dirty water

The only thing I hate about my favorite coffee shop is that it's apparently everyone else's favorite coffee shop as well.
This means that, being oblivious, I end up choosing the table next to a couple on their first date. And even though I pretended [unsuccessfully] to be engrossed in a few law review articles, I was really just [blatantly, yet uncomfortably] eavesdropping.
The girl talked about how much she loved shopping, how "it's great to be young and a girl," and how she couldn't stand wearing jeans and sneakers because people would never take you seriously when you dress that way.
I mostly did not agree with anything she said. Mostly because I was wearing jeans and sneakers.
But not just any pair of sneakers; I was wearing my [beloved] Chucks. In Boston! In February! Because it was in the 40s yesterday [about 4C]!!!
That's my excuse for not posting anything this weekend. I was too busy biking around town, sipping coffee in various places, and stopping into therapy.

The roads are kind of gross [to be fair these pictures were taken in Allston], but at least those giant piles of snow are finally melting. And after biking from one coffee shop to another, I got a[n appropriately] dirty chai latte at Starbucks for $3, the shot of espresso being on the house.

On second thought, maybe it is great to be young and a girl.

lunchbox!

I have a slight obsession with tupperware.
It kind of goes well with my OCD and my need to at least have the opportunity to compartmentalize everything into its own discrete space. Even if that never really happens because I'm incredibly lazy.
And because I'm lazy, I'm going to steal an idea from Iban, who has blog that makes me not only want to lick my screen, but also press my face against it, while drool dribbles down my chin.
He rides and builds bikes, obviously, but he also bakes sourdough - and for the bread purist in me, that's enough to make me want to move to Barcelona.
So, "inspired" by Iban [although, let's admit it that I'm just copying him], here is my lunchbox:

Okay, it's just a turkey sandwich, a sliced apple, and peanut butter crackers to get me through the day. Not very exciting, I know. But the coolest part about my lunchbox is not so much the lunch itself, as the box:

It folds up flat when I'm done, which means that I have a couple inches of extra space in my bag at the end of the day.

Cool, right? It even has Hello Kitty on it! I know, this is going to drive every reader insane with jealousy!
And because, as I mentioned before, I'm lazy, I'd even consider giving it away. But only if you can find me a boy that rides bikes and bakes [good] sourdough, in Boston.

a simple favor

My best friend has this concept of "secret interests." People usually have one - something they love or like that not many people know about. Her boyfriend's is cars, something I hadn't known until a few months ago, despite knowing him for a good 5 years or so. Hers? Horoscopes. She can tell whether you're a Pisces, Aries, Cancer, Virgo, whatever.
I'm a Cancer. Which might explain why I love being domestic, and also why I can be bat-shit crazy.
But back to being domestic, and nurturing, and homey. Okay, I'm probably not most of those things...but I can sew. And I have a sewing machine. Which sort of led me to hemming the pants of a complete stranger [but one who rides bikes].

He's getting married, or more accurately, he's having the civil ceremony on Friday. He needed the pants hemmed up two inches, which I was more than happy to do. I mean, the man plans to wear a bowtie - how could I say no?
So while school might be getting in the way of all things fun right now, finishing a raw seam and a good blind hem let me chill out for an hour or so last night. I'm not sure I can claim "nurturing" yet, but maybe this good deed can qualify me for at least "domestic" and "homey"?

drenched

I'm sure most of you who read this are fully aware of how disgusting it is outside.
When I left this morning, the snow was coming down in all it's pretty white flutteriness. There was just enough on the ground to make the commute kinda messy, but there wasn't any slipping and sliding involved.

I figured the fun part would come later in the afternoon with a predicted 5-8 inches of snow. Hauling my ass up Heartbreak Hill in that kind of snow? Come on, what's not to love?
And then the weather decided to turn legitimately disgusting. I got drenched on the way home. Not so much because of the rain, but because of the huge puddles that formed along Comm Ave, and the cars that decided it would be a great idea to race through them.
I think my toes are finally thawing. Ride safe - and stay warm!

internet famous!

Okay, yeah, it's out now. I'm coming out of the closet.
Sure I let people see pictures of my feet and I even went so far as to make a very identifiable bag. But I never posted anything that would really identify me...until now.

It's on the internets, as the Boston Globe was at the last Boldsprints I went to. I'm not sure how I feel about coming out - it's a little scary...but hey, for someone that slid down Mass Ave on her butt to get to the Middlesex, I don't look so bad, right?

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?