Cycling to work

My bike waiting for me to finish work.

I came to the realization that riding my bike to work is like eating dinner, but in reverse. I don't mean the obvious, in which riding to work occurs in the morning and dinner takes place in the evening. I mean work is like brussel sprouts, you must eat them and finish your plate before you can move onto dessert. To me, Cycling is my dessert, and work represents the sprouts on the plate I don't care to finish. Basically, I eat my dessert and then have to sit at my desk and stare for eight hours at a plate that I don't want to eat.

Currency is needed pay to bills whether it's rent, or supporting a hobby like bicycling. And so, sitting at a desk (or dinner plate for 8 hours), being told what to do by people you would never consider speaking to or noticing in everyday life, is just something we all have to do in order to succeed. And, so we trudge along Monday to Friday in a repetitive fashion so we can pay those bills and support our habits, which for me is my bicycle.

Then again, you could very well be one of the inhabitants of Williamsburg, who enjoy dessert all day long living off a trust fund or off their parents, while galavanting around in tight pants thinking they're some amazing artist, playing kick ball in the park. Unlike them, I'm too fat and not able to wear skinny girl pants like those hipsters and not look bad (although guys in girl jeans look bad no matter what), and so I have to roll my pants leg up while I ride to work. Incidentally, I would trade places with any one of them for any given summer just be able to skip dinner and eat dessert (riding my bike) all day.

So flip the coin now if you will. It's now the end of the day, I have written a pointless blog and I have worked hard. Now, I have all evening to eat dessert, or in this case ride my bike. How lovely is that? It wasn't all that bad. Of course, it's only Wednesday and so the process repeats all over again tomorrow, but at least I can ride my bike to and from work.

Face covered to protect the innocent
Notice the needle?

On a side note...
I know that people in other countries eat things that Americans do not. Hey, who am I to judge. I am very sure that I eat things that other people would find disgusting. This morning, as I was walking my girlfriends dog like I normally do, a gentlemen (who in this case looks like he would eat strange things, as well as hail from a country where their gymnasts lie about their age at the Olympics) walked past me staring at the dog. I thought to myself "Man, this guy's looking at my dog as if she looks delicious?" Is it wrong for me to think this way, or have I just seen too many things on television that I can not unsee?