Well, I’ve got rolling down


On Saturday night/technically the wee hours of Sunday Morning, Upstairs-Clapton told me he’d teach me how to skateboard on Monday.  Then, Monday came.  I was too busy doing important stuff — i.e. sitting in a cafe in the Mission, under the auspices of writing cover letters, but really just carrying on like, 5 gchat conversations at once — so I wasn’t home for most of the day.  By the time I got back to my apartment, it was somewhere in the vicinity of 6pm.  Luckily for me, centuries earlier, Benjamin Franklin came up with this concept called Day Light Savings time, so it was still light enough outside to go skateboarding.  But, after suuuuch an exhausting day, did I even want to go skateboarding?  I was thinking no.  Was Upstairs-Clapton even home? I had no idea.  But I did have the idea that a post-nonwork nap was sounding pre-tty enticing.  But then again, if I didn’t go now, would I ever want to go? With these dueling thoughts racing through my mind like a couple of Mario Kart characters, I made a pact with myself.  If I received a sign that Upstairs-Clapton was indeed upstairs, I would go ask him to skateboard.  If not, hellooo, comfy bed — oh, how I have missed you!

Immediately following this pact, I heard a crash above my head, and a hacking cough that sounded like the early stages of tuberculosis. Fine.  I would go confront Upstairs-Clapton for skateboarding lessons.

Throwing on a hoody and some converse — a girl’s gotta look the part, I cautiously crept out of my apartment.  Looking both ways, I stalked up the stairs with the stealth of a ninja.  No, really, I did.  In fact, it wouldn’t be a lie to say that I was pretending I was a ninja.  Why? Okay, let me ask you: what do you have against ninjas that you WOULDN’T pretend to be a ninja while going up a flight of stairs?

I knocked on the door, and waited.  And waited.  And waited some more. Ooohkay, guess he’s not coming, can’t say I didn’t try! Hellloooo comfy bed! Then, the door opened.  A crack.  A furry head, and a furry bare chest wedged itself in between the door and the wall.

“Oh, hey, girl.” Oh wow, of all the annoying things I had remembered about Claption from Saturday,  the tendency to call me “girl” had totally slipped my mind.  I think they call this repression?

“Uh, hey.”  I answered. A long pause followed.  “Sooo, are you ready to go skateboarding?” I think I pumped my fist for extra awkward emphasis.

“Ohh, riiiight.  About that…sorry girl, but my engineer came by today, and we had to lay down some tracks, and now I’m about to go to Berkeley to visit a friend.”

“Youu jerk,” I said in a playful way, but was only about 65% joking.

“I know girl, but work comes first.  Hey, I know…what are you doing tomorrow, girl?”

“I’m actually hanging out with a friend tomorrow. What about Wednesday? I’m not joking, I’m really serious about learning how to skateboard.” I am!

“Oh, Wednesday’s no good, girl, I’m going to Portland for the weekend, and I won’t be back until Sunday.”

Okay, well now I was growing indignant.  I had just marched stalked all the way up an entire flight of stairs (okay, 8 steps) to learn how to skateboard, subjected myself to a conversation with a half-naked hippy neighbor, and now, after all that I wasn’t even going to learn how to skateboard?!

“How about next Monday? We’ll raincheck for next Monday, okay, girl?”

“Eh,” I shrugged.  I was already over this exchange.  Clapton vanished into his apartment for a second, then reappeared with his skateboard.

“Here, you can practice on this while I’m gone.  Learn how to balance and stuff.  Be careful though, don’t break any bones, girl.” He laughed.  Uh, great, thanks for the skateboard? I thought about pushing it back at him, but seeing as how I’m actually really serious about learning how to skateboard, I took it.  But not without a warning.

“Okay, Monday then.  Thanks,” I took the outstretched skateboard, “I’m taking this as collateral.”

The skateboard has been sitting in my room ever since.  Because, like, what? What am I supposed to do with it? We live on top of a hill so steep there are steps built into the sidewalk.  I cant just roll around on our street.  No, I’d have to go to a park.  Where I’ll be laughed at by 10 year-olds as they popped ollys around me just to make me jealous.  No, I’d have to wait for an instructor.

But then today came, and I decided to teach myself on our back patio.  I hit my head on a pipe.  Yeah, you probably shouldn’t try to skateboard underneath pipes.

Also, here’s a random blog: Fuck Yeah! Ryan Gosling. The premise? Ryan Gosling’s your boyfriend and he says “hey girl” a lot.  Like, a lot.

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