i'm too tired for capital letters. sorry. anyway... my front end rebuild kit for the bmw came yesterday and the guy who said he'd help me said that we could do it today so i could go to the vashon island ride tomorrow. sweet. i asked him what i could bring him for the effort and he asked for a pound of seattle's best columbian coffee. shouldn't be a problem. i come up with a pound of coffee, and he helps me get my front end rebuilt so i'm not driving into the ground. sweet deal, right?
i get up this morning at around 9:30, which is freaking ridiculous on a saturday. i call him up and tell him i'm on my way. i look up seattle's best coffee locations and i head out. i'm a bit irritated because there's no seattle's best really on the way.
so, the closest location for sbc is around 4-something broadway. i go there. there's no sbc. i drive back and forth. it's still not there. mother fuckers. i remember that there was one across the street from my office when i worked at rivals. so i go downtown. sbc is now a fucking starbucks. are you kidding me? it's still an obnoxious coffee shop, but just a DIFFERENT one? christ. about this time, i remember that there's one downtown around 1st and pike. don't ask me how someone who doesn't even drink coffee knows the locations of three of the third most popular coffee shop, i just do. so i go over there and i park my bike on the sidewalk down the block where it won't bother anyone. i am forced to do this because there's no fucking motorcycle parking in this god forsaken town and i'm not in the mood to wander around all day looking for a parking spot when i've just wandered around all day looking for a coffee shop and I DON'T EVEN DRINK FUCKING COFFEE. so, i know it's a bad idea, but i park there anyway.
i go to the coffee shop. there's 80 people in it. of course. why do people think they need coffee so badly? eh... that's another discussion for another time. so i start looking at all the prepackaged coffees and i can't find columbian. i'm rushing because i know i've gotta move my bike before the man comes along. finally i give up and get in line. the lady in front of me is trying to get the barista to tell her where the "first starbucks" is.
"no ma'am, this is seattle's best"
"i know, but where's the first starbucks? i heard it was around here somewhere!"
"how was your vacation in seattle? was it an exciting place?"
"oh my yes! we saw the FIRST STARBUCKS!"
"NO WAY. SHUT THE FUCK UP!"
"i swear! it's true. the FIRST ONE!"
"holy shit, can i touch you?"
"well... ok... but then i have to get back to my booth. there's a lot of cars backed up and these tolls aren't going to collect themselves..."
anyway... where was i? oh yeah... sbc... still in line. still in a hurry. i ask the chick for the goods and she gets busy on it. however, just before she's about to close up the bag, for some reason, some other chick has to take over so my chick can get back to the register. what the hell is that? so the new chick takes her sweet ass time with my coffee that i'm not going to drink and i'm looking at her and making eye contact so she knows it's for me, and she finishes packaging it up and puts it down and starts looking in all the cabinets. WHAT THE FUCK IS SHE DOING??? she's looking for a pen so she can write "columbian" on it. jesus fuck. so she does that and i think she's about to hand it to me, but no. she sets it behind the counter next to the first chick. GOD DAMMIT. it's for me. you know it's for me. give it up, bitch! she doesn't give it up. so i wait another couple minutes for the first chick to finish up and then i give her the evil eye until she hands me the coffee.
i bolt out of the place and up to my bike just in time to confront the cop. i ask her "what if i move this right now?"
"once it's done, it's yours. don't do this anymore"
"fuck you evil cow."
ok... i didn't say that last part. dammit.
so that's a $25 parking ticket and $10 worth of coffee. i hit the road and tangle with the horrible mess of traffic to get to the freeway.
i'm not going to get into the confusion and the lunacy that is the street numbering system in north seattle, so let's just say here that i was lost. for an hour. and pissed. and it was my own stupid fault for not reading the exit numbers. idiot. i'm really hungry at this point too. i haven't eaten anything.
i finally roll up to stephen's house and i notice his arm's in a cast. he bailed on his beautiful r100/s about 15 minutes after repairing a lot of damage done to it when he HIT A DEER. christ. that's bad luck. he informs me that he'll be supervising and i'll be doing all the work. sweet. i like to get my hands dirty.
what followed was about 8 hours of insane mishaps, incorrect parts, me getting incredibly greasy, me soaking my hands in paint thinner for like an hour, a broom handle getting jammed where it never should be (interpret for yourself), three small washers disappearing for the better part of two hours, me not eating anything still, stuff getting broken, and a good amount of time spent trying to figure out why there were parts left over at the end.
i eventually got the whole thing rebuilt, with all the appropriate new parts (except for one small wiper ring), with all the leftovers accounted for. the bike rode like a dream the whole way home (about 30 miles of freeway... woohooo!!) and i got her going 90 just to see how she felt. felt good. i think that bike is probably good for about a hundred miles per hour. scary at that speed, but good to know that if i'm ever on the run from the law, i can make a good showing.
i got home and realized that it was now 9 pm and i still haven't eaten anything. i ordered a pizza and ate it. i still feel like i might die.
despite the fact that i worked my nuts off to get this done so i could ride vashon, i think i might skip it. i'm beat.