not your average birthday

I'm not quite addicted to Facebook, yet. Or, not as addicted as some. I don't need to de-activate my account during finals because I'd be on it otherwise. I guess I'm just lazy; I don't update my status numerous times throughout the day, I don't stalk friends through pictures, and I don't have 2398012984722 pictures of myself up on my profile.
When I finally caved and signed up for an account last year, I was hesitant to even friend people I've never met before but went to school with. There was the pre-requisite of "I have to actually talk to you first" before I confirmed friend requests.
That's been sort of changing. Sort of. Because I've been Facebook friends with a certain Dan Pugatch, whom I didn't get to meet until last night for his birthday party at Charlie's Kitchen. That's not to say my Facebook standards have plummeted; Dan is the incredibly awesome author/blogger behind Not Your Average Bicycle Messenger, and we both read each other's respective blogs. In a way, he knew more about me than some of my Facebook friends that I've actually met.

And because I stupidly forget my SD card for my digital camera at home [total fail!], I was only able to take some crappy cell phone pictures. We finally did meet, though, last night, over a Diet Coke [for me, more on that tomorrow] and a Jameson on the rocks [for him].
It was great seeing some familiar faces, and meeting new ones. My ride partner even came with, which made sure I got home at a decent hour so I could ride, ride, ride today. Even though, as I found out later because I never drink soda, Diet Coke really kills sleep.

Still, hanging out with bike people is always fun, and always a good time. I already can't wait for next weekend; I have polo planned [for once!], hopes of more bike parts coming in, and lots and lots of rides. There's hottt-ness waiting for me at IBC too [I mean, other than the bike]. And of course, there's the new bike.
Ahhhhhh!!! Can't wait!!!!

no competition

Nothing gets me up Heartbreak Hill faster than another cyclist with gears. I once climbed that thing so fast I had to juggle basic life tasks like "trying to breathe" while coughing, gasping, and trying not to fall over.
Nothing, apparently, makes me pedal faster than seeing another cyclist up ahead of me. Yesterday afternoon was filled with random encounters: a Babson student heading to Somerville on a single-speed [we rode through Watertown together...and he was fast], a handful of random cyclists in Cambridge [as usual], and I even ran into Boston's Cutest Polo Player/Courier. Helmetless, brakeless, and clipless, seeing him made me question why I've been attracted to the spandexed-out roadie types these days.

I headed into the library fairly early today, and with the warmer weather, I expected to see packs of roadies flocking towards Dover. Maybe I got up too late, but I didn't see one. Not one cyclist on the road, just a handful of cars and one group of runners. And without that adrenaline rush of unreasonable competition, I was rolling along at a pace that would have been more suitable on a heavy cruiser.
But even so I got to school before the library opened. That meant that few students were around. That meant, too, that I could shamelessly change out of my sweaty t-shirt in front of my locker [yes, we get lockers in lawyer school].

I have a feeling though, that I'm going to see more bike people tonight when I head out. Or, at least I hope so. Because someone's gotta motivate me...and it's certainly not going to be me.
[Also, this is my 100th post! Yayyyy!]

sweaty carnage

Is the week over yet?
I've been a complete mess this week. The week I decide to take an hour out of my day to bike bike bike, I end up with 10 million things to do. Which means that even though when I get home, all I want to do is limp to my shower and then crawl into bed, I'm struggling through piles of papers and a legal note that's going to get ripped to shreds by my editor later today. I don't even have the time to rock back and forth in a fetal position and weep about my week.
And I was hoping to get published...but with a note about the problems of current European Community laws protecting cheese, that's not likely. And I have a "cite and substance" session today; this is a mind-numbingly boring process in which I get to sit down with a third year editor on my journal and go through my note, line for line. Every sentence is footnoted, and every footnote gets checked to make sure 1) it actually supports the sentence that I wrote, and 2) it's in perfect Bluebook form.

That also means I have to "prepare" by finding every single cited source, tabbing and numbering the page with the footnote number, and then resisting the temptation to stab my eyes out with a fork. I learned that long sentences slightly ease the pain of this process. I only had 172 footnotes.
Whatever my editor and I don't finish in three hours tonight is scheduled for Sunday evening or Monday. I'm so tempted, already, to take the short way home. I'm so tempted to just drop off the face of the earth. I'm so tempted to just give up.

Still, I'll probably take the long way home. I'm just hoping that between the ride, shower, the work for the weekend, hat making, and bed, that I can squeeze in some time to weep. And maybe, if I'm lucky, I'll be able to find [and put on] my smile game face while I'm at it.
And if it wasn't obvious already, applications for domestique/cheerleader/wife positions are now being accepted.

embrocated guilt

I've been taking the long way home these days. From Newton up through Watertown, through Cambridge, Allston, then back to Brighton.
The route manages to pass by all my favorite bike shops too. When I dropped by Cambridge Bikes the other day - my future riding/training partner had promised to be there but had called in sick - Kip told me how he liked that I posted pictures of scenery and the outdoors.
Despite all the added mileage I've been doing, though, this week has been severely lacking in any pictures of the outdoors. It's a poor excuse, but going as fast as I can while dodging potholes and cars is making the whole "picture taking" thing sort of difficult. Add to that a hectic week at school and I've mostly been blogging off the weekend...for a week.
But never fear, I have my readers' best interests in mind! Because it would be downright criminal not to share this:

That's right. It's a Rapha-Indy Fab bike. Chris King headset and hubs. Pure deliciousness in bike form, it walked in with some choice members of the Embrocation Cycling Team this past weekend as I shamelessly stuffed my face full of cookies at IBC. As soon as the team parked their bikes, we gathered around them shamelessly, pointing, taking pictures, and ooh-ing and ahh-ing like a bunch of pimple-faced Star Wars nerds around the newest Princess Leia figurine.
Okay, we were a little more suave than that. I actually managed to form words when I spoke to the team, not that red faced googly-eyed stuttering I usually do...okay, there may have been some stuttering. But seriously, can you blame me? Do you have eyes? Can you see these bikes???
Jeremy of Embrocation Cycling Journal seemed to understand what I had to stutter out, and even gave me a tip to save the Embrocation poster hanging up at IBC. Using the ever-useful Facebook, I called dibs on the poster and asked friends who are real employees there to save it for me. And because they are all kinds of awesome, they obliged:

I'm still kicking myself for not making it out to the party [I'm really sorry, Jeremy!]. I blame my Constitutional Law reading: after two cases on partial birth abortions, my uterus decided to scream in terror and started spitting out chewed up placenta in protest. Yes, that's right, I just put that out on the Internet. I even bolded it. And yes, that is my lame excuse for not going to the Embrocation party.
But think of it this way. I'm confident that there will be many, many more Embrocation parties. And even if I can't keep my stuttering under control, I definitely plan on being there.

oi oi oi!

I once had the worst crush on a boy who was into ska. We're talking one of those I-can't-even-look-him-in-the-eye crushes. He never knew my name. Probably for the best, as my creepy was definitely reaching "old pedophile" levels.
My best friend tolerated my drooling, and when the crush finally disappeared one day, she proceeded to mercilessly make fun of me. I totally deserve it.
I did have a thing for checkerboard patterns, a good brass section, and the sugary sounds of pop-princess-disguised-as-rebel-punk ska before the crush though [seriously, who can resist the Tokyo Ska Paradise Orchestra?]. And I still love the aesthetics; studded belts are still a must, checkerboard slip on Vans are key, and I love love love my black Chucks.
I understand how Avril-esque that might make me sound; and at 25, I'm way too old to be fronting like I belong in any kind of music scene. But old ID pictures of me with pink/red/orange/purple hair will bring an embarrassed grin to my face as I shake my head at how ridiculous I used to look.

Those same old nostalgic memories of my punkier days flooded back to me last weekend when I saw the spacers on my new bike. Given the sheer amount of pink on the bike, I was almost afraid that it would be too cute; an adjective that I don't tend to identify with. But the alternating silver and black spacers - Erich's signature touch, apparently - looks, well, amazing...and balanced...and though subtle, makes the bike just so much more me.

The spacers also balanced out the cranks and the chainring that got installed the other day as well. Having been tucked away under my bed, fueling dreams of new bike days and matching rims, I finally had a bike frame to put them on. The fruits of my sweatshop labor [Thanks Jason!] finally have a home. And a pretty gorgeous one at that...!

As for the crush, I coincidentally ran into him last weekend as well. Still on my new bike high, I was giddy with excitement and smiling everywhere. He actually said something to me, and looked me in the eye and smiled. My bike-fueled happiness smiled back at him, effortlessly, before I turned and bounced out the door.
That better absolve me of at least some of the old pedophile creepiness.

biek friendz!

Last night, I went home with a guy I had just met.
Actually we parted ways about 200ft after getting on our respective bikes, but I'd been eyeing his bike for a while. A red 'cross Alan; it used to be locked up at the bike rack near the parking lot. I recently switched to the one in front of the law library [mostly because someone seems to own my very same bike except in size "very very tall"], and the Alan's been locking up there too. I took this as a sign that I was meant to be friends with this person. I just had to find him.
Okay, granted, it ended up that I had met him before [at my other home, i.e., IBC], where he was getting his other other other other bike fixed. Still, being sort of bike-friend-deficient until recently, it was fun to jump onto bikes together and roll away from the stress-fueled depths of the library.

Because despite the fact that I can now legitimately say I have [bike] friends who are growing into this big, lovable family [like one I actually am comfortable giving hugs to...and that's big, coming from me], as well as a growing network of internet friends [my Facebook friends count has significantly increased], I've barely gone on rides with any of them. I rode more than 100ft for the first time with Eric last Sunday, my first 10ft with Chris, and now 200ft with a new bike friend from school. The irony is that I've never gone on rides with friends I've known the longest; Jones is in Iowa, and my 1L study group friends are just starting to get back on their respective bikes.

I know, I should start taking my own advice and stop whining hanging out so much and start riding. Because I've been parking my bike next to friends recently. I just don't find myself on the road with them so much.
But with emails from fellow cyclists with gorgeous pictures stunning enough to make me want to go out and train, that's going to change. Just you wait.