Sorry I was e-gone for so long, but I was busy. Busy reminiscing about how cool I was as a kid, that is!
And by "cool" I really mean wondering when I managed to kick the ol' Down Syndrome because goddamn, I looked straight retarded as an infant. Ironically, I think I became less legitimately retarded looking when my mom started cutting my hair using the aid of a bowl when I was about three or four or however old kids are when they look like this.
You may notice that I'm also riding the hell out of a rocking horse, which indicates that I must have had an early dream of becoming a race horse jockey. Unfortunately, I crushed my own dreams a year or two later, when I became a five- or six-year-old hussy.
Look how much leg I'm showing! All's I know is that I hope that nail polish I'm somehow wearing at that age was kid-safe because that MULLET I'm sporting sure wasn't! (THANKS MOM!) But a mullet, thank GOD, is no diamond so it couldn't last forever and my mom returned me to a bowl cut when I hit nine or 10.
Oh! And I didn't even mention my sweet third or fourth grade hiptard style! I mean, I have the big plastic glasses, the acid-washed tapered jeans and a vintage 10-speed, which means, besides the haircut, really nothing has changed with me in the last 20 years.
Which brings me to my present, elderly day. There I was yesterday, ridin' dirty down E Street just trying to get to Subway to purchase a five-dollar-footlong, when I was hit. Motherf*cking hit! And it hurt like a bitch, too! Amazingly, I managed to keep going after the first hit, but when the second hit happened, I was forced to take a respite.
"MOTHERF*CKER!" I screamed out. This bitch was relentless, somehow making it around the block before coming back to smack me in the face again.
Unfortunately, this was a culprit I could not shiv or challenge to an old-timey duel. In fact, this heartless foe couldn't even hear my very loud, very explicit cursing. Nope. This dirty rat of an enemy was invisible, inescapable and cold...literally. I'm talking about the wind! (HA! RIDDLES!)
In short, the wind sucks ass. It was to the point yesterday when I was being almost blown over sideways. More importantly, it hurt my face. Actually, I take that back, it hurt my face until it went numb. And while my fellow cyclists may blame me for not dressing properly for the windy conditions, I refuse to surrender my above-pictured aesthetic in order to kowtow to this blustery butthead.
And so I will continue to guffaw in the face of this fickle foe! I will gulp the wind down like a 7-11 Slurpee® because victory is sweet and ice-cream headaches hurt so good, not unlike this epic John (Cougar) Mellencamp song and video.
So, in conclusion, if you see a former seemingly retarded baby with a sweet haircut and tight pants cursing while she rides her vintage sh*tty bike downtown with at least one five-dollar-footlong in tow, don't be alarmed. That's the kind of awesomeness I exude that just cannot be caged, you know, until I get arrested.