MY BIKE IS FREE!

Here's a little story about what a complete fucking idiot I am. Back in October I lost my keys; the apartment keys were easy enough to replace, not so easy to replicate the key that unlocks the chain thing securing my bike.

Since it was starting to get cold out, and I don't ride my bike in the winter, I figured I would cut it loose when the weather got nice, i.e., around this time of the year. And I was avoiding buying a new lock, as in a proper Kryptonite U'Lock.

Last week I pulled the trigger and dropped $40 on said new lock. Next step: have my landlord come over and use bolt cutters to break the old one. He arrived with a tool that was longer than my arm and must have been forged around the time that FDR was in office.

It didn't work. He barely got through the plastic casing, let alone the actually metal part. He suggested I obtain a saw of some sort. Well, today while doing my laundry, I decided to have another look, and after a close inspection I realized something...

I'M A FUCKING MORON.

All that needed to be done was to lift the metal rope lock over the handle bars to free it from the cast iron pole it was attached to. Seriously? I spent all these months thinking that no one but the hardest criminal could steal my wheels, and...yeah, not so much.

Now I'm free to roam around this world on a shitty hand me down bike, whom no one will ever want to steal. It's kind of liberating. And embarrassing. But ultimately...empowering.

LIGHT SUMMER READING

Working at a bar is fun, not always, and these 80+ hour work weeks are beating the shit out of me, but whatever. My co-workers and I keep the mood light by mercilessly making fun of one another. Since I'm the token gay, most of the barbs lobbed at me are of course gay related. It's good natured fun. Plus I think I'm decent at shoveling shit right back at them.

Anyways, a few days ago someone threw out a dozen trashy paperback romance novels. The one that was chosen for me is..."Never Love a Lawman".

Escape is not an option, apparently. Why anyone would want to escape from that stud is beyond me. But believe it or not, on slow days, I um...actually have been reading it. Or rather, I've been performing it, which seems to provide endless amusement to my stressed out friends/co-workers. And seriously, I'm so wiped out from this World Cup shit I don't think my brain is capable of reading anything with substance.

This cracked me up when I got to work today. See the picture below? To the left of the gold cat lies the most recent addition to my literary collection. I think it's fitting that it enjoys such a prominent slice of precious back of the bar real estate.

"Now he wondered, would this be the night she would surrender to the inevitable". How juicy! Shit, now that I think about it, maybe I could write one of these things. How hard can it be?

HEY BRAH!

Sometimes I tend to go on...let's call them tangents, in which I find something so ridiculously amusing that I simply cannot stop myself from bringing it up again and again. Of course, if the person(s) I am with egg me on, well, there's almost no stopping me.

Case in point: On Sunday afternoon I was with my friend Josh at the Pitchfork Festival (I'll write about that soon). We were both high as all hell and about 6 beers deep when Josh said something like "...hey brah...there sure a lot of brahs here, brah..." to which I responded "...BRAH! I know, it's like a BRAH-B-Q!".

This continued for far too long. But before I get into it further, I realize that not everyone might not know what a "BRAH" is, so I thought it would be helpful to include a visual aid (see below).

That would be the Godfather/Patron Saint of Brahs' everywhere, Brody Jenner (or as I like to refer to him "BRAH-dy Jenner". He's actually a rare breed of Brah, in that he is equal parts Brah and world-class-douche-bag. Remember his show "Bromance"? Neither do I. Let's move on...

Anyways, so the "BRAH" tangent continued on as a sort of question and answer session, in which I would ask Josh certain questions, and then answer them (yes...I know answering your questions makes me a loser, but so be it). Here's the ones I can remember:

Q: Where does a BRAH go on vacation?

A: The BRAH-hamas!

Q: What's a BRAH's favorite series of detective books?

A: The Hardy BRAHS!

Q: What kind of sausage does a BRAH prefer?

A: BRAH-t-wurst!

Q: Who is the favorite German composer of BRAH's everywhere?

A: BRAH-m!

Q: Where can you find a BRAH in New York City?

A: BRAH-d-way!

Q: What's a TITS song for BRAH's everywhere to rock out to while driving?

A: "Red BRA(c)H-cetta" by Rush!

Q: If you're a true BRAH what drink would you order from the bar?

A: Vodka and Red BRAH!

Q: If a BRAH was a snake, what kind would he be?

A: BRAH-ah constrictor!

Q: What's the favorite chemical element of BRAH's everywhere?

A: BRAH-mine!

Q: Who is the basketball player that all BRAH's seek to emulate?

A: James La-BRAH-on!

That's all I can remember at this point, but I assure you, there were at least a dozen more. Once we were snorting beer through our noses and manically giggling like school girls, and thus attracting the attention of those around us, we decided to stop (but I could have kept going!). Whew. I'll be here all week folks. Please remember to tip the wait staff.