the constant threat of a swift and effective beatdown

So I'm riding home last night in the rain up the traffic-packed Lincoln Avenue. A jackass in a sedan slowly slowly slowly doesn't look in his rearview and inches into the right lane (no signal), forcing me to the curb with him. I brake, let him inch his five feet to the curb, then pull around him and scold him in a menacing tone "Watch where you're driving". The pussy didn't acknowledge, just stared ahead, hands gripping the 10 and 2 position on the wheel. I don't believe in swearing at people in public. I think it's rude. Besides, at 6'3" 195 lbs., I can pretty much get my point across with direct eye contact and tone of voice. It's like scolding a dog. These are the benefits of being a large boy... the constant threat of a swift and effective beatdown.

I kept feeling the bike's back end shimmy with each crank of the pedal. The bike didn't feel solid. This was dangerous. I pulled over to the curb to examine and then walked it to On The Route. The mechanic there noticed that the welding on the swing arm had busted off and that a fine crack in the metal was forming. This was fucked up! Here's my options:

1. Trek may accept this as a warranty repair due to human error in the welding and replace the swing arm, or at the very least repair it.

2. Eric may sell me a Klein frame which he would strip my Trek down and re-build the Klein. I would effectively get a better bike with the same components.

Either way, I am out at least $100. This bike has been costly this year.

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E came over last night pretty much hell bent on getting answers about what I want from her. I'm so bad at this kind of confrontation. By night's end we ended up talking about the troubles with my head and Shannon, and she stayed overnight on the couch. A friendly solution I suppose. Next: deciding how to approach and find some kind of resolve with the Shannon issue because it is still bothering me. Fucking still.

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Today I'm listening to Stereolab: Sound Dust.

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I spoke to Eric last night. The trip to Colorado is shaping up to fucking rawk. He's buying an RV and we're hitting the fucking road with his dog Sagan and exploring parts of Colorado high and low. This is exactly what I need: a straight up 4 day road trip into the mountains with mind altering substances, a bike, an RV, a trusty sidekick and athletic as fuck dog, single snapshot camera, and the road ahead. I really hope that we run across UFO... I'd like to fuck a space girl.