One Requirement

Prior to my trip across the pond, Mr. H (more familiar to you as the poor sucker of a basketball player who got tricked into putting up with me) asked me if there was anything that I really wanted to have when I got here. I mentioned that light bulbs would be nice, and that some means for making coffee would be pretty important, but besides that I wasn't very picky. This is evident by the fact that I am now living in an apartment with an oven smaller than an Easy Bake, a busted washing machine, and windows that are plastered with Disney Princess stickers courtesy of the little girl that lived here last year. Then he suggested that perhaps I would feel more at home if I could help decorate the apartment when I arrived. Ummmm. No. That sounds really hard, not to mention something that a really organized, normal adult would do. If you know anything about me, then you know that I'm not the kind of woman that spends excessive amounts of time at Bed, Bath, and Beyond buying a bunch of shit that matches so that I can go home and feng shui my house. It would be lovely if I could do that, but I don't have the vision or the patience for that kind of stuff. I generally think that a room looks nice if there are minimal dust bunnies and cobwebs, and if there is a chair for me to sit in. Most of my desires involve food, because let's be honest, I plan my days around meals and think about food (and booze) at all times in an effort to practice for the day when my metabolism is completely shot and I will begin my transition into the life of a morbidly obese woman. At this time, there will be no sign of a neck, an outrageous number of fat rolls, and a floral print mumu, but I digress...

It seemed as though there wasn't much that I would need, but there was ONE thing that came to mind. The one thing that I knew I wouldn't be able to survive in Europe without. This thing would do wonders for the mind, body, and soul, while simultaneously allowing me to fit in with the locals and transport myself. Obviously, I would need a bicycle.

Well I got my bike. As a matter of fact, I got two! The team owner gave us two bikes that had been owned by his parents and that had been sitting untouched in his garage for over 10 years. The bikes arrived in all of their glory with completely flat tires and covered entirely in dirt, dust, and various other crap. They were caked with so much shit that you couldn't even see the original paint colors. We gave them a bath and then dropped the bikes off at the bike shop to have the tires replaced and have the breaks checked. Mr. Plaid shirt at the bike shop informed me that it would take an entire week before I could have my bike back, and from this point on I became the most annoying individual on the planet. All I did was talk about my bike. I repeatedly asked where I could buy a basket for it. I even inquired about finding a lock for it, despite the fact that I can't imagine that anyone would ever want to steal my ancient, dirty, piece of crap bicycle. Every time I saw someone riding a bike, I would sigh as loud as possible and make some absurd comment about how much fun they were having, or how practical their cute little basket was for holding groceries, potted plants, dogs, or small children. You get the drift.

Well, yesterday was a big day for me. I picked up my bike from Mr. Plaid shirt, and took her out for our first magical joyride. I immediately attached myself to one of the two bikes, despite the fact that I have a special place for both of them in my heart. One is a lovely greenish-blue combo with a white seat, and for now she has been deemed The Sea Foam Dream. And then there is the forest green love of my life, Lucille. The name may seem strange, but you can't question it on account of the fact that it is the same name that B.B. King gave to his guitar, and he was listed as the number 3 greatest guitarist of all time by Rolling Stone. What I'm trying to say is that Lucille will somehow be the catalyst to my success in life just as she was for B.B. King. For example, I could see myself breaking the sound barrier on my 3-speed at some point. I will ride past you and all you will see is a blur of color accompanied by the sound of a whip cracking. This dream is totally realistic, and I shall begin to pursue it immediately.

I spent parts of yesterday and today riding around Aalst with a shitty grin on my face and my knees sticking out because I haven't raised the seat. And just in case that wasn't ridiculous enough, I sang "Bicycle Race" by Queen over and over again while Lucille's squeaky brakes kept the beat for me. I'm sure that people were staring on account of these things, but my delusional little brain was convinced that it was simply because everyone else was jealous of my sweet ride. Pure magic.

I have officially spent an entire blog post bragging about my new girlfriend and so I think it would be best if I went and worked on some of my other hobbies for a while. Tonight I shall bravely attempt to make honey mustard glazed salmon in the Easy Bake oven, accompanied by couscous and sauteed vegetables. This could be interesting, especially considering that I am sans fire extinguisher...

Goedenacht!