Cackle! I'm a biker chick now.

Okay, well, I have a bike and I've ridden it for all of an hour, but damnit, that totally makes me a superhero. I've been avoiding bikes because the last time I tried riding one I kept tripping over the bar as I dismounted. I got some really idiotically explicit dismounting advice though, and now I'm a champion. (Okay, slow the bike down.. no, like to a stop.. now lean ov--NO!--yeah, lean over so your feet touches the ground.. now swing your leg over -- NO THE BACK NOT THE FRONT.. there!) A champion what, further deponent sayeth not.

I'm happy but I feel vaguely suspicious, like I'm going to find some hidden drawer in my desk that has an electromagnet that's been sending out happy rays. I suspect an international conspiracy on the part of the pressure-washer manufacturers of the world.

ow. I need some of those padded-butt biker pants. I have like saddle sores, and I ain't no clint eastwood.