dirty laundry

Sloane Crosley's book I Was Told There'd Be Cake, starts with:
"As most New Yorkers have done, I have given serious and generous thought to the state of my apartment should I get killed during the day."
I might live in Boston, but I know the feeling. Living in a studio apartment [owned by Boston College] that I knew I would be leaving in three years meant that I refused to put even a postcard up on my walls until my final year of school. I need another bookcase but, too lazy to get one, books are currently strewn around the floor, the sofa, and the extra chair that sits by my desk. The bed is constantly a pile of blankets, jackets, and laundry. I'm not even going to get into what the kitchen looks like.


Of course, yesterday had to be the day when the Office of Graduate Housing came around to make sure we weren't igniting fires with "prohibited" items like candles and octopus lamps. Of course, I had to have a fully booked schedule which meant no time to run home and clean. Of course, they had to come by when my bike was doing double duty as a drying rack.
When I started hitting the gym and sweating on rollers, I finally realized how much goddamn laundry athletes have to do.


Woolite now lives next to my bathtub and lack of a drying rack means Underarmour and bike shorts get to dry on my shower rod, the back of a chair, or on the track bike. My hands are all dried out and gross with all the hand washing. I've considered buying a whole new wardrobe and hiring a personal laundry assistant. I'm still considering it.
And between trying to find places to hang athletic gear, I was slightly thankful I wasn't racing 'cross this year. I'd probably end up buying about 10 kits to avoid washing the mud, grass, and grossness off of them post-race. Watching friends get splattered - and doing their own laundry - is quite enough for me this fall.


Standing on something that wasn't muddy dirt after the Elite Men's race in Gloucester, Andy had turned to me to [jokingly] ask:
"Hey, does your dorm have laundry?"
"I'm a grad student, Andy. I don't live in a dorm," I replied, feigning indignation.
"Is your RA cool?" Rich Bravo asked.
"Yeah," I said, laughing, "but I have curfew and no boys allowed after 10pm, sorry."
[BUT, I will be partying with the boys well past 10pm tomorrow night for Superb's Grand Opening Party. You should go, you really should.]

hello, 2009!

I’m back in Boston.
Back from the land of anorexically skinny girls, equally slight boys, and faux fixed gear bikes with freewheels but only one brake.
Needless to say, I didn’t do much while back at home. I did mentally review the never-ending goal of losing five pounds while I stuffed my face with food and stopped exercising (I don’t have a bike at home and I don’t like to run, okay?). It did occur to me how monstrous I was going to look when I was suited back up in my Underarmour but I don’t think I cared.
But if it this makes me look slightly less lazy, I at least got something done:

winter break hats

Here’s to a new year, a new site, new hats, and hopefully fulfilling new year’s resolutions of not being a total waste of life...at least, not all of the time.

expecting the unexpected

gravity works

I had a post all planned out. It wasn't about hats, or even biking, really, but there was a plan.

And then this happened.

I wasn't really surprised though. It had been about 4 months since I last crashed, which meant I was about 4 months overdue for one of these.

The weird thing is that it didn't hurt that much until I got a real good look at what a mess I was. But I guess I was expecting that too. That and the burn of bactine and picking pieces of skin off the inside of my bloody, ripped up underarmour leggings.

My impatience is already creeping in. This better not take more than a week to fix itself.