Last night I went to my first bike party. Also spent the most time on a bike since I was one of those accursed freshmen in high school without a license. The bike party itself was fun, but I am currently finding the day after more amusing.

1)The hangover. I am a lightweight, so I spent this morning sitting on the couch with my dog, watching National Geographic and eating toast. But the more un-delightful day-after effect of the bike party is that my crotch is broken. I should have worn like 10 pairs of underwear and 3 maxi pads to this thing. Next time I will know to protect the jewels. Or whatever the vagina-equivalent is. My current crippled state begs the question, people do this professionally? My sympathies.

2)My parents’ commentary. They drove me to the starting location, and this morning they shared with me their thoughts on the gathered crowd.

Mom: “There was this really hoodie-looking guy.”

Hoodie-looking? Not from da hood or a hoodlum. Hoodie-looking.

Dad: “They looked like a bunch of gang-bangers. All they were missing were some teardrop tattoos to show how many people they had killed. Killed by running over them with their bikes and jumping up and down on them.”

So this is how the older generations sees us youths…

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