Queen: Bicycle Race

My brother, Joe, and I always had an intense sibling rivalry, but at age nine nothing got under my skin like him daring me to race him on a bicycle.  He had dared me in front of Ricky and Scotty, our neighbors, to race him down a hill behind our house, making me look like a chicken.  I told him simply that I couldn’t race him because it wasn’t fair.  He had been practicing, and I hadn’t had a chance.  I told him that of course, I wasn’t scared.  Tomorrow, I said, tomorrow, we would race, and I would show him.

That evening he went with the neighbors to baseball practice, as he did every evening, giving me two solid hours to conquer that hill on my pink princess bike.  I told myself that I would make it down that hill, and become so confident that I would blow him away the following day.

The hill in question was just to the right of my house.  My dad had a logging business, and we had 16 acres of mountainous land.  Of course, as soon as we moved, my dad logged behind our house, giving my brother and I several trails to walk, play or ride one of our many recreational vehicles—and not to mention practically paying for itself.  Living in the heart of West Virginia, it was only appropriate that most of the roads and trails were both steep and curvy.  The path my brother wanted to race down was no different.

In my first run, I didn’t go to the point where my brother and I would start our race.  I knew better.  I didn’t even go half way.  I went about a quarter of the way up, then rode to the bottom, holding my brakes all the way down.

My second time, I decided to do the same distance, only a little easier on the brakes.  Going about a quarter up the path again, I release the brakes, and rode freely down the hill.  The wind was in my face, and the crisp spring air gave me hope that I could conquer this mountain.

I then got ambitious.  This was not going to be nearly as horrid as I had originally thought.  I could go all the way to the top of this hill.  My brother was going to eat his words.  Ricky and Scotty were going to see that this was something that I could finally be as good—if not better than my filthy brother.  As I walked my bike to the top of the hill, I could hear victory in my mind.  It would be the proudest moment of my life: the moment I was better than Joey in something that wasn’t academic.

..........................................................................................................................................

At this point in my dad’s career, things weren’t exactly how one might imagine a logging business.  He was successful.  He employed five guys, and owned several pieces of heavy machinery.  Sometimes, in between logging jobs, he would bring home bulldozers or skidders and let us play on them—or put me, Joey, Rick and Scott in the bucket and drive us around the yard.

Life was good—so good that it allowed him to pick up a second business on the side.  The second business was that of a drug dealer.  This was the business my dad was looking to expand.  He decided that the best way to do it was to begin growing our own marijuana plants at home.

My dad is the kind of person that always has people that owe him a favor.  So, when he asked a friend to get him some fertilizer, the friend delivered.

When one is growing pot, there are certain appearances that one should uphold.  In other words, we had to start a garden.  That’s what we told people when they asked what the big pile of shit was doing in our yard, anyways.  That’s right, an entire dump truck full of cow manure and compost had planted itself in our yard just down from the hill where my brother and I would be racing.

          .........................................................................................................................................................................

I stood straddled over my pink princess bike, knowing that this ride was going to be the one that changed my life.  I didn’t even need to do it—it was only going to boost my confidence.  I put my feet on the pedals, and prepared for the ride of my life…

The bike started moving too fast.  Before I knew it, I felt like I was going faster than most cars go.  I kept slamming my feet backwards, beginning to panic.  My brakes weren’t working.  The further I went, the faster the bike would go.  I knew that I was going to wreck, and didn’t know how long it would take for someone to find me.  I knew in my nine-year-old mind, this was going to be how I died.  People would blame Joey for my death.  Had he not dared me to race him down that hill, I would have never practiced, and my brakes would not have went out, and I would not have crashed into a tree—or the driveway of gravels, and died.

As I got to the bottom of the hill, I saw my salvation.  I couldn’t get my brakes to work, and if going down a hill would make me go faster, then going up a hill, might bring me go a stop.

The pile of manure looked ten feet tall.  My bike raced forward, and I thought if I slowed down enough, I could just lean it over on top and walk down the mountain of shit.   This entire time, though, my feet were planted firmly back in the brake position.

I made it down the hill, and started up the heap.  I wasn’t slowing down as I thought I would be.  Perhaps after making it up this small hill, I would still die.  I feared that if my bike didn’t slow down, I would only pick up momentum going down the other side.

Miraculously, on top of the hill, my brakes started working again.  This blessing led to an unfortunate series of events.  Having my feet in a rigor mortis state in a backwards position didn’t allow for a slow and subtle slowing.  Instead, it allowed me to flip over the handlebars of my pretty pink princess bike, landing face first, full body in the swell of shit.

I never raced my brother.

Bicycle bicycle bicycle
I want to ride my bicycle bicycle bicycle


I want to ride my bicycle
I want to ride my bike
I want to ride my bicycle
I want to ride it where I like


You say black I say white
You say bark I say bite
You say shark I say hey man
Jaws was never my scene
And I don't like Star Wars
You say Rolls I say Royce
You say God give me a choice
You say Lord I say Christ
I don't believe in Peter Pan
Frankenstein or Superman
All I wanna do is


Bicycle bicycle bicycle
I want to ride my bicycle bicycle bicycle
I want to ride my bicycle
I want to ride my bike
I want to ride my bicycle
I want to ride my


Bicycle races are coming your way
So forget all your duties oh yeah
Fat bottomed girls they'll be riding today
So look out for those beauties oh yeah
On your marks get set go
Bicycle race bicycle race bicycle race


Bicycle bicycle bicycle
I want to ride my bicycle bicycle
Bicycle bicycle bicycle
Bicycle race


You say coke I say caine
You say John I say Wayne
Hot dog I say cool it man
I don't wanna be the President of America
You say smile I say cheese
Cartier I say please
Income tax I say Jesus
I don't wanna be a candidate for
Vietnam or Watergate
Cause all I wanna do is


Bicycle bicycle bicycle
I want to ride my bicycle bicycle bicycle
I want to ride my bicycle
I want to ride my bike
I want to ride my bicycle
I want to ride it where I like

Memorial Day: This Afternoon

My brother has attempted to call me about six times this weekend. For those of you who don't know me, my brother was arrested sometime last fall for a plethora of charges. I have to admit that I do value family, but I think I value friendship more. The combination of the two makes it a special kind of bond-- and I'm thankful for my family that I also consider friends. However, I don't think that just being family should entitle you to anything more, and the fact of the matter is that my brother and I hadn't really talked in several years until our parents passed away. He's looking for someone to lean on, and I don't want to be that person.

I understand that "I'm all he has left," but I also know that we haven't built a relationship of trust. When I was 15, and he was 13/14, he moved out and we've never lived together--or really talked since. He blamed me for my family's problems--mainly because he didn't see the lifestyle of drug dealing and drug doing as a problem. He steals, he lies, and he cheats-- and I don't want someone like that in my life. And besides, I have to pay like three bucks to talk to him for 15 minutes. Why would I pay to awkwardly try to fill 15 minutes of time?

He's burned a lot of bridges, and I know that very few people have accepted his calls-- and I do feel incredibly guilty for not accepting them-- but it tears me apart. And I don't want to feel that.

And on Memorial Day, I don't want to focus on the bad. I want to remember good times-- summer times, and when things were good with my parents and brother. And for period, I think of Nickelback's This Afternoon.




There was one summer when my dad's logging business was doing extremely well. Additionally, his 'side business' of dealing drugs was also going well. There were always people at our house, and kids for my brother and I to play with. I had friends named Felicia and Dawn, and we spent days at each other's houses-- riding bikes, making up dances, playing in the woods, etc. My brother spent most of his time playing with the neighbor boys. Their parents considered him one of their own. They signed him up for baseball, took him to practice, and sending him home was the worst possible punishment was to send him home.

That summer, my dad had told us about these caves up on the Ridge, and I became completely obsessed with seeing them. He promised me that he would take me before the end of the summer, and as school inched closer, I thought he was going to forget... and I wasn't about to let that happen. With our living room full of people, passing around a joint, I marched in, and asked my dad when we were going. He laughed that wonderful laugh, and said, "later, sis"

Later was unacceptable. Despite being about 9 or 10 years old, and really knowing better, I decided to take action. I told everyone to leave, and started throwing a tantrum that would embarrass even the most shameless person. My dad, even though pissed, could never really be mad AT me, told me to go get my brother, and told my mom to pack a lunch. My mom hated that I always got what I wanted from my dad, but what can I say? I was the favorite.

We took our two ATV's, my mom and brother on one, and my dad and I on the other, and headed up the road. I remember on the way there, we had to make a pit stop because my dad lost a bag of pot. If you think Where's Waldo is hard, you should try finding a bag of green pot in a heavily wooded area. I was still pouting because this was delaying my trip, but I kicked around some leaves, and tried to help. My brother, of course, would be the hero that found it, and promptly put us back on track to finding the caves.

I've learned now that my parents, and more specifically my mom, made up a lot of crap that wasn't true and told us. I would be mad, but looking back, it was really funny. I hope that if I ever accidentally have kids, I can think of fun lies to tell them, too. On this particular day, my mom told me that the drawings on the side of the walls in the caves were done by Native Americans "many many moons ago."  She and my dad then sent us into the cave to try to figure out what it said.

Now, I can't disprove what she said, but I believe it was probably something that she and her stoner friends probably drew when they were in high school--if there was really anything in there at all. My brother and I got our flashlights out, and started crawling back through the caves. As soon as I could no longer see the entrance, I started to cry and want out... I think I remember my parents being a little mad, but I also realize what a brat I was being. I had thrown a fit to go, then didn't go into the caves, and complained when my brother took too long to explore.


We spent the rest of the day together, driving around on fourwheelers, and enjoying a beautiful summer day in the mountains of WV. This is probably one of my favorite memories-- and when driving around in mountains and smelling the scent of woods makes me think of it... While there were a lot of drugs that summer, I was safe, my parents weren't fighting, and there were always fun things to do...  It really was a summer full of them partying, selling and doing drugs, while my brother and I did pretty much whatever we wanted. No rules, no worries, and enjoying the afternoon.

Lookin' like another Bob Marley day
Hittin' from the bong like a diesel train
And I'm down with hangin' out this afternoon

We've got weeds in the backyard 4 feet tall
Cheech and Chong prob'ly woulda' smoked 'em all
So I'm out on the couch this afternoon

Beer bottles layin' on the kitchen floor
If we take 'em all back we can buy some more
So I doubt we'll go without this afternoon

You better hang on if you're taggin' along
Cause we'll be doin this 'till 6 in the mornin'
Nothin' wrong with goin' all night long
Tough to put the brakes on,
Doesn't matter when you'd rather

Get up, and go out
Me and all my friends
We drink up, We fall down
And then we do it all again
Just sittin around, hangin out this afternoon

Landlord said I should buy a tent
But he can kiss my ass cause I payed the rent
So I doubt he'll kick me out this afternoon

Down on the corner in a seedy bar
Juke box crankin' out the CCR
Had a few to Suzy Q this afternoon

Don't wanna wristwatch or an alarm clock
To see what time it is
From the moment I wake up
I just love being with my friends
We barely get by, but have the best times
And hope it never ends
We drink all day till we fall down
So we can do it all again

It's not the human walk
It's the human race
If you aint livin on the edge
You're takin' too much space
So I doubt I'll figure out
Just what to do
'Bout to kick it around
Hangin out this afternoon

Get up, and go out
Me and all my friends
We drink up, we fall down
And then we do it all again

Just kickin' around, hangin out this afternoon
Sittin around hangin out this afternoon
Just kickin' around, hangin out this afternoon
Just sittin around hangin out this afternoon
Just kickin' around, hangin out this afternoon
Just sittin around hangin out this afternoon

Soundtrack of my Life...

My friend, Emmy, has inspired me to start blogging again... And, I think I'm going to change my focus to Soundtrack of my Life. I've always wondered, if there was a movie made about me, what songs would be on the soundtrack?

So, I'm giving myself a little assignment to pick songs, and why I would want them to be in the soundtrack of my life, what period they stood for-- or what I'll hope they'll be. Now, don't judge the music. I know, I know, I have terrible taste. But I like it.

A lot has happened to me in my life; I wrecked a car when I was three or four into our landlord's house; my parents started their own business, then got heavily into drug dealing; I testified against them in court; I was placed in foster care; I got an amazing scholarship to go to an amazing school; I went to England and Australia; I was student body president and General Manager for the radio station; my senior year, my mom passed away ; I graduated, moved to Pittsburgh for a wonderful job, and less than seven months later--and 20 days before my 23rd birthday, my dad died in a house fire .

Since then, my brother's been arrested, I was accepted to grad school, was offered an amazing assistantship, and am now planning to move again. I sometimes feel like the luckiest girl to have all these opportunities, and other times, it's overwhelmingly depressing to think of all the terrible things that have happened. They say that writing is great therapy, and my best friend's mom, who is like a mom to me, insists that I can help people with my story. I don't know if that's true, but here it goes.

Opening credits: MGMT's Time to Pretend





I found this song with Pandora. I imagine a flashback-- starting where the story ends and going backwards-- and moving back toward the start...  moving from cities to towns, and through my various ages... with highlights... 

I'm feeling rough, I'm feeling raw, I'm in the prime of my life.
Let's make some music, make some money, find some models for wives.
I'll move to Paris, shoot some heroin, and fuck with the stars.
You man the island and the cocaine and the elegant cars.

This is our decision, to live fast and die young.
We've got the vision, now let's have some fun.
Yeah, it's overwhelming, but what else can we do.
Get jobs in offices, and wake up for the morning commute.

Forget about our mothers and our friends
We're fated to pretend
To pretend
We're fated to pretend
To pretend

I'll miss the playgrounds and the animals and digging up worms
I'll miss the comfort of my mother and the weight of the world
I'll miss my sister, miss my father, miss my dog and my home
Yeah, I'll miss the boredom and the freedom and the time spent alone.

There's really nothing, nothing we can do
Love must be forgotten, life can always start up anew.
The models will have children, we'll get a divorce
We'll find some more models, everything must run it's course.

We'll choke on our vomit and that will be the end
We were fated to pretend
To pretend
We're fated to pretend
To pretend

Yeah, yeah, yeah
Yeah, yeah, yeah
Yeah, yeah, yeah
Yeah, yeah, yeah

Why 2009 blows.

So, generally, I try to keep my online self a pretty upbeat person. I don't think the web is necessarily where I would like to air all my grievances. But sometimes, like now, when things build up-- and all the people that you usually turn to are probably sick and tired of hearing from you, I believe there is no other choice than to go where everyone can see (but no one probably cares to see) everything.

Tonight-- December 5, 2009, my car's (well, technically my uncle's car, since my piece of shit GM caught on fire in like Feb or March) brake lines busted while in the neighborhood of East Liberty of Pittsburgh. If you aren't familiar, google it-- I dare you. So, not only did my brakes go out-- but they are so bad that I'm going to have to be towed--LESS THAN A MILE to a garage to get them fixed. Awesome.

Now, granted, if this was the worst thing to happen to me all year, I would be like, "You know, this sucks... but shit happens..." BUT it's not. In fact, as my friend, Julie put it, "At least it's not the worst thing that's happened to you."

No, it's not. The year started awesomely enough. On January 1 last year- the year I was actually 22, and was old enough to be CRAZY for New Years, I was sick. I sat on a couch and watched the ball drop-- or maybe even went to bed early-- who knows...

And then, in February, I was worried about the economy-- so I took the GRE and the GMAT- and then only applied to like one or two grad schools-- that I didn't even go or really even finish applying... Also in February, I got into a huge argument with my Mom and told her I didn't want her to come to my graduation. I then gave her the silent treatment-- not calling or answering the phone. Ignoring the letters she wrote. You know-- generally being a bitch.

So, no surprize that in March she died w/ complication from pneumonia. FML.

My dad didn't take it very well. Instead of being there for him, I locked myself in a house and just felt sorry for myself for a while... Which was awesome, b/c in October, only six months after moving to Pittsburgh, and seeing him once between the two dates,, he died in a house fire....

With two huge tragic events, you would think that all of these little things wouldn't matter--- but they do... and it sucks. My Pontiac caught on fire in March.... My college roommate and I stopped speaking in April... I graduated and left the only town that's ever felt like home in May... I was rear ended in my uncle's car later in October... My fish died the first week in December... My family hates that I'm in Pittsburgh-- and aren't afraid to let me know it...

And the thing is, I know I'm really lucky. I have wonderful friends who are amazing. I have a wonderful job with wonderful people that I really enjoy. I have a family, that, while doesn't always agree with my decisions, are always willing to help in their special ways...

But I can't help but feel overwhelmed... 2009 has been a horrible year... and I can't wait until it's finally over....


On a side note-- does anyone know of any good garages/towing services in Pittsburgh?