Thursday, March 12, 2009


First I should point out that I haven't ridden a lot of motorcycles over the course of my short life. I never had access to them in general. There was a family with whom my family were friends, and we visited them often over the years that we knew them. They had daughters the age of two of my older brothers and a son around the age of me and my next youngest brother. This kid did have a motorcycle or two, and a couple of times he actually took me riding.

Years later my next older brother bought a giant beast of a Honda Gold Wing, a bike I would never in my life imagine wanting to actually have. I have a whole other style when it comes to bikes, and it's a style that I never really allowed myself to think about till very recently.

I'm now going to make a connection that may seem a bit of a stretch, but in my mind it's sort of part of something similar. Do I start now with the disclaimer? I'm not into the gay fetishism of bikes and leather and the sort of things that go with that, but my interest in motorcycles is something that I feel I closeted like my being gay. It's something that I knew was there, but for whatever reasons I never allowed myself to consider.

It's always been there. I've always had to notice bikes wherever they are in relation to me. Even when they aren't the style or type that I would prefer I look and watch as long as I can see them. Even when it's a huge cruiser holding a pair of retirees who opted for the training wheels package I stop and look.

And now they're everywhere, now that I've allowed myself to accept that, somewhere deep inside me, there's a kid who never got a motorcycle but always wanted one. It reminds me of coming out, when I finally admitted and accepted that I like boys and not girls, boys were everywhere. It doesn't hurt that spring is trying to peep its first blossoms of warmth into the blue east Tennessee skies, because this town is a bike town, and they are everywhere.

If you want to see the sort of bike that forms a bulge in my pants then click HERE. It's an old Triumph and is so beautiful. I want one.

So, with some patience and hopefully some common sense, I'm going to get some more important things out of the way, things like finding a place to live and getting back to paying off the school loans, but there's a bug that's bitten me and an itch I'm going to have to scratch. I'm sticking some money in tiny increments somewhere no one but me will find it. I'm going to start looking for something probably oldish and beat up a little bit. I'm going to figure this thing out and make it happen.

new phone

At some point in the past I'm sure I bitched about my phone. It was dying a slow death. Now it lies forlorn and abandoned. I got a new phone.

I love texting, not in the way that a teenage girl does, but in the way that I hate making phone calls but often want to let people have access to a particular thought process that involves them.

This is technically the third phone I've had, though the first was technically a work phone. After some people misused their phones they were quickly taken away. My next phone was a few years later, and as of mother's day that phone will be four years old.

All of this to say that I'm on my third phone, though considering the work phone wasn't my primary phone, it could also be seen as only my second.

I took care of the Razr for the years I've had it. I never really used it that much in the beginning, but lately it's seen more and more use. It really has been time to replace it, so I finally did.

I think I got a decent deal, and considering the phones AT&T had to offer, it was the exact one I wanted. Sure there are fancier phones, but this one is a pretty green and has a qwerty keyboard, and the camera seems to take good pictures, and the actual phone works better than the old phone, or at least I think it does. Maybe I'm still high from new/pretty/fancy phone vapors.

So while the Blackberrys are neat and cool looking, and the iPhone is like, an iPhone duh, I like my Samsung. As mentioned it's pretty, and I actually enjoy getting to type out my little messages. I'm anal retentive about not using u when I mean you, and the t9 shit isn't going to do it for me. It's too much. I don't like it.

But my new phone? I love it, though not quite as much as a baby loves it when you push their knees toward their chest and help them get that fart out.