On Friday, I took my bike into Upgrade for a repair of the pedal/crankshaft. They said it should be ready the next day.
On Saturday, the guy told me that he'd accidentally stripped out the new crankshaft with my old pedal and would have to find a new one to replace it and get it mounted and it wouldn't be ready until Sunday.
Sunday I waited for the shop to call and tell me it was fixed. They didn't.
Today I called them, they said it was ready. I left school, took two trains at rush hour to get there, and the original guy told me he couldn't find another crank, and would it be okay if he did some repairy thing that I can't remember and use my original crank? For fuck's sake, yes! I just want my pedals to work! Shit, couldn't he have done that over the phone? Anyway, that has to set overnight, so it'll be ready in the morning at 8am when they open. So I walked back out and across the street and down to the subway and waited for the train. I took the Blue Line back to Medical Center and walked the three blocks back to school, getting back over an hour after I'd left.
Tomorrow I have a 7am lecture, so I won't be able to pick up my bike until the end of the day.
Monday, September 18, 2006
Twizzlers Make Mouths Happy
Last night I went to the grocery store in a fit of self-pity and despair and bought myself two cartons of ice cream, a bunch of Baby Ruth bars, and a "family pack" of Twizzlers.
Before this story continues, there's something about Twizzlers and me you should know: I cannot resist them. In fact, I have one hanging out of my mouth as I type this.
When I was a kid, I'd always get the huge family pack when I saw a movie...and it would be gone by fifteen minutes in.
In the summer of 1988 I stayed with my aunt and uncle and cousin in their vacation condo in Sarasota. There was a basket out with a large pack of Twizzlers in it. I knew I wasn't supposed to eat them all, but every time I passed by, I pulled at least 2-3 Twizzlers out of there, until they were all gone, and replaced by....more Twizzlers! Talk about positive reinforcement.
In the summer of 1990, I was at Boy Scout camp in northern Wisconsin. Being the ravening bunch of juvenile delinquents were fancied ourselves to be, we made a habit of stealing soda from the camp store warehouse late at night. One night this kid Brandon managed to pick the lock into the store itself and we went to town, each of us taking about two dollars worth of candy - except for that dumbfuck Brandon, who decided it would be a good idea to take cash from the register. We of course got caught later that night. Or some kid ratted us out. But they found us back at our campsite. We did manage to dump a fair amount of the goods into the woods, which is where the Twizzler connection is - over the next few days while out in the woods, I'd come across a package of Nibs and eat them.
I'm sure you can imagine what my addiction and depression allowed me to do last night.
No, not that! That's disgusting! And would it even technically be possible?
I ate enough that my insides rebelled at me. Uncomfortably. As soon as I got up this morning.
And now I'm eating more.
What I don't understand is why Hershey thought that Twizzlers needed a reclosable top "for freshness." I mean, they're the fakest shit ever! Are they gonna spoil?
The best part is this, on the back:
Like it's healthy shit! Regardless, there are apparently 18 servings in this bag, and I'm almost done with them. This doesn't make me happy, just full of flavored starch.
Before this story continues, there's something about Twizzlers and me you should know: I cannot resist them. In fact, I have one hanging out of my mouth as I type this.
When I was a kid, I'd always get the huge family pack when I saw a movie...and it would be gone by fifteen minutes in.
In the summer of 1988 I stayed with my aunt and uncle and cousin in their vacation condo in Sarasota. There was a basket out with a large pack of Twizzlers in it. I knew I wasn't supposed to eat them all, but every time I passed by, I pulled at least 2-3 Twizzlers out of there, until they were all gone, and replaced by....more Twizzlers! Talk about positive reinforcement.
In the summer of 1990, I was at Boy Scout camp in northern Wisconsin. Being the ravening bunch of juvenile delinquents were fancied ourselves to be, we made a habit of stealing soda from the camp store warehouse late at night. One night this kid Brandon managed to pick the lock into the store itself and we went to town, each of us taking about two dollars worth of candy - except for that dumbfuck Brandon, who decided it would be a good idea to take cash from the register. We of course got caught later that night. Or some kid ratted us out. But they found us back at our campsite. We did manage to dump a fair amount of the goods into the woods, which is where the Twizzler connection is - over the next few days while out in the woods, I'd come across a package of Nibs and eat them.
I'm sure you can imagine what my addiction and depression allowed me to do last night.
No, not that! That's disgusting! And would it even technically be possible?
I ate enough that my insides rebelled at me. Uncomfortably. As soon as I got up this morning.
And now I'm eating more.
What I don't understand is why Hershey thought that Twizzlers needed a reclosable top "for freshness." I mean, they're the fakest shit ever! Are they gonna spoil?
The best part is this, on the back:
Did you know...
Strawberry Twists are a low fat candy! That's right, the same great tasting Twizzlers you have known and loved are low in fat, as always. Nothing has changed.
Twizzlers fun you can eat!
Like it's healthy shit! Regardless, there are apparently 18 servings in this bag, and I'm almost done with them. This doesn't make me happy, just full of flavored starch.
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