Sink Pink

And so beginneth Dispatches From Suburbia, first in a series - hopefully a short series, since they will most likely be photoless, unless I decide to dig through my old pics and look for something good that I haven't posted yet. I am not, in fact, in the lavender room, which is otherwise occupied. I am in the pink room, which happens to be my two-year-old niece's, so it's me and a lot of baby furniture and blocked electrical outlets which I cannot for the life of me figure out how to unblock. Really. It would take a rocket scientist. Or a two-year-old.

You can imagine how comfortable I am with all that. I wouldn't do it for anybody but my sister. But I have to say, it is always nice to see her, even when she is feeling shitty and wants her mommy. Actually, she's really cute when she is feeling shitty and wants her mommy; I look at her and catch glimpses of her when she was a little girl, and feel all fond of her in a way I really didn't when we were kids.

Funny how that happens, isn't it?

So I am in this weird limbo, where it's like I have a secret adult life; everyone else went to bed at 9pm. Here I sit, stashed in a pink room with my iPod, Madeleine Peyroux singing slinky songs at me (for my ears only), this laptop full of pr0n (okay, not really, but I am thinking maybe I should download some for good measure), pointy knitting needles (which have to be kept under lock and key), sexy Malabrigo yarn, and a head full of naughty boy thoughts. (And you ask: naughty thoughts about boys or thoughts about naughty boys? And I answer: yes.)

I finished the yellow birthday scarf for my pal Special J while in transit, put on the fringe after the baby went to bed (scissors), and I'm super-happy with it - ridiculously so, for a simple-ass garter st scarf. I guess it's just because the colors knitted up so nicely. But since my cameras are all at home I can't show you. Which I suppose is okay - I might get mocking comments for doing such candy-way knitting. Remember the candy way and the Ranger way, by the way? Anybody else grow up in National Parks? Bueller?

Okay, yeah, the pink walls are making me a little punchy. Or all this secretiveness. Or something. Maybe it's the fact that I rode my fucking bike yesterday. Yes, my ass hurts. No, I do not give a good god damn. Yes, I am swearing a lot. You know why? Because I am in a baby room. Makes me want to go all George Carlin on your ass.

The ride was cool, but I think doing the mechanical work beforehand was even cooler. There was a moment where, shortly after I'd woken up, I found myself changing a tire in my underwear, levers in one hand, naked rim (that would be wheel rim, for those who really have their minds in the gutter) in the other, when I thought: this has to be some boy's fantasy. And I think I know which one, but he had to work all weekend and didn't see it.

See? Adult room. Don't let all that pink fool you. I have pedal grease and I know how to use it.

Oh, and the new pedals are swell. Flash, yet old skool. I know school doesn't have a "k" in it. Fucc off. Smooch. Buybye!

PS. Poem tomorrow, I promise. As long as I don't get sucked into this 9pm bedtime thing. But really, what are the odds?