If you’ve read my profile on here, you know that I grew up in the middle of nowhere. Seriously. Nary a neighbor in sight. There was a lot of corn, a lot of woods, and a lot of grass, but no other kids. The closest “town” was half an hour away (the closest gas station 15 minutes,) so pre-driver’s license I had to find ways to entertain myself.

I’ve never been an outdoors kid. I enjoyed swings and played a variety of sports (softball, soccer, basketball- all BADLY), but I was much more interested in obsessing over 90210 with my sister (I’d have to sneak into the room to watch it with her, because she’s ten years older and did NOT enjoy hang-time with her baby sis.) The exception to my love of the indoors was bike riding.

Really, where I’m from is the perfect place for biking. Some hills, but none too intense for my stubby legs. Very, very light automobile traffic, so I didn’t have to worry about being ran over when I wrecked in the middle of the road (…which may have happened on several occasions.)

When I moved to the city for college four years ago, I considered bringing my bike. And then I imagined how riding would go for me, considering the throngs of people on campus and my clumsy tendencies. Hence my bike remaining under a porch at home, four years later.

Since I graduated, I’ve pretty much either been at work, with Lauren or Tiahna, or doing nothing in my house. I miss roaming across campus every day, and the workout (a small one, but on days I would routinely walk a mile. I have no interest in any other kind of workout) it brought. So, with all these thoughts swirling around in my mind, I decided to buy a bike. Because it shouldn’t matter that I haven’t ridden in four years. The phrase is “It’s as easy as riding a bike” for a reason, right? Wrong. Wrong.

I went to Target yesterday with Lauren to test-ride bikes. The first few were laughably bad, as I couldn’t reach the pedals. See, I’m 5’3”, and my legs are very, very, short. I then decided to try a yellow beach cruiser. I know nothing about the difference between boys’ bikes and girls’, so I went and retrieved an employee to get the girls’ version of the yellow bike down for me, after trying to test –ride the boys’ version and ending up with the seat moving and invading my ass’s personal space.

The employee who I found in the camera section was really nice, and offered to tighten the seat (..er, turns out that was the girls’ bike) so I could try to ride it again. I got up on the bike. Reminded Laur and Mark (the worker’s name) that they could not laugh at me if I fell. So, I pedaled. It went well, until I tried to stop…. And sort of tipped into a wall of flashlights. But neither the flashlights nor me were worse for the wear.

Apparently seeing something that I didn’t, Mark offered to change the position of the handlebars. Once he did, it was like perfection. I still couldn’t stop that well, but I told him that no changing of the bike’s various parts could fix my clumsiness. After finally stopping successfully, I told him and Lauren that it was like they were my parents, and I was their baby finally going without training wheels. (I’m weird, deal.)

I decided to buy the bike, and walked it alongside us through the remainder of the store, picking out cute accessories (…. Hello, basket for the front, water bottle holder…) as I made my way to the register. I bought the accessories and held the bike at the customer service desk so I could come back later with my car to pick it up.

My aunt was home when I was leaving to buy my bike, and gave me possibly the most disheartening reminder ever:

“Haley, you don’t have health insurance. Is riding a bike really the best idea???”

My clumsiness combined with my parents’ insurance happiness at kicking me off of their plan before I even graduated is a bad combo. Last month I read an article about a girl who broke her leg running for a bus, and ended up going $17 THOUSAND in debt on surgeries to fix the leg.

I CANNOT AFFORD SEVENTEEN THOUSAND DOLLARS.

So, now the basket is sitting on my desk as a sad reminder. The bike is surely back in the bike-holstering area, specified to my body but never to know it again.

I am sad.

This isn’t the exact bike, but close.

image via http://www.abikestore.com/Merchant2/graphics/00000003/eldorado-cruiser-women.jpg

If there’s one thing I’ve learned about myself in college, it’s this: I’m socially awkward. There’s no avoiding it. Instead of pretending I’m not, I’ve learned to embrace it. Luckily for you, I know how to laugh at myself, and now you can laugh too

AWKWARD! band interaction, volume 1: Guster

Back in high school and early college, I was ridiculously in love with the band Guster. Around this time I was interning for CD101 as well as writing for UWeekly- both are factors in the awkward setup. When I found Guster was playing Columbus, I begged my editor to let me interview them for the paper. He lovingly obliged, and I was the most geeked out girl in the world.
The day before the interview, the Columbus show was cancelled; conundrum. I knew if I spoke up, the interview would be cancelled. So what to do? I decided to show some ingenuity and try to sell the interview to different media outlets whose cities would also be visited by Guster. I got a lot of no’s, mostly because everyone had already secured their own interviews. As I reached the end of my list, though, I finally got a yes from a magazine in New Jersey.
The interview went on without a hitch. I spoke with Joe Pisapia, who was playing in Interlochen, MI incidentally on his birthday. The interview was delightful, and I was really psyched that I successfully sold my art.

(continued after the jump!)

A few months later, Guster ended up coming back to Columbus. My interview ran in UWeekly the week of the concert. My awesome boss Karac at CD101 let me into the Big Room to watch Guster perform. And then I met them.

Whew.

I clutched a copy of UWeekly in my little hands as I waited for the guys to make their rounds to all the fans. I was a little insecure about the headline (I did NOT choose,) which was a quote within the article from a review which I had referenced which essentially said “‘Ganging Up on the Sun’ moves Guster out of the frat house.” I figured the guys would just sign it and move on.

Wrong! I first met lead singer Ryan, who I believe said “…ouch,” upon inspecting the paper I thrust at him. Embarrassed, I fumbled and tried to explain that those were not MY words and that I was a huge fan. He was nice, but I felt awful. Repeat incident with Brian, drummer. I also met Joe, who was very kind and said he remembered the interview (although I would think that’d be very difficult with the number of phoners they do…) 2/4 of the members of Guster thought I was a douche who thought their earlier material (which I actually favored!) was sophomoric.

And thus is life.

((This is only the tip of the awk iceberg.))

Esta mañana me he levantado con un dolor tremendo en mi cervical derecha, bueno, en el omoplato derecho, bueno, me duele la cuarta parte de mi espalda, estoy escribiendo esto sentada en mi silla de ordenador con una rigidez absoluta que no me caracteriza para nada, porque apenas puedo girar la cabeza, bueno algo sí, pero para lo que yo me muevo es poco…En realidad no me levanté así, a las 3 de la mañana me acosté así, incluso temí con quedarme semiparalítica, es como mi cabeza funciona cuando lo que gobierna en realidad es el sueño y no piensa con claridad ninguna y empiezan mis paranoias hipocondriacas típicas de cuando no duermo bien .

Causa de todo esto…un dichoso mosquito que rondaba por mi habitación a las 3 de la mañana y no había quién callase y yo tan lúcida de mi en vez de ir a por un insecticida (o “flifli” como digo yo) se me ocurre intentar ganar la batalla con una chancla plateada cual espada medieval, al principio todo bien, saltaba en la cama e intentaba aniquilarle a zapatillazos, lo he hecho muchas veces en mi vida, es como una especie de reto entre el mundo de los insectos y yo, una batalla tras otra, una guerra sin fin, y siempre he salido airosa, excepto esta vez, cuando se me ocurre apoyar mi pie izquierdo sobre una endeble mesa de madera, atosigada de libros, películas, un portátil y una flexo de titanio, la verdad es que no pensé lo que hacía, pero añadir a todo eso unos 64 kg más aproximadamente, es  como esperar que un enano lleve a hombros a Hulk Hogan sin la lengua fuera y cómo no, lo previsible fue que una pata de la mesa se rompió y los libros, las películas, la lámpara de titanio, el portátil y yo fuimos directos al suelo, aparte de la mesa, todo salió ileso excepto yo, que he aumentado mi colección de cardenales como las muescas del hacha de Gimli, uno en la rodilla, otro en la cadera y otro en el codo izquierdo acompañando a otro enorme que ya tenia en el brazo, qué cuadro estoy hecha…lo peor fue lo de mi cuarta parte de la espalda, me acosté pensando que igual al levantarme no podría moverme, descubrí  la única postura donde nada me molestaba, boca arriba, yo que suelo dormir de lado y en posición fetal, o al menos eso es lo que creo, a las 7 de la mañana me llama el pelirrojo y yo empiezo a sudar, a sudar igualito que un pollo asado, sin saber por qué ,noto el dolor, quiero escuchar al pelirrojo, pero empiezo a marearme y a fatigarme y tengo ganas de vomitar…el móvil se entrecorta de todas formas debido a la escasa cobertura que hay en mi casa, necesito despedirme, porque si no, me da un jamacuco, a él por supuesto le cuento que me he caído, pero no exactamente cómo, me dice que “menuda época llevas” y no le falta razón ninguna. Mi nombre no es Cecilia es Señorita Desastre.

Por supuesto a mi madre no le he contado exactamente como ha sido, pero al ver que me he cargado la mesa, pretende llevarme a urgencias en cuestión de una hora, y yo, la verdad que si voy me quedo más tranquila, pero siempre que he ido, no sólo a urgencias, sino a cualquier médico, me siento como una patética hipocondriaca ya contaré por qué en otro capítulo. Mi padre más tranquilo al respecto me ha dado una crema para dolores musculares llamada “flogoprofen”, pero claro, él no sabe que me he cargado una mesa, pero la mesa era endeble igualmente. Soy igualita a mi madre en la cuestión paranoica e hipocondriaca…también en su sociabilidad y extroversión.E igualita a mi padre, en la torpeza de la rutina diaria, en la cabezoneria y en que es el mejor en lo suyo y yo estoy empezando,pero pretendo ser la mejor en lo mío. Al menos a partir del momento que lo consiga estar en lo mio.

Así que con esta entrada se abre una nueva sección denominada “Señorita Desastres”…y que espero que os guste.

No os preocupéis por mí, ¡que estoy bien.! XD

Pd: Mi padre ha vuelto de ir a correr y hemos decidido que no se va a urgencias,que si mañana me levanto mal,pues ya voy al médico, yo tampoco creo que sea nada grave,es como si tuviera tortículis,pero no en el cuello.