My new bruises are truly quite spectacular. The right side of my body is going to up and leave any day now – there are scars and trauma all over the place, not to mention my dislocation-happy shoulder. When I fall, I tend to land on that side. I really ought to stop doing that.
It was the stupidest thing, too. The four of us went for an epic bike ride on Saturday, going from our place on the North Shore, around Stanley Park, along Coal Harbour, then onto the Sea Turtle back home. I didn’t fall off my bike – instead, I tripped over a curb and went SPLAT on a sidewalk. It hurt like hell, but I was more afraid that I had broken my camera since I landed on top of it like the superstar I am. It was pretty fucked up, but Josh was able to fix it and it seems to be working fine. Just another typical day in the life – stupid accidents, more bruises, and another notch on the bedpost of wtf.
The weekend wasn’t all fun and gravity, though. Yesterday Ed and I discovered a) ANTS, and b) someone had knocked or tipped Sally over in the night and badly fucked up her right panel and exhaust cover, both of which had been replaced last year thanks to the geezer who knocked her over in front of our apartment building. Sally is all scratched to hell, and I am not amused. I took a ride yesterday afternoon and noticed that my mirror had been moved, but I just figured that someone was sitting on her again. I’m not quite sure why, but everyone in my neighbourhood seems to think it’s A-OK to sit on my scooter whenever the hell they feel like it. The grubby children across the street, the idiots upstairs, the drunken yahoos from down the street and the whores they associate with – all of them have taken it upon themselves to park their asses on my scooter like it was no big deal. I fucking *hate* it when people touch my stuff. Seriously, would you sit on someone’s motorcycle to see what it was like? Open up their car and sit in the driver’s seat? Pick up the back of their truck to see how heavy it is? Why the fuck do you think it’s okay to do it to a scooter? I hate people. Finding out that Sally was knocked over did explain why I found the kickstand on TOP of a half-empty beer can, but doesn’t do much to soothe my rage.
I rode in to work today because I didn’t want to leave the scooter at home for people to fuck with. I guess I’ve officially overcome my hesitation at riding again – now I ride, and I ride with rage. Are you me? No? Then DON’T TOUCH MY SCOOTER!