Things You Don't Want to Know About Your New Apartment

Besides the obvious:
"it's noisy",
"it's on a main street",
"your neighbor's welcome rug smells like pee",
"oh, there is no mailbox",
"no parking either",
"no dishwasher!",
"oh yea, and no washer/dryer",
(but it still costs more than the average American's mortgage!)
"your bathroom looks like the one in SAW",
and "you're within a 2 minute walk of a huge porn store",

it struck me as odd that two people, who do not know each other in any way that I know of, told us,
"Hey! I did mushrooms in that living room a bunch of times!"
and "Hey, that's where my brother hung out during his 'drug phase'."


So said an old neighbor when we told him where we were moving.
And a girl I had never met in my life before Friday night, who is dating a friend of mine.

I suppose in a city that is only one square mile in size, all residents are only a few degrees separated. But with almost 20,000 people smushed into that space, there's still room for a bit of anonymity.

Not so for our little apartment. Apparently, he gets around.

When I came back from a run to find a cop parked out front, chillin' in his cop car, I began to wonder how hard it would be to obtain pot from my neighbors.

I'll be bolting the door at night. And stacking bikes in front of it.

Because there's no where else to put them.

Performance: The Cycling Video of the Summer!

To see the original on YouTube, go here.

Things Not To Tell Your Athlete While Crewing at an Ultra Race

Mike Deitchman, who crewed for fiancée, Joan Grant, at Race Across Oregon, compiled an excellent list with recommendations from otherworldly ultracyclists.

Check it out here!

Why Hello Officer! Admiring My '96 Raleigh M7000?

Why, hello, ociffer!

Don't ask me why, but that's what I had imagined I'd say if I ever got pulled over.

Instead, it went something like this:

EXT. Day. A deserted beach street.
Erin rides her 13-year old mtn. bike into the left turn lane of an intersection. She is wearing sneakers, a t-shirt, and a black back pack. The light turns red. She patiently track stands for as long as possible. There is nobody anywhere. (I know, hard to believe in LA.) She looks left and sees the light in the other direction turn yellow. Rather than destroy a fab track stand by letting a foot touch the ground, she proceeds before her light turns green.

She makes her way down a side street. A cop silently rolls up next to her, and hand motions for her to pull over.

COP: Do you know why I'm pulling you over?
Erin: Because I turned left from the left lane.
COP: On a red light.
Erin doesn't say anything. She's watched enough COPS shows to know that cops basically want you to call yourself an idiot in front of them, then appologize.
COP: You just want to be a pedestrian and get to use the road, don't you.
Erin: That was a dumbass move. I'm very sorry.
COP: Where do you live?
Erin: 21st St.
Gut-wrenching pause.
COP: Watch out for traffic.
Cop drives away.

Erin almost pukes.

Aparently, the streets weren't entirely deserted after all. And it was a dumbass move worthy of getting pulled over. But I figured it was like farting when nobody else is around; nobody's going to call you on it. Plus, I had just read about Idaho's cycling laws, where stop signs mean "yield" for cyclists, and red lights are like stop signs. I want a piece of that heavenly cycling pie.

Thank goodness I looked like a ditzy beach bum instead of a cyclist. The Raleigh's state of rustiness, my sneakers, and shabby t-shirt saved my financial life. Either that, or the cop didn't want to follow me all the way to 21st street to see my license.

To conclude, I am an idiot, and I appologize for making bikeists look bad.

Now let's pass some Idaho-inspired cycling laws!

Pulling a Double Move

Coachubby and I live together.
We won't when I go to school.
Therefore, he must move into a smaller apartment while my rent goes to school housing.
Therefore, we're moving him in this weekend--with all of my stuff!
Therefore, I will have to move twice within a month.
Ewwww.
Therefore, I am currently trying to purge our current place of as much stuff as possible in order to fit el remaining stuff-o into the tiny place.
I've thrown out a lot.
Now I'm staring at a box full of race t-shirts.
I am now stumped.
Please, Lord, give me strength!

And now some pics from our Race Down Oregon aka drive down Highway 1 back to Lalaland. (And one more RAO pic.)

Pimp-hubby.

Spac-E

Riding the Oregon dunes.


In compression tights. Stylin'.

Grin and bear it.

Lombard St., San Francisco

Alcatraz

Ghirardelli Chocolate!

Grandpa's 86th Birthday!

My...um...20somethingth birthday!