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I rode my bike to pick up a check from a client this morning. Went up Mission to Cesar Chavez and then across to 3rd street and up around the Embarcadero to Fisherman’s Wharf, where my client’s office is. Then I rode around Pacific Heights and over to

I guess it’s yesterday now, but I thought I’d check in. I met with someone about some damn computer stuff today at 2pm, so I left a little bit early and took the long way around. I went out Monterey and then cut through some neighborhoods to go

This is the second time I’ve burned my oatmeal by forgetting it was on the stove after being distracted by women online. I propose a new euphemism: «burning my oatmeal» for all forms of neglecting one’s well-being or any other duties because of following The Imperious Urge. As

So today in an attempt to reclaim some of my cycling honor after having given climbed only halfway to Geary Ave from Ocean beach the other day, I rode from my apartment to the Mount Davidson cross. On the map, that’s only about one and a third miles, but

I’m about 50 feet above sea level–if that–and I’ve had to stop and rest for the last 10 minutes. What happened to the days when I climbed mountains on my bike just to say I had? Still, I cannot complain. I used to call in sick

Today someone gave me a Sex and Love Addicts Anonymous pamphlet about sexual anorexia. Is it that obvious? Makes me wonder what those kinds of 12-step folks do for an intervention. Heh heh heh…

I just let my oatmeal burn on the stove because I was too busy chatting online with a pretty woman who I inadvertantly offended. Mmmmm-mm! Well, at least burnt oatmeal tastes better than the foot I just pried out of my mouth.