My face is so many kinds of purple and red right now, I can barely stand to look at myself in the mirror (oh, by the way, I keep my computer on my vanity, so I’m pretty much always looking in the mirror. I guess I’m vain). And there is probably two quarts of sweat to be had off my body, if anyone has a squeegee and a desire to make salt water taffy, Fight Club soap style. Gross. I guess feeling gross makes you say gross things. I am shedding layers as I type.
With that out of the way, I can tell you the reason for my current state of being. I’ll start at the beginning: Ellen and I purchased Crowd Cuts for bicycle tune ups at One on One, a bicycle shop/coffee shop miracle in downtown Minneapolis. We had a lovely ride to drop our bikes off on Saturday, accompanied by our lovely roombabe, Katie Herr (a.k.a. HerrDogg, a.k.a. KT, a.k.a. Yoga Master) who just purchased a beautiful re-vamped Schwinn that needed some breaking in. While there, we pawed through a box of antique mug shots and picked out the gents that Ellen would date, chatted with the jocular staff, and claimed our free coffee drinks (included in Crowd Cut purchase). The barista man was insanely familiar to me, but I couldn’t place him. Tall, bespectacled, 5 o’clock shadow, low stoner voice, hat… I browsed around the shop a little more and it hit me! He was the man that a co-worker of mine briefly romanced at Grumpy’s karaoke. That’s right: [hilarious] slow dance gyrating to karaoke. I recall jovially insulting his windbreaker and Elmer Fudd hat (jovial insults are my specialty). So, of course, I had to bring this up to him. He seemed mildly embarrassed, but anyone who wears windbreakers is setting themselves up for embarrassment.
Bussing home from the shop was a comedy of errors, as not only was our planned route interrupted by some annoying, wonderful charity walk, but it took all three of us at least a solid minute to figure out how to flip down the bike rack on the front of the bus and secure Katie’s stallion. A whole minute holding up a bus full of people while you’re going rogue on some levers (we didn’t look at the instructional arrows) is an eternity, by the way. We joked to the bus driver about how dumb we were, to his reply, “No comment”.
So we get home, Denny (our landlord) is dinking around in the backyard, and here is where I hand the story off to Ellen:
So anyway, I am sweaty as f*ck (you taught me these words, Mother, so don’t feign surprise!) because I picked up my bike, now a smoother ride than ever, and rode it five miles from downtown to our house. Not a terribly long ride, but when it’s 95 degrees, it was like full-body incineration in the pits of hell while birds are happily chirping at you in complete mockery. Oh, and did I mention that they gave me another free coffee? I don’t even drink coffee anymore (though it’s so f*cking good), but it was freely offered to me, and I couldn’t say no. It made my body temp skyrocket and surely contributed to the hellacious ride. I guess basking in your own dripping filth also makes you curse a whole lot. Cheers!
P.P.S. Denny (wonderful Denny!) left a note under our door this morning saying that he would be installing the Air Conditioner units in the apartment today. Not only the two that we were expecting, but two additional units that he would purchase today, so that we could each have one in our bedrooms. And this was after he offered on Sunday, but I told him it wasn’t necessary. The note read “You don’t have to use them, but at least you’ll have them just in case”. What a dude. He has also formally invited us to be a part of his milk carton boat race team in July. I’m in.