Last week I went out for happy hour and parked my bike on the street between two cars. When I left the bar I had a $20 ticket for "Fail to Park Parallel" (that's what the ticket said, don't blame me for the meter-maid's grammar). In the 18+ years that I've been riding I've never heard of such a thing.
The bike was parked in a legal parallel parking space with the meter fed. My bike was backed in at about a 45 degree angle to the street with my back tire resting against the curb. This is the way you park a bike, and any biker worth his salt will tell you the same.
Naturally there was no chance I was paying the fine. I am prepared to spend whatever time or money is necessary to fight this ticket.
Yesterday I wrote a one-page letter to the city telling them what I thought about their analysis of my parking. The letter included three color 8.5" x 11" photos of my bike parked on the road along with the entire 97 page District of Colombia Motorcycle Operator's Manual, which I downloaded from the DMV website and printed. On page 20 of this document I highlighted the paragraph that describes how you should park at a "90 degree angle to the curb with your rear wheel touching the curb." I really love that the city has a fine that directly contradicts one of their own rules of the road.
What really chaps my ass about erroneous tickets like this is that the dumb-fuck-high-school-drop-out-shit-for-brains the city hires can pass out tickets at random without care or consequence and gets paid to do so, but we citizens have to use our personal time to defend ourselves against what essentially amounts to a guilty until proven innocent system.
I checked on the BLS website and learned that "parking enforcement officers" earn between $35,000 and $50,000 per year. I would like to see the dollar value of the tickets an average officer writes in a year and see if it covers their salaries, benefits, and vehicle costs. I bet the city doesn't even break even, it probably costs the city money to enforce parking.
No sense whipping that dead horse any further.
Yesterday ME sent me a text and invited me to go see a DJ named Paul Oakenfold "spin" at the 9:30 Club. I Googled this guy and turns out he's a pretty famous DJ that plays kind of heavy trance shit, which is great and all, but not necessarily for a first date. Also, I know what my strong-points are and they don't include techno-glow-stick dancing.
I called Chuck and explained what I was invited to and he said "Nice! I know what you'll be doing tonight!". I said "What, because I have no idea?". He said "You're going to get all fucked up on X then have buck-wild sex with that chick until the sun comes up [paraphrasing here, he went on and on]". I said "Aren't I a little old to be doing extacy. Also, you just described best case scenario. More likely I'll take some drug, freak out, and spend the rest of the night locked in a stall in the men's room playing with a roll of toilet paper. Worst case scenario is I wind up in the ER with an adrenaline needle shoved in my heart. And drugs or no drugs, you've seen me dance, it's not the best way for me to impress a girl" He sounded genuinely bummed and said "Man, why do you have to be that way? Always so negative."
I have to admit that I thought long and hard about what to do and almost went solely because I knew I would get a great story out of it. Either I would have had mind blowing sex or been completely humiliated and never talk to ME again. I was prepared for the worst just for the story. However, in the end I pussed out and said I couldn't go. I opted for a much safer fist date of drinks on Saturday night.
I met a bartender last Saturday night and got her number so last night I gave her a call. The phone rang a bunch of times and I was expecting it to go to VM then I heard her pick up. Fuck, who does that, who answers calls from numbers they don't recognize! I had my message all planned in my head, then she goes and fucks it all up by answering the goddamn phone.
For all my bitching I kind of like that she answered because there aren't any games. We talked for a short time then made plans to get together Sunday. This chick seems really wild.
Showing posts with label ME. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ME. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Monday, November 15, 2010
Hot Yoga and Hot ME
For the past two weeks my buddy Chuck has been breaking my balls that I don't get out enough. He wants to know why I'm not meeting more women. When I explained that I just don't seem to interact with many single women on a daily basis he dismissed my excuse and said it was bullshit, and that I don't go out of my way enough to meet girls. My response was "Where da white women at", a quote from Blazing Saddles that I use all the time. His response: Everywhere! Rather than fight with him I decided to branch out a bit and see if there were places other than the bars to meet successful, attractive, single women.
My sister is always telling me how many cute girls are in her yoga class so last Thursday I went with her to an evening hot yoga class at Down Dog in Georgetown. I've done yoga twice before about six years ago. My first class was a beginner class and my second was a beginner's hot class that was not very hot at all. Being a former wrestler and used to working out long hours in hundred degree rooms while wearing sweat suits I wasn't nervous about going.
I will preface this story by saying this was a profoundly stupid idea.
I arrived at the studio 15 minutes early and signed up. My sister brought me a mat and a towel and had set me up with her and her friends at the front row. I stripped down to a pair of shorts and a white wife-beater in the lobby then went into the classroom which was a sweltering 90 degrees and probably 90% humidity. My guess is there were 50 women and 10 dudes, including myself. Standard dress for the women was black spandex "shorts" and a sports bra. The other guys had on shorts only, no shirts, but I opted to keep the wife-beater on.
The class started out easy enough with light stretching then transitioned to a series of easy moves. Aside from the stifling heat, it was about 1/8 as stressful as my normal evening workout. Then the pace picked up, and as it did the temperature soared. Within 30 minutes my shirt was completely soaked and I had to peal it off because I was afraid I was going to overheat.
The instructor was like a sadistic hairy Yoda on meth. Up, down, stand on one leg, stand on your head, raise your arms, inhale, exhale, inhale your biggest breath, exhale mouth open, right eagle, saran wrap on your fingers. What the fuck does all this mean? There were a couple of times I wanted to skip a position or take a break, but then I would spot one of the dorky guys holding strong and I silently repeated to myself "anything he can do I can do better, anything he can do I can do better..." over and over and pressed on.
The pace and difficulty of the poses picked up and finally reached a crescendo 75 minutes into the class. By then I had pretty much run out of fluids (vodka) to sweat out and would have gladly killed Yoda in order to end the class early. He wasn't even doing the poses with us, he was just walking around the room barking orders. Why don't you come over here and stand on one fucking leg and arch your head back and I'll walk around and call out impossible contortions for a while.
Side Note:
I'm not sure what the point of yoga is. It has no cardiovascular benefits, you don't gain muscle, and the only weight you can lose doing it is water weight, which you put back on in 24 hours. You sweat like a motherfucker, but do I need to pay $20 to do that?
The class ended with a cool-down and some chanting that I thought was ridiculous. Afterwards, the whole class of sixty sweating dizzy people poured themselves into the tiny lobby and tried their best to get dressed. It was a tangle of sharp, sticky elbows and knees. There is literally no way you could chat up a girl in this environment. Everyone is half-naked, light headed and encrusted in a layer of their own body salts. There was one very tall, very skinny blond that was stunning whom I would have liked to say hello to, but it was just impossible. I pulled on a shirt and a hoodie and left as soon as I could. I may try this again but I don't think this is the right place to pick up women.
Yesterday I went to Tryst to get some coffee and read a book. I've said it before, I'm not usually one to sit inside on a nice sunny day, especially not in a coffee shop, but I thought I would give it a shot.
I got to Tryst around 1pm and took a seat on a couch near the back of the restaurant and ordered a coffee. While I was reading a girl came over and asked if the seat next to me was open. I said yes and she sat down. She was my age or maybe a little younger, with dark eyes, long black hair, pretty face, dark complexion, medium height and very fit. She was wearing a short skirt, high heels, and a black sweater, so she was considerably more dressed up than the rest of the clientele. I also thought I detected a slight accent but couldn't place it.
After a while typing on her computer she asked if I would watch her things while she went to the restroom. I said sure and she left. While she was gone I tried to think of something witty to say when she came back. I was going to make a reference to going through her purse, as a joke, then came to my senses and realized how retarded I was going to come off. I said nothing and just smiled when she came back.
A little while later someone came and asked if there was room on the couch for one more, so the girl said yes and scooted over to me so that the other girl could sit on the end seat. I don't know why, but I started to get shy. I pressed my face further into my book and sat completely still. I had zoned out for a bit when the girl nudged my arm and said "What are you reading?". We talked about my book and she asked "Are you a musician?". It was kind of left field, I said no, and we chatted for a little longer. I found out that she's middle eastern, lives in the city, travels a lot, and is very bright/educated. I'm going to call her ME, for Middle Eastern.
After my third coffee I was all hopped from the caffeine and decided it was time to leave. I cleared my check, shook her hand and said it was very nice to meet her. Just before I got up I said "Would you like to get a drink sometime?". She nodded and said "Yeah...yes" in a cute kind of shy way. I took her number and then left.
My sister is always telling me how many cute girls are in her yoga class so last Thursday I went with her to an evening hot yoga class at Down Dog in Georgetown. I've done yoga twice before about six years ago. My first class was a beginner class and my second was a beginner's hot class that was not very hot at all. Being a former wrestler and used to working out long hours in hundred degree rooms while wearing sweat suits I wasn't nervous about going.
I will preface this story by saying this was a profoundly stupid idea.
I arrived at the studio 15 minutes early and signed up. My sister brought me a mat and a towel and had set me up with her and her friends at the front row. I stripped down to a pair of shorts and a white wife-beater in the lobby then went into the classroom which was a sweltering 90 degrees and probably 90% humidity. My guess is there were 50 women and 10 dudes, including myself. Standard dress for the women was black spandex "shorts" and a sports bra. The other guys had on shorts only, no shirts, but I opted to keep the wife-beater on.
The class started out easy enough with light stretching then transitioned to a series of easy moves. Aside from the stifling heat, it was about 1/8 as stressful as my normal evening workout. Then the pace picked up, and as it did the temperature soared. Within 30 minutes my shirt was completely soaked and I had to peal it off because I was afraid I was going to overheat.
The instructor was like a sadistic hairy Yoda on meth. Up, down, stand on one leg, stand on your head, raise your arms, inhale, exhale, inhale your biggest breath, exhale mouth open, right eagle, saran wrap on your fingers. What the fuck does all this mean? There were a couple of times I wanted to skip a position or take a break, but then I would spot one of the dorky guys holding strong and I silently repeated to myself "anything he can do I can do better, anything he can do I can do better..." over and over and pressed on.
The pace and difficulty of the poses picked up and finally reached a crescendo 75 minutes into the class. By then I had pretty much run out of fluids (vodka) to sweat out and would have gladly killed Yoda in order to end the class early. He wasn't even doing the poses with us, he was just walking around the room barking orders. Why don't you come over here and stand on one fucking leg and arch your head back and I'll walk around and call out impossible contortions for a while.
Side Note:
I'm not sure what the point of yoga is. It has no cardiovascular benefits, you don't gain muscle, and the only weight you can lose doing it is water weight, which you put back on in 24 hours. You sweat like a motherfucker, but do I need to pay $20 to do that?
The class ended with a cool-down and some chanting that I thought was ridiculous. Afterwards, the whole class of sixty sweating dizzy people poured themselves into the tiny lobby and tried their best to get dressed. It was a tangle of sharp, sticky elbows and knees. There is literally no way you could chat up a girl in this environment. Everyone is half-naked, light headed and encrusted in a layer of their own body salts. There was one very tall, very skinny blond that was stunning whom I would have liked to say hello to, but it was just impossible. I pulled on a shirt and a hoodie and left as soon as I could. I may try this again but I don't think this is the right place to pick up women.
Yesterday I went to Tryst to get some coffee and read a book. I've said it before, I'm not usually one to sit inside on a nice sunny day, especially not in a coffee shop, but I thought I would give it a shot.
I got to Tryst around 1pm and took a seat on a couch near the back of the restaurant and ordered a coffee. While I was reading a girl came over and asked if the seat next to me was open. I said yes and she sat down. She was my age or maybe a little younger, with dark eyes, long black hair, pretty face, dark complexion, medium height and very fit. She was wearing a short skirt, high heels, and a black sweater, so she was considerably more dressed up than the rest of the clientele. I also thought I detected a slight accent but couldn't place it.
After a while typing on her computer she asked if I would watch her things while she went to the restroom. I said sure and she left. While she was gone I tried to think of something witty to say when she came back. I was going to make a reference to going through her purse, as a joke, then came to my senses and realized how retarded I was going to come off. I said nothing and just smiled when she came back.
A little while later someone came and asked if there was room on the couch for one more, so the girl said yes and scooted over to me so that the other girl could sit on the end seat. I don't know why, but I started to get shy. I pressed my face further into my book and sat completely still. I had zoned out for a bit when the girl nudged my arm and said "What are you reading?". We talked about my book and she asked "Are you a musician?". It was kind of left field, I said no, and we chatted for a little longer. I found out that she's middle eastern, lives in the city, travels a lot, and is very bright/educated. I'm going to call her ME, for Middle Eastern.
After my third coffee I was all hopped from the caffeine and decided it was time to leave. I cleared my check, shook her hand and said it was very nice to meet her. Just before I got up I said "Would you like to get a drink sometime?". She nodded and said "Yeah...yes" in a cute kind of shy way. I took her number and then left.
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