There are a few things that will always remain constant in this universe:
- Computers will always become worthless very soon after they are bought.
- Gmail will always be in a constant "Beta" state.
- I will always have an immense loathing of triathletes. (I saw an advertisement today that began with "Do you Tri?")
Another thing that is has remained uncannily constant in my life is the insatiable hunger my fixie has for drive-side pant legs. I rode the damn thing to work this morning and on the way home it claimed it's third victim, an elderly pair of super comfortable work jeans. It took forever to break those jeans in and to have them so suddenly taken away from me is nothing short of a tragedy. I guess that's why Satan invented fixsters and tight girly jeans. But it's not like my jeans were fucking 60's-hippie bell bottoms either. They weren't even remotely "boot cut". But as it turns out, there's no room for an old pair of normal, straight-leg jeans in this nut-hugging, coinslot showing fixster-crazed world anymore.
In hindsight, the art of winter pant leg rolling is very complicated and nuanced. Roll the leg too high and you're exposing enough skin to a blisteringly cold windchill that would make even a 1920's flapper cover up. Roll the leg too low and be warm, but suffer the consequences. Today the consequences included having my pant leg sucked into the chainring twice, having shreds of jeans lodged within the teeth and chain links, and subsequently having said shreds cause my chain to jump off the cog, wedging itself between the lockring and the frame of the bike causing the rear wheel to start skidding. But guess what? I didn't fucking crash! Hell. Yeah. Despite the fact that I was noticeably wearing less clothes, I was definitely still wearing all of my skin. Tegaderm? Gauze? A 40-ounce bottle of Steel Reserve? No thanks. Don't need it. I don't know what I'm going to do with the jeans. It seems like such a waste to throw them away. I'm seriously contemplating cutting them into a sweet pair of manpris. *ahem* I mean "knickers". Or I might just go all out and make a sickly/sexy pair of Daisy Dukes. That'll show my bike who's boss. But I'll have to shave my legs again. Dammit, Bike. You always get the last laugh.
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