Mmmm, think I need a new seat for my bike. Certain "areas" are kinda sore today...
In other news, thanks go out to Don and Fesh for making sure that Tom wasn't dead or something last night after he fell asleep, left his phone in the truck, and thus forgot to call me back and was unreachable for a few hours while I was envisioning all sorts of unpleasant happenings. So, thanks, guys for returning the bejesus to me.
Carriage room door still isn't fixed - somehow I'm not surprised. I think I'll give it another week and then maybe take a trip to the housing office...again. Because this really sucks and I'm just waiting to get bitched at for taking my bike through the lobby and scratching up the doorjambs as I try to hold the door, manuever the bike, and keep my backpack out of the way all at the same time. And what will my response be, you ask: "Fix the damn door you lazy bastard! And while you're at it, sweep the back stairs before the dust bunnies start attacking my dog. And re-hang the bulletin board in the laundry room. And fix the light in the hallway. And put a chain of decent length on the lightbulb in the cargo elevator so hopping up and down in the damn rickety-ass thing isn't necessary to be sure that the bulb is indeed dead. And put some freakin' WD-40 on the doors around here." I mean, the man gets an apartment (for free or reduced rent) in exchange for maintaining the building - is it so much to ask that he actually do his damn job? I still can't believe the manager at housing told me that many people in the building look on him as a "father-figure" - a drunken abusive father maybe... Ahh, well.

Wee-hoo! The streets are no longer safe. I am now the proud owner of a fairly old (and that is a reasonable chronological assessment, as I am an archaeologist) slightly rusty Sears women's bike. Wicked old school style! Twenty-five bucks! The only problem being that while you never forget how to ride a bike, you can get really bad at it as I discovered on the way back to my apartment. (Wobble, wobble, wobble...shit!) The other problem being that the lock on the exterior door to the carriage room is broken, which means walking my bike through the first door into the ante-room to the lobby, then through the locked door into the lobby, and then through the locked exterior door into the carriage room (and back again to get out). God knows how long it's been that way or how long it will stay that way. There is a sign on the door inside the carriage room. How thoughtful. Tomorrow, I get to practice riding again, hopefully I won't show up to work dripping blood all over the place. Hee hee!

Oooh, boring post! Went to work. Still no photos. People want to kill me. Too bad. Got my new Citibank cards with my new name on them. Yay! Sittin' here drinking me a Mother Fuckin' Grape Soda Okay, so it actually says "M.F. Grape Soda" but what do you think M.F. stands for?