Bertha, The Petulant Purple Pig

I got the garbage out in plenty of time. Yay me. Then I proceeded to sleep half the day away. It's been another beauty.

Guys might want to plug your ears here. I have not had my period yet. I'm a month late. There is no chance of pregnancy or anything. All I can think of is menopause. I am 45 and a half. I've been peri-menopausal for years. I've had PMS symptoms on time, but no flow. For me to sleep half the day, it would appear I'm getting the dreaded symptoms again, already. Ugh.

So Hubby woke me up with a fresh Timmys coffee. He has gone off running errands. One of those errands is making arrangements to bring the bike home. Yay! I'm sure the neighbours all think we sold it, hehe. No such luck suckers. Sitting outside on the weekend watching the herds of bikes thundering by was annoying. In a way I felt happy for all of those who were able to be out enjoying the wind and our best in the province local riding roads, but at the same time I kept feeling like that should be me dammit. There seemed to be more than usual husband and wife riders. I do not want to ride myself. I have no desire to ride a bike. I totally enjoy kicking back in the backseat, trusting my husband with my life. I take pictures back there. I light cigarettes for the two of us, sometimes for other riders too. But mainly I just relax, enjoy the ride and the scenery. We've toyed with the idea of me learning to ride. First off the desire really isn't there for me. Secondly every single bike I've sat on is too big. Even other womens bikes. I don't think I have the strength required. For sure I could never pick a bike up from the ground. I believe you have to be able to do that. Just about everyone drops their bike at some time, believe it or not. Shit happens. But the main thing is, I can't touch the ground, my legs are too short. I'm sure there is a bike out there which is low enough for me, but as I said the desire isn't there, so who cares. I'm happy being a passenger. And that's only with my Hubby. I wouldn't get on a bike with just anyone driving. He is a good rider, he knows what he's doing, he knows when to take it easy, he's smooth, he knows how to ride. That's not true of everyone. So yeah, the neighbours should be thrilled to see, or rather hear it when it comes home, hehe.

On the other side of the nextdoor tards who do all the complaining lives a guy with a Harley also. Now it seems he has his son living there too, who also rides a Harley. So there's 2 of them. Not only do they ride, they wear colours. You don't see these guys without their patches on. They belong to the "Geriatric Club". So they always have bikes out in the driveway, plenty of noise going on and plenty of geriatric guys in "colours". Do these tards complain? NO. They only complain when Hubby has to reset the timing on our VINTAGE bike. He tends to do it inside the garage, maybe that's the problem. Perhaps he should do it out in the driveway. The noise seems louder inside I guess, it echoes. It is because it's an old bike that he has to do these things, like setting the timing. We LIKE old bikes, excuse us. New bikes are much quieter. But you know what? Most guys with new bikes change the pipes to make them louder! Go figure. Personally the sound of a Harley rumbling, whether idling or shifting as it roars off in the distance, is MUSIC to my ears. It's just like that, it makes me feel warm and fuzzy. So fuck the neighbours and their petty little attitudes. I should mention here, that on the other side of us, the ones who whine about dog shit, also have 2 Harleys. So out of 4 houses in a row, these tards beside us are the only ones who don't ride and we are the only ones they complain about. Thank the powers that be, their house is up for sale. And anything we can do to help them sell, we're on it. I think they only pick on us because we're new. The geriatric biker has been here for 20 years. His scoot is markedly quieter than ours. It has an Evolution engine so he doesn't need to fuck around with it, setting the timing etc. He just pushes a button and goes. And he goes out of his way to be friendly with the fuckheads. That's the kind of guy he is. We really tried to be good neighbours when we moved in. We tried our damnest to get along with these fuckers. They had it in their heads from the get-go that they weren't going to get along with us. I can't explain it. I don't know why anyone would want that. But I can tell you the very first, and pretty much only, conversation we had with them over the back fence, was them telling us how horrible the previous owners were. So we made every effort to not be horrible neighbours. It made no difference. We in fact went out of our way to please them when we put in a rock garden which abutted their fence. Long story short, it made no difference. They are freaks. Nothing we can do about that. Except pray for them to move.

So I went outside with my coffee and my guys, and it's nice but windy. I believe we're expecting some rain. Which is good because that's what will make everything just flourish, like the trees and whatnot. I learned this past winter to deeply appreciate every single moment of nice warm weather. I may look like Rudolph, but I feel great. My body's been sucking up those rays like there's no tomorrow.

Well, I'm going back out while I have the chance. I think I'll putter in the garage, collecting yard sale crap and making room for "Bertha". Lo the Purple Pig people...