Fast Rn'B

This is Sherman, he's my bike. He's an "All-Pro" (Pennies) by Huffy with a Shimano 3-speed hub. He's my buddy, although I think I need a new bike with a bigger frame. Or maybe I just want an excuse for a new bike.
I bought Sherman from some kind of shady dudes on 24th and Arlington, although about everybody around Arlington is kinda shady. His hub was slipping horribly, so on a recommendation from a coworker, I took him to D&G bikeworks in Nora. They fixed the dérailleur-- a simple adjustment--tightened the brakes, and gave me new brake pads. They didn't charge a penny for the work.
When a shitbag alchoholic gave me a set of aluminum drop bars, I needed a new stem, D&G sold me a used one for $5. But, they don't sell used bikes.
So, I decided to check the BikeWorks in Broad Ripple. I ask one employee about how they size people for bikes, because the internet will just give you a lot of contradictory opinions on the subject. He looks at me and says "you'd be about 56 or 57 inches." Ignoring that my question was not quite about how big of a bike I needed.
They had two old road bikes that were abandoned at the repair shop. Not worth the cost of repairs, but decent frames. While I'm looking at them, the owner walks by and says to the mechanic "hard to believe those things would be an upgrade, isn't it?"
Sherman isn't the best bike by a long shot, but he's still MY bike, and I still can't believe that a shop owner would just up and insult a customer out in the open like that. Damned spandexers.
* * *

My roommate's sister is going to beauty school, and her and a friend needed to do a men's haircut. So I went. Considering my last haircut was me standing in front of the bathroom mirror, it couldn't turn out too bad.
While I was receiving a scalp treatment (or was it a deep condition? I'm supposed to be doing these things? I thought I was doing pretty good conditioning in the first place), somebody made a joke about me getting a mohawk. When I sat down in front of the mirror, Sister's Friend commented, "actually, you'd look pretty cute with a faux-hawk." And now I have one, because. . . why not? I never thought I'd actually have a hairdo, but even Roommate, who was ready to make fun of me admits that I don't look like douche-bag.
* * *

I have a recurrant joke about writing a letter to my nephew, for when he turns fifteen or so. The idea is to tell him things I learned the hard way, such as:

-- if you're dating somebody, and they have a fucked-up family, don't assume you're dating the only sane member.
-- if you're at work, and you don't have something to do, find something to do. Anything the boss finds for you to do will be much less pleasant.
-- if a person will cheat with you, they will probably cheat on you as well.

and-- most recently:

-- if you want people to think you're seriously "with it," make up your own slang. It will almost always work, but only if you can define everything you're saying.

And I am serious. Which is also why I'm going to tell you I saw the gonest femme in Broad Ripple today. Where "femme" means an attractive female, but "gone" means that she was so unimpeachably cool that I'm actually kind of intimidated to talk to her.
For the record, femme does not mean pretty per se, it also indicates a person who looks like they have the right attitude--inasmuch as one can check out a great personality across the room.
Although, in my case, it tends to be tacked on to a majority of skinny brunettes with short haircuts. Because I'm not at all shallow and totally don't have a type.