broke and dreams

I'm broke.
Not dead-fucking-broke [yet], but uncomfortably broke. Extremely uncomfortably broke when all I do in my free time is build up my dream bike piece by loving piece. Chris King headset [the sotto voce one...in pink!, or no...classic silver?...but the pink's so cute...], silver Nitto drops, Champs grips [pink, def...mayyyybe white], pink deep V in the back, white or pink in the front...or maybe those polka dot ones?...
Needless to say, before I became officially broke, I was already calculating how to cut living costs to afford this dream-o-cycle. I mean, there's a certain amount I can sink into this bike but if my calculator is correct [don't trust mental math from this Asian], the wheelset's going to eat up that $$$.

Which consequently means I won't be eating much. I suppose that's both a blessing and a curse: I'll be extremely cranky, but I'll slim down [finally!]. And it's not like my pantry's bare [yet], I have a big-ass bag of rice sitting in my kitchen; and I know a good place to get day old bagels [yes, I'm fully aware of how sad this sounds].
I also understand the irony of a bicycle finally kicking my ass into losing weight, cutting expenses, and being more responsible. All things that even the idea of the approaching warmer weather and more revealing clothing [or even a cute boy on a bike!] couldn't motivate me to do.
In a way, I find that oddly comforting, like affirmation that this obsession of mine is for realz. Now, if I can only find a way to squeeze stem, seatpost, seat, cog, tubes, and tires money from my non-existent funds...

the birds and the v's

As pathetic as it sounds, if you had asked me last year if about Deep V rims, I probably would have assumed that you were talking about either a) some new sex move I hadn't heard of, or b) a porno.
I still sort of weird myself out every time I think "wow, I want a pair of Deep V's." It's only slightly better than my absolute dread at saying the word "lockring" in public because I know something else is bound to come out and I'm going to look like a total freak.
That hasn't kept me from wanting them though. It's sort of made me want them even more, in a perverse kind of way. I mean, how awesome would it be to get people to say "woah, look at her Deep V's"?
Okay I take that back, that sounds kind of gross.
But guess what came in the mail a few days ago?

Pretty in pink, it's sitting out in my tiny hallway, waiting for hubs, spokes, and yes, nipples. It's strategically placed so it's the first thing I see when I open my front door. It's better than the cat I wanted a few months ago to alleviate the sheer depression of coming home to an empty apartment, or the tv I've been wanting for over a year.
So when a friend asked me last Friday what I was up to after class, I naturally told him the truth:
"I'm going home to lick my new rim."

a method in this madness

My OCD's back.
Despite my crazy [see: Asian ethnicity, astrological sign, and gender], unorganized mess is currently taking over my life. And because of my crazy [see: Asian ethnicity, astrological sign, and gender], I'm convinced I'll always remember where things are and which hat I owe to whomever, even though history has consistently proven me wrong.
It doesn't help that you people have similar names or even the same first name! Yes, I am blaming you all for my disorganized mess of a desk and lack of any structured system to keep tabs on what I need to do for whom, because, hello, how can anything be my fault [see: my gender]?
Okay that was a total lie [see: my gender]. I finally did get some sort of system together last night. It's rudimentary but it works. As pretty as excel spreadsheets are, I need to be able to draw and write stuff out, and this way I can easily deprioritize people [just kidding!].

I also did some solid sweatshop labor last night and got some linings done. They even got labeled so I know I won't forget who they're for, and where they're going. I mean, I'm convinced that I won't forget even if I didn't label them, but you know, just in case [see: Asian propensity to be overly-prepared winning out over female convictions of always being right].

As a result, my OCD's feeling a little bit better. Although, let's be honest, my list of names on index cards is going to bother me until it's actually gone. Like it's already bothering me in that toe-curling-I-need-to-get-my-work-done-so-I-can-work-on-hats-so-I-can-clean-up-that-list-of-names kind of way.
Did I mention I have the crazy?

bailout package

I know I said that Valentine's Day doesn't mean much to me - and it really doesn't.
But it's a great excuse to go out and buy something you've sort of fallen for. I won't say "fallen in love with" though, because that requires a certain amount of time and care. Buying something on Valentine's Day is mostly for that high that instant gratification gives you; you just have to hope it lasts you until February 15th.

My last Valentine's Day purchase was a pair of black, pointy-toed, stiletto shoes one year in college. They're predictably impractical and the thought of dancing, drinking, and bar-hopping-induced blisters still makes me cringe, despite the fact that they're plenty broken in. Still, I don't regret buying them, and they've given me more than a simple 24-hour shopper's high.
Since then, though, I could never justify a Valentine's Day purchase precisely because it was only to make myself feel better for a few hours about a silly "holiday." Valentine's Day, and all the glittery, red, heart-shaped boxes of chocolates that come with it, wins if you have to spend your money to make yourself feel better due to supposedly miserable single-dom. Valentine's Day could not win.

...Until yesterday. For what it's worth, I was planning this for a while, and it just so happened that my intended date of purchase [I was hoping mid-January] ran into this month. Okay, I admit that I did sort of figure it'll make Valentine's Day a little more significant this year...but it really wasn't for any kind of instant gratification.
Besides, I'm not actually going to be able to see or touch whatever I purchased until later this week, at the earliest. And this really wasn't a totally spontaneous decision either; I'm pretty sure this is going to last me a few solid years, and it's not nearly as impractical as those stilettos.
Although, uncharacteristically, I am anticipating [just a little, tiny bit] falling in love.

heartbreaker...contest!

It's Valentine's Day!!!
The above statement actually means nothing to me, but I figure I should just put it out there. Okay, that's not entirely true; I did give out kisses [chocolate ones, only!] to my favorite bike mechanics.
Having thrown my chain twice in the past 24 hours, I hustled to IBC today to pick up that new pink chain, and possibly a new chainring. Chris worked on my bike again, mentioning how he had changed the chainring bolts a few days ago:
Chris: They were too long for the chainring so her chainring was wobbling.
Me: Yeah there was a chain guard on there earlier. But I didn't put that chainring on...but...yeah...
Eric: But someone did.
Me: ...yeah....
Me and Eric: .......
Eric: ....that was such a classic "my boyfriend knows so much about bikes" moment.
So true. And so appropriate on Valentine's Day. So maybe this might be appropriate too:

I'm actually going to give this away. That's right. Free. Shipping included in the word "free."
What do you have to do? Well, send me your best bike-related Valentine's Day story. Or the craziest bike-related thing you've done for someone that you <3. You'll obviously have to be okay with your entry - if it wins - being posted on this site, but other than that, all you have to do is send in your story!

The deadline is February 28th. Yup, you have until the end of the month. So get emailing!
In terms of logistics, you might notice that the hat isn't 100% done. That's because I will resize it if you don't have a huge head. It's made right now to fit people with larger heads [about 24 inches around] so mostly everyone can submit a story and not have to worry about the hat not fitting.

Good luck!

throwing chains

Dear Old Woman in the White Sedan,
I understand you're old and there's not much in life to make you happy anymore. I also understand your time behind that steering wheel is extremely limited, and that you'd rather drive over people than consider slowing down.
But when I throw my chain, and skid to a startled stop because I have no idea what just happened, don't nearly run me over because you were tailgating me.

It also makes you look like a giant bitch when you stop there, honking your horn, when you could easily back up and drive around me. Okay, maybe you couldn't back up because your fender was touching my rear wheel and there was a car behind you. But honking at me just motivates me to flip you the bird, especially when I'm only occupying about 2ft of the side of the road.
If it gives you any satisfaction though, you scared the shit out of me when I felt your fender pushing my bike. You should also have been scared. Mostly because you might have killed me. But I'm sure you couldn't really give a shit.
Thanks again, for being an inconsiderate bitch! I hope you burn in hell!
Love, Me