Thingses.
I WENT FOR A MOTORCYCLE RIDE YESTERDAY.
My roommate Pat lent me his old helmet and his old jacket, and he said, "No sudden movements, keep your feet up, and lean with me." So I climbed on behind him, and we rode across the river and uptown to the Fly, roared north to City Park and around Bayou St. John, and cruised along the lakefront.
Audubon Park was packed with people enjoying Sunday sunshine.
"Looks like half the city had the same idea we did," I said.
"No, they didn't," Pat said smugly. "We're on a motorcycle."
And I have to say, I might have a new favorite thing here. Seventy miles an hour over the Crescent City Connection feels like fucking flying.
Every time the engine roared and we took off, I couldn't stop myself laughing in stupid joy, and then Pat would snicker at me for being such an excited little kid about the whole thing, and I'd be like, "Shut up, I'm having fun."
On a pretty corner uptown, we pulled up next to a car with the windows down, and in the back seat a little kid started screaming and crying. "He's scared of your helmet," the kid's dad told Pat apologetically.
"Do you usually make little kids cry?" I said.
"By accident? No, that's a first."
And for the rest of the ride, he revved the engine every time we passed small children just to watch them jump.
YAYYYY, MOTORCYCLES!
*
And then this morning he walked in on me naked in the bathroom we share.
I thought he was GONE, okay? Pat always leaves for work long before I do, and any other morning I could have done a choreographed dance of nakedness in that goddamn bathroom and absolutely no one would know. But this morning it was past eight and he was still here.
He closed the door very, very quickly when he realized there was a naked chick brushing her hair in front of the mirror, and he gallantly claims not to have seen anything.
*facepalm*
Breakfast was so. fucking. awkward.
My roommate Pat lent me his old helmet and his old jacket, and he said, "No sudden movements, keep your feet up, and lean with me." So I climbed on behind him, and we rode across the river and uptown to the Fly, roared north to City Park and around Bayou St. John, and cruised along the lakefront.
Audubon Park was packed with people enjoying Sunday sunshine.
"Looks like half the city had the same idea we did," I said.
"No, they didn't," Pat said smugly. "We're on a motorcycle."
And I have to say, I might have a new favorite thing here. Seventy miles an hour over the Crescent City Connection feels like fucking flying.
Every time the engine roared and we took off, I couldn't stop myself laughing in stupid joy, and then Pat would snicker at me for being such an excited little kid about the whole thing, and I'd be like, "Shut up, I'm having fun."
On a pretty corner uptown, we pulled up next to a car with the windows down, and in the back seat a little kid started screaming and crying. "He's scared of your helmet," the kid's dad told Pat apologetically.
"Do you usually make little kids cry?" I said.
"By accident? No, that's a first."
And for the rest of the ride, he revved the engine every time we passed small children just to watch them jump.
YAYYYY, MOTORCYCLES!
*
And then this morning he walked in on me naked in the bathroom we share.
I thought he was GONE, okay? Pat always leaves for work long before I do, and any other morning I could have done a choreographed dance of nakedness in that goddamn bathroom and absolutely no one would know. But this morning it was past eight and he was still here.
He closed the door very, very quickly when he realized there was a naked chick brushing her hair in front of the mirror, and he gallantly claims not to have seen anything.
*facepalm*
Breakfast was so. fucking. awkward.