And the living is easy...

Oh man.

What do we do here again? I can't quite figure it out. I tried navigating to this page just now and I couldn't even remember the URL.

LAWL! NERD JOKE!!!
FORGETFULNESS.

A lot of things change in people's lives during the summer. Friends come back from out of town, other friends leave to travel the globe. Sometimes old lovers that you totally forgot about show up with new haircuts or butt implants and you see them in a whole new light. It's a time for heartbreaks and it's a time for new beginnings. It's also a time for bikers to get hit by motor vehicles.

So I work at a pretty ritzy restaurant these days. Hold your horses. I didn't say I work/live at the Ritz. I said I work at a ritzy restaurant. It's called The Rushton (Ritz Carleton-esque(but not really)) Anyways, this job, where I endure hours of insults and degrading comments from a 5 foot tall columbian woman AKA My Boss, is what's got my pockets feeling chubby these days. Not fat... Just chubby.

Husky is probably more accurate.

I bus tables and get yelled at for not realizing with my own powers of reasoning that sweet potato fries only come with garlic aoli, NOT KETCHUP.

So me, my husky wallet and my deflated sense of self-esteem took ourselves out to Scarborough to purchase a pretty red Miele road bike from a kind, middle aged Asian(presumably chinese but if I'm wrong, no racial, guys.) couple I met on craigslist.

It rode like a real beauty. My little Italian vixen. If she bore anything in common with an Italian woman, it was her looks, but also her temperament. The bike came with really small, one-sided pedals so whenever you shifted gears or hit a bump, your feet would slide right off. Within the first week I was riding up Dufferin after having purchased a pair of Calvin Klein dress pants for mad cheap.

WINNERS FTW

Sidenote: I hate dress pants. I only bought them cause at a restaurant as high class as The Rushton, "THERE IS NO WAY I CAN BE COMING TO WORK WEARING JEANS." sigh... They were black jeans and they were nice too. But jeans NONETHELESS!!!

In the middle of Dufferin St, both my feet come flying off my pedals for no apparent reason and I am unable to find my balance. I get launched off my bike and it now has a dented front tire.

I go to work bleeding, get yelled at for bleeding, am refused any bandages or gauze, bleed some more and then go home at the end of my shift. I don't worry too much about my accident, every new bike is gonna take some getting used to right? I'll spend my next paycheck on some new pedals for my bike, right? WRONG.

My friend takes my bike for a ride one day and tells me that because my front tire is dented, I run the risk of having it collapse under too much pressure, resulting in me becoming a piece of meat at the side of the road.

I ride it anyways.

I don't become meat, I'm actually quite fine, sort of. INSTEAD...

Not only do I nearly get fired from The Rushton for not upholding their standards of perfection in apparently every aspect of my performance, (My manager isn't one to give compliments. If you're not getting yelled at, you're doing a stellar job. I get yelled at all the time.)
but on my way to meet my friends downtown, (I'm riding extra slow to avoid having my front wheel collapse with the spokes impale me in several different places) I'm going through a fucking intersection, it's my light, I have the right of way blah blah blah and I GET HIT BY A CAR. I fully saw the guy, I figured I'd zip right past him. Nope, he decided that just as I was in front of the vehicle he would pump the gas.

As I'm gliding over the hood of the car I find myself feeling really exhilirated more than anything. I hit the ground, ripped my arm open AGAIN and sat up only to give the guy driving a thumbs up. He drove away after he saw I was in such good spirits, while I look over to see my bicycle is a mangled mess. At least the front wheel didn't kill me....

His license plate was stuck between my back wheel spokes so I filed a police report while some girl hung out with me until my friends came to meet me. If anything goes down she's my witness. I HAVE HER ON FACEBOOK!!!

I now have no bike, I only work morning shifts because my manager can't stand to see my allegedly incompetent face and all I have to show for it is... Uh....

Well...

At the very least I get to say I've been hit by a car, which in all honesty isn't nearly as bad as everyone makes it out to be.