rule 1: if you don't know how to ride a bike...don't ride a bike.
i'm so tired of having to slam on my brakes, swerve wildly to avoid head-on collisions and play chicken with the pink-beach-cruiser-piloting, cellphone-talking, wobbly-wheeling, wrong-side-of-the-road-riding, oblivious-to-anything-two-inches-beyond-her-book-basket sorority girl. i don't understand this phenomena. the moment the bike lock comes off, the cellphone comes out. sometimes i just stop and stare in amazement as they shoulder-lock the phone to the side of their head as they struggle mightily to crank out those first ten rotations, wobbling crazily across the sidewalk, cutting off everyone in their path and still maintaining a conversation about that 'omigod sucha cute little butt did you see him at the invite i was like dying he smiled at me can you believe it!?' popped-pink-polo-shirt-collar-sporting, black-beach-cruiser-piloting, beer-gut-hanging, tribal-armband-tattoo-flexing, gelled-hair-spiking, sexual-conquest-bragging fraternity guy.
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