, with n=to the number of bikes you currently own."

Grrrrrr…. Bunny Hop

I am grumpy, cranky, pissy and downright in a really bad mood. That race did not go well. It is actually very simple: I raced 5-6 laps, had an asthma attack, and ta-daaaaaa, I was out. What else is new.

The day did not start in its best foot either. You see, I have these neighbors that, despite being married, the wife is the prototype of the cranky grumpy old maid and he is a schmuck. And they do not like dogs; they are actually the only people in this block who do not have any sort of critters to look after (critters being any kind of pet or children). And I have the good luck of having them living right next to me. Yay. So, they judge me, they bug me, and since they do not have a life, they mess with mine. So, this morning, when I was putting my bike on the roof rack, the bitch comes running to tell me that "YOUR DOGS WERE BARKING LATE LAST NIGHT!! I HEARD THEM AT 7PM!!! AND XX (the schmuck) GOES TO BED EARLY AND THEY DON'T LET HIM SLEEP!"... 7 pm... REALLY?!? I mean, how bad is she in bed that the poor schmuck feels compelled to go to sleep at 7 pm on a Saturday?!?