bike crush

"Save your crushes for the unattainable."
That's one of the strangest pieces of advice I've ever gotten from a friend. I didn't get it at all at the time. I still might be misunderstanding it. It sort of requires a sense of self-confidence that borders on the delusional, and that sort of turns me off. But it's oddly comforting advice for when you do get crushed by your, um, crush, because in the end, unless they're unattainable, you were way too good for them anyway. And if they're unattainable, the crush wasn't going anywhere to begin with.
I'm trying to save my bike crushes too. It's hard though. What can I say? I fall in love maybe a little too easily.
Or more accurately, maybe I just like falling in love. Unfortunately that sort of tends to lead to poor decision making - like when I'm unable to find a track frame small enough to fit me and I actually start to consider buying another "entry-level" bike when I'm really looking to invest in something a bit better.
But fortunately for me, Cambridge Bikes came to the rescue with some sage advice: Fit's important. Keep looking. Don't buy something that I'm not in love with.

So basically, I shouldn't sell out to the materialistic whore in me that's screaming for another bike. Which seems painfully obvious to any outside observer, but really isn't if you've forgotten - like me, sadly - how not to sell out.
It's time to start retaining my integrity I guess [although I think I've lost too much of it to actually go back to punk rock and pink hair]. And I suppose, like most crushes, the hunt is part of the fun. Even if the whole roller-coater ride of getting my hopes up that a frame will fit, only to have them come crashing down on me, is...not so fun.
But hey, I'm too good for those frames anyway, right?

party dresses and piercings

For most of my life, all I ever wanted to be was a fashion designer. I ended up in law school instead. Yeah, long story which involves, among other things, my realization that I wasn't talented enough, my eternal status as the less talented sibling, and sheer spinelessness and terror at taking a chance and jumping into an industry with little stability. It's a choice that I still regret.
Needless to say, this love of making and designing clothes translated easily into buying and acquiring clothes. And shoes. And bags. And accessories.
But when I met the other love of my life [the bike, obviously, not a boy], fashion design sort of faded away. I find spandex more comfortable than Marc Jacobs. I'm so awkward that I know I'll fall and shred one of my vintage shirts if I ever tried riding in them. And heels + bike can only = complete disaster and lots of blood.

When my best friend - who has several closets I would kill a few puppies for - heard my excuses, her response was:
"This whole bike riding's really getting in the way of you bringing sexy back."
So the goal this year - other than the whole "riding no handed and being able to do trackstands and all the other basic stuff that other normal people can do" - is to ride in a skirt. And figure out a way to wear my earrings with a helmet strapped to my head. And not lose them.

Because, even if it's to bring sexy back, I will be seriously pissed if I lose my Vivienne Westwood earrings.

salty

Any delusions I may have had concerning that elusive concept of "free time" are slowly melting away. What I seem to be left with is a big, dirty, slushy mess of new deadlines, more work, days I'll be "on call" in class, meetings, and that ever-persistent feeling of guilt I get when my nose isn't buried in a book.
I'm feeling as worn out and salty as the bike that's sitting out in my hallway, drying off. Yeah, I've been neglecting it.

I know I shouldn't and I know I have to wipe it down, lube the chain, and clean the damn rims, but for now, the pile of papers and books and the possibility of falling behind in my work intimidate me more. This weekend, I promise, really. Hats too, after I get some stuff done. It's there on my list - people are there on my list - and I'm frantically trying to check things off, cross them out, and get moving on, well, everything.
I even tried to promise myself to write longer posts, make them more interesting and all that. Yeah, it's not really happening yet. Soon, though, soon. I promise.
I promise, I keep my promises.

a bold[sprints] adventure

Having gotten my polo fix earlier this week, and today being a holiday, I was on the look-out for some weekend bike-related goodness.
Thank God for Boldsprints!
It was snowing as I left for Cambridge, and it felt like I was getting facial acupuncture as I pedaled. And then nature and gravity decided to show me that my conviction that "I have a 'cross bike so therefore I can bike over/through anything" was just totally wrong. Good thing I wasn't with anyone though, as sliding down Mass Ave on my ass is one of my less charming moments.
I made it to the Middlesex, though, in one slushy piece. Hats were delivered, old faces seen, new ones met, and [some of a] beer consumed. And while 'Sprints didn't happen due to some impossibly difficult technical problem, fun times were had.

Until, of course, I was faced with the choice of pedaling home in the snow. With the roads not that plowed, fate seemed to imply that I would either be walking it or sliding home on one buttcheek.
But lucky for me, a friend offered me a ride home...if I biked to his house/car in Somerville. There was walking involved, but I'd like to think much less sliding.

Then a whole other adventure ensued in which the guy who was parked behind my friend wouldn't wake up but we could hear the TV on. Oh, and sliding sideways down the hills of Somerville when we finally got on the road. But of course, it was well worth it.
So...when is the next Boldsprints, again?

my very own baileyworks

I love the anonymity of the internet.
I can show people I have never met before what I'm doing, tell them what I'm thinking, and have a long trail of blog posts and pictures open for pretty much anyone with an internet connection to read/see.
It's like Facebook stalking taken to a creepier level. The most frightening part being that I'm actually voluntarily providing this information (sans the pictures of drunken debauchery...well, for now, at least).
So this is kind of a bold move on my part. It's taking the internet life and applying it to my real one, which means that people might figure out who I am. My excuse though, is that my Baileyworks bag needed some customization.

It was fairly easy - I printed out what I wanted to eventually paint on my bag. I decided to paint this onto another piece of fabric for two reasons: 1. I didn't want to mess up all over my beloved bag, and 2. if it got dirty or worn, I could easily replace it.
After figuring out where I wanted the text, I cut out the letters. This process is easier with an X-acto knife but I'm running a woefully amateur operation here, and made do with a pair of regular scissors.

Using a fabric pen (it's a water soluble ink pen made for drawing on fabric - a pencil or tailor's chalk should work just fine, although finer font will be more difficult), I traced the outline of the font.

I painted it by hand with a very fine paintbrush and some fabric paint. Actually it was silkscreen paint. Like I said before, I'm making do with what's around my apartment.

After letting it dry overnight and ironing it from the back (as per the silkscreen ink instructions), I figured out where I wanted the giant patch to go on my bag. I chose to sew it on by hand because I was afraid my sewing machine may not be able to take it, and I didn't want to punch holes (however tiny) into the vinyl lining. The edges were left raw on purpose, although finishing the seams would give it a cleaner look.
Hopefully I'll get a picture of what it looks like when it's strapped to my back. Now go and make your own patches!

1F

When I was younger, I [irrationally?] feared having a squat, ugly nose [I'm Asian, so the fears might not have been completely irrational]. I remember trying to relate this concern to my mother, who suggested I keep a clothespin on my nose to "train" it to become pointy.
She was joking, but I was five. I actually did it, although for about 5 minutes at a time. Because, hello, it hurts.
I mentioned this to my mother a few years ago who a) didn't even remember that this had happened, and b) concluded with "well, it worked, didn't it?"
I guess.
But those same irrational fears are coming up again. In the frigid cold Boston's been experiencing lately, my balaclava's coming in pretty handy. Except...it squishes my nose.

This is sort of unacceptable. What if my nose now regresses, and becomes more squat? I don't have clothespins here! Now that I'm older, do I have to keep the clothespin on for longer? Which clothespin should I be using?
This is all very frustrating and troublesome. It's good to know, though, that that nice, thick layer of fat that's grown on me since I've moved to Boston, and the fact that I'm ridiculously out of shape, are coming in handy for dealing with this weather. Both are keeping me warm enough to pull down that pesky balaclava a third of the way into my commute.
Thank God, really, because with this economy, my dowry really can't take any more hits.