March Madness

Well, today is St. Patrick's Day: Erin Go Bragh! I am celebrating by cleaning the bathroom (why the hell I started this, I will never know!), which is turning out to be a real task, as the walls are filthy with years of soot from the deadly gas furnace (see previous post). It is a beautiful Spring day, bright and sunny and about 20 degrees (68F)outside. I have the windows open, and a gentle breeze is blowing. The only problem in my life today (other than that I am totally broke until Thursday) is that, apparently, Yin is about to come into heat, so Yang is beginning to act like he wants to mate her. I fired off a quick SMS to Kyle, telling him that the time to fix the cats is NOW: I do not need kittens. I hope I hear back from him soon, because I don't know where I will scrape up the money, otherwise: my next check is already spent on bills.

On Saturday, Travis and Fernando and I went down to watch the annual St. Patrick's day parade (see above photos). We walked there in the drizzling rain (suitably Irish weather)and stopped in a nearby pub for Guinness (Travis had lager, instead)and watched the parade go by for awhile. Another place was serving meat pies and jambalaya, so we ate and hung out for awhile, before walking back to State St. I had to go to work at 4, so I went home, showered, changed into riding clothes and headed for work.

The whole parade route, down Perkins rd., was a total mess. There were beads and cups and trinkets strewn everywhere! It was as messy as any Mardis Gras parade I have ever seen, even in New Orleans. I was appalled. I was more appalled after I passed Acadian Thruway and a pickup truck with two little shits in it passed me, screaming obscenities, like: "Get off the fucking road, motherfucker! Fuck you, faggot!" Yeah, I know: I should be used to it by now.

But I hadn't gone half a mile when a second pickup, full of rednecks passed by, and the one on the passenger side leaned out the window to shout expletives at me and threw a fucking beer bottle at me! Of course, he missed by twenty feet or so; the bottle landed in the grass on the side of the road. They had a keg in the back of the pickup. I memorised the license plate and wrote it down when I got to work, but then it got misplaced. No matter: the cops wouldn't have done anything, anyway.

So, that kind of sucked. One of these days, I am going to catch up to one of these fuckers and beat the living shit out of him. I am so tired of this crap! Here I am, minding my own fucking business, riding to work in the fucking rain and not one but two pickup trucks full of inbred, trailer-trash cretins have to fuck with me, within the space of one half-mile on one of the busiest streets in the city!

I have said it before, and I'll say it again: Baton Rouge is in no way bicycle friendly.

Peace. Out.