Stupid Hurts

Since my hours got cut at my night job I started hunting for a day job. The same day my night job increased my hours back to what they were previously, I was hired on at an arts and crafts store that I have been hanging out in since before I could drive.

Looking at my resume I am really only qualified to fix things or break things, but she hired me on to help her teach a class called “kids and clay” and I also get to make stuff out of clay for customers to paint. So far it is pretty interesting, initially I was more uncomfortable around the kids than I was around the drunk drag queens I deal with at the bar. But I found out if you treat them basically the same way they are all easy to keep in check.
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I did recently realize that I spent three hours playing with clay and painting and I got paid for it.

So I also got to thinking recently about an old argument that came up in a restaurant once. It involved the ethics of having kids when you couldn’t support yourself to the degree you saw fit. I got my ass chewed by girl who was working in an all night greasy spoon, who was pregnant soon later. Because she felt I was wrong for trying to get a vasectomy on the state dime, seemed to make a lot more sense than expecting the state to pay for her birth control every month for the rest of her life or worse yet having to feed her and her child for several years. I have always felt it was wrong if you had kids and you were not able to provide a comfortable and loving environment, it takes more than just money to provide this, it takes a degree of maturity and stability. I recently heard someone said they had a child partially because they like being pregnant. I have suggested celibacy in an effort to keep someone around when she didn’t like condoms and she chose not to take birth control. It made more sense to play it safe than risk a kid, plus I enjoyed her company and I still would have enjoyed even if there was not sex involved.

For some reason she didn’t see it that same way I did.

So about 3 weeks ago I broke the tip of my power supply off inside of my computer. Originally i was just going to drop it off at the local Mac repair place, but when I found out how easy it really is to swap the D.C. board install a new one I decided to save the $100 service fee and install the part myself. I figured this would be fairly painless considering when I went into the Mac store they quoted me a price for the part and said that it would be no problem ordering one for me. Well when I called back to check the status of my part order I was told that they could not sell me the part unless they were preforming the install to, and that they wanted $130 to install a $20 dollar part.

I eventually ended up ordering the part online, and spent maybe 15 minutes swapping the parts out. So now, I can turn the volume back up to LOUD!!!

I had intended on writing this post at work last night but unfortunately I was unable to because of a fight. I swear there is no drama like drag queen drama.

Lastly I got a three week backlog of pictures added to my gallery

The legendary frozen [tag]toy[/tag] story.

This event actually occurred several years ago and I have been meaning to type it up for a long time now.

So I have this friend who is a mechanical [tag]genius.[/tag] If I need something drawn out, blown up, or burned down, he is generally the person to call. Unfortunately no matter how smart he may be, he does some amazingly [tag]stupid[/tag] things sometimes.

Once a while back he was at home in the middle of the day [tag]baking[/tag] chocolate chip [tag]cookies[/tag] as a surprise for his wife who was on her way home from work. After removing the still hot cookies from the oven he proceeds to pop one directly into his mouth and chew. There was that moment of pure bliss that one gets when you bite into a warm cookie, but it was quickly followed by a blood curdling yell as 300 some odd degree molten chocolate hit his tongue turning his mouth into a mini [tag]Pompeii.[/tag]

In a blind agony he dropped the pan of cookies onto the floor and ran directly to his freezer to threw to door open and look for something to end the burning in his mouth.

*POP*

He popped in the first thing he saw. An aluminum butt-plug that he had recently turned and polished on his lathe and was in the freezer to cool. to give this next part weight, you have to have seen the movie “A [tag]Christmas[/tag] Story.” Cold aluminum sticks to bare moist skin, especially tongues.
And so the comedy begins. This is the exact moment his wife walks into her kitchen to see cookies all over the floor, the freezer open and her husbands muffled cries, wild gestures, and well a [tag]butt-plug[/tag] in his mouth. In a stunning moment on compassion she did what most wives would have done and yanked the plug and most of his tongue out, before kissing him on the forehead and calling him a dumb ass.

It is simply amazing how some of the things I have never said out loud are common knowledge among everyone I know. They all know why I don’t watch certain movies because they remind me of a certain someone. Or why it isn’t a good idea to broach certain topics with me. How certain questions always get quick subject changes or flat out ignored. It is even worse lately with my tell tale twitch that shows when I am agitated. Even people who I have never told the story to, seem to know exactly where my hang ups and issues come from. And it is odd even if they like me or hate me they have all been saying the same thing. Something I have been avoiding for some time now.

They are all suggesting I do something that’s the equivalent of touching a stove to remind myself that it’s hot. The sad part is even though I know it’s a bad idea, I really, really, want to reach out and touch that flickering flame and get scorched again. I guess when you spend everyday trying not to think about someone you are really just thinking about them that much more.

At night I race my favorite partner.
Every street light is our starting line. it’s just the two of us locked in silent competition.
I look over waiting for him to make a move. Then I get get impatient, so I pounce!
At the same time my shadow lurches ahead of me, running long and dark into the night.
I know I will never catch it, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try.

“I am ok. I promise”

Odds are that is going to be the final phrase to cross my lips, and odds are even better I will mean it.[newline]
There are several people whom a simple mention of their name cause a flare of my nervous twitch in some cases followed by a headache. I have been a little curious of what would happen if I ran into one of them, but on the same note, I have been bit afraid. Fortunately only one of them lives in my time zone, so they have all be easy to avoid until now.

Earlier tonight I went to the ticket pre-sale party of the musical “Spam-a-lot” based on Monty Python’s Knights of the Holy Grail at the Workplay theater. I knew some of my friends would be there but I didn’t seriously expect to run into Denise. Most people who know me, know her as a legend. Her reputation sort of precedes her, she was my first girlfriend and she still holds the record for the longest relationship I have ever had part of. So no matter what I hold her in fairly high regards even if I little memory of our time together.

I saw her sit down in the corner with a book in an effort to avoid the crowd like she normally does. I debated leaving or just making an attempt to avoid her, but I figured it would be best to face my fear and speak to her and get it over with. Because if I didn’t I wouldn’t. So I walked up we sat down and talked for a bit. It was nice but my twitch got rather fierce and I found myself explaining that she made me really nervous. We talked for a bit longer before they had to pack up to leave.

I had been twitching most of our conversation, but I tried my best to ignore it because I do it when ever I get stressed. A few moments later while talking to my friend John I had a mild seizure. Luckily I made it to a chair. But I was really afraid for a few minutes that I would be spending the night in the hospital, I couldn’t really move my left side or form a sentence I was just stuck there eyes close drooling and crying. It took a few attempts for me to form a complete sentence to answer the repeated question, “are you ok?” This is the first seizure I can really recall. All my other seizures are in that gap of my memory that is blanked out completely. I seized up a second time at work, but it was no where near as bad as the first

You know what, just bury me where ever I fall off my bike.

Growing pains. Recently Stupidhurts was moved to a new server. For the most part the move was painless, but like with anything there were a few bugs to be sorted out. I think I got all of them. But I wont know until it becomes an issue. thanks for your patience.

My bike is a cold steel bitch.

It pushes me to go harder, to go faster. to want more. It makes me wants to spin until my legs melt, to sprint until my I can taste my lungs, and to climb until I see only God.

Earlier this week I changed the seat position on my fixed gear bike into a much more aggressive stance, since I know I have gotten stronger since I started riding it. At first I thought I ruined the ride quality and felt like I would be changing it back shortly. But then I adopted a low fighters crouch. My hands out in front of me, head tucked down eyes raised up. And everything changed.

This was no longer dancing. This was a fight.

I made is across town in a record time. I think I may have set a pace that rivals the times I usually go for on my geared bike.

I was standing next to my front door, grinning from ear to ear and I realized the only things I remembered from the entire ride home were the streaks of light as they shot past the corners of my eyes. And the words harder, faster. more, coming from the cold steel bitch between my legs.

Another tale of cycling noir
I have written several post in the past about the zen like state that I sometimes find while riding at night, but every so often bicycle related enlightenment comes at a price.
I had just escaped from the smoky bar I work at out into the cool crisp night air. My lungs cleared and I instantly felt free. My bike settled beneath me perfectly and I shot off into the welcoming darkness. Unfortunately I only made it about a miles before my bliss was ruined, and I heard a familiar sound that I had long before learned to dread. It was that shaken soda bottle sound that cyclist tend to associate with missed appointments and lost races. My rear tire was quickly going flat at 2 a.m. and of course this sort of thing only happens when I wear white.

I sighed to myself, muttered “it could be worse.” Shouldered my bike and walked off into the inky blackness of the city.