Bent Words

Bent Words

May 04, 2010

F'ing trimmer kicked my ass Sunday.

Damned thing buzzed more than my DR-Z400SM at 85MPH, thus giving me some serious arm pump. My hands were so weak I could barely grip my post-yard work Heineken Light (still, I managed). This is especially intriguing considering the fact that I don't have a yard. But I'm a great daughter and I've gotta earn my free Sunday meal at the Lake with the 'rents somehow. Of course I'd do it without the reward because there is nothing that can compare to the feeling of having accomplished a great outdoor task. After six full work days in row, I don't need a rest -- I just need a good excuse to be OUTSIDE. And to do something truly rewarding.

A few weeks ago, my father and I rocked out the pier. 40-degree water, 25MPH winds and me in my board shorts. We finished it in record time (of course, we kinda had to before the hypothermia set in). Still it was an amazing achievement. A wonderful conquest.

I was set to mow the lawn Sunday but Dad shotgunned me and got her finished the day before. So I asked what I could do and immediately settled into clearing the gutters, trimming the perimeter of the house and bushes and steps, filling the flower boxes with soil and making the annual run to Jenka's with Mamacita for plants. Clive the Chive Plant was my reward (I love him -- dearly).

I should have been ready to hit the hay after a full of yard work but I couldn't get that glance out of my head.

I saw him over there, just before dinner, heading down to the lake to toss out a line. I was runnin' out to the deck to grab my phone and he was walking down the yard looking, it seemed, the entire time at me. I wanted to wave or hold up my hand 'rock on' style but I didn't. I just crinkled up my nose, turned away and focused on my family.

It sucks to have lost that simplicity.

It sucks to lose a friend.



Pushing in sales units this evening and this slimy punk looks at me and asks, "Do you actually ride?"

(Did you actually just say that?)

"Nooo," I emphatically replied, pushing an 1800cc motorcycle backward into the showroom....

I then hopped onto a new Honda Phantom and drove it around the corner, pinned in second gear. When I came back through the showroom, the kid laughed and nodded and asked me to "pull a wheelie" the next time I cruised by.

I pretended he didn't speak.

Number one, I really dislike slimy punks. Especially when they ask me if I "actually" ride when I obviously work here and I'm pushing a pig of a Suzuki cruiser backward with ease through a maze of motorcycles. That, to me, takes more skill, ability and confidence than driving the thing forward through a wide open parking lot.

Number two, I don't wheelie. Give me a dirt bike or a supermoto bike and some dirt, fine. I'll pull it up. Otherwise, no. I'm not a squid.

And lastly, you're not cool. I'm sorry to be the one to inform you of this sad fact but you're just not. Any group of kids who roll around in a gang, attach spikes to their grips and front fenders and call themselves the Ruff Ryders is, by default, lame. To the Nth degree. So I'm sorry that I'm not impressed by your douchy attitude or multiple piercings but.... really, no, no I'm not sorry.

I'm just not impressed.

And you shouldn't be impressed either. If I were Elena Myers, yes. Then you can be aroused. And if you were Colin Edwards, I might be as well. Otherwise, try not to speak. Please. You're so much better without words.

I know, I know. After all these years, it really shouldn't get to me. But seriously. It's 2010. There are so many women riding and I just cannot believe it's that big of a surprise. Or that big of a deal. 'Cause it's really not.

When you walk into the shop with common courtesy for your fellow riders (and without a Superman attitude), THAT'S impressive.

To me, anyway.

* On a side note, the new Phantom is totally kick ass in my book. Granted I've only ridden it around the building a few times -- never on the highway -- but it's a 750cc fuel injected cruiser that's totally blacked out. One of the sales idiots says it can't get out of it's own way but it doesn't have to be super f'ing fast to be a good bike (plus I wonder if he's ever ridden a 750 Shadow). I like it because it doesn't bog out in corners (first or second gear, you've still got enough gearing to get make it a smooth ride), it's super reliable, has a nice rumble to it (stock) and rides evenly. And that, for me, is saying a lot since it's a cruiser, which I'm normally not very comfortable on.


I don't know what it was or how it came about but I just couldn't shake the feeling that Shane was going to drop by the shop yesterday.

Then, conferring with the sales manager early in the afternoon, I looked outside and saw a guy riding by with his left foot pointed outward and down. One hand on the gas, the other hand on his hip, looking directly at the store. I couldn't even discern the make or model -- I was fixated on the man. I thought for sure it was him.
And for the first time in a long time, I was ready.

I was ready to be called out from my parts cave, having someone -- him -- waiting for me at the counter. I was ready to see him. To celebrate internally his mere existence in this world. I was ready to be floating inside so much so that my feet would feel free from the ground. But I was also ready to remain grounded, take my power stand, as the boys call it, behind the computer and look up some miscellaneous part on the microfiche for him. I was ready to keep it real. I was ready to say hello.

Perhaps it won't happen.

But if it does, I'm ready.

Written at 8:16 a.m.