intimacy therapy

Iapos;ve set up shop in this covered little bike storage area beneath the patio that connects Boatman hall with Strong hall.

Two of the walls are these interlaced bricks, where every other brick is missing, so yo can sorta see out into the world, but because itapos;s dark in the storage area, itapos;s hard for people out in the light to see in.

So people walk past my "shop" all day, and hang out above me playing guitar and stuff, while I work away at my creation.

Iapos;m also pretty sure what Iapos;m doing is against some school policy. If we canapos;t have lighters, candles, or various other flames, I wonder if itapos;s okay that I have WD-40 and along with a can of super flammable carb cleaner.

I also wonder how Iapos;ll handle the stage where I start having to use oil and gasoline. When I reach that point, Iapos;ll probably leave my dungeon-esque workshop and move the bike out into the overflow parking lot.

So far I have done the following:

Cleaned the bike with a rag and hot water.
Gas Tank
Took off the gas tank.
Flushed out the gas tank with lots of water.
Put some rocks in the tank, and shook it up a lot to break up rust in the tank.
Flushed out the gas tank with lots of water.
Filled the gas tank with coca cola hoping the phosphoric acid would eat away at some of the rust.
Waited 24 hours.
Flushed the tank with lots of water.
Sprayed WD-40 and carb cleaner into the tank to try to clean it out.
Shoved a rag into the tank and tried to clean it.
Flushed the tank with lots of water.
Dried the tank extensively.

Front Wheel
Put the tire and tube back on the front wheel.
Re-attached the front wheel to the front of the bike.
Found that it didnapos;t fit right.
Took it off.
Found a really random washer that fit perfectly.
Put it back together and tightened.
The bike now has a flat and rotted front wheel, but it does wonders to improve moral and aesthetics.

Cables
The throttle cable is locked up.
I took apart the throttle, which was difficult due to an idiotic design flaw.
I found that the throttle cable could come out of the throttle thanks to a clever little plastic piece that unscrews by hand. This was a brilliant invention that would have saved me billions of manhours on my Kawasaki. Whatever pissed-off-ed-ness I had towards Honda vanished the second I realized that I could take the throttle cable out.

So I pulled the cable out of the throttle.

And then, with a prayer, I pulled the cable through the frame... And it came out the other end

So then I tried running lots and lots of WD-40 down the cable, in hopes that it would free it up. Nothing ever came out the other end.

I then decided it would be best to go get dinner. My timing was perfect.

After dinner, I shall work on homework.

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Nothing could possibly be more fun and enjoyable than working on this motorbike (The word scooter sounds so gay... And yes, gay is an appropriate word here, because scooters can be, well, gay.)

If I ever do get it running, Iapos;ll paint it bright red or some other obnoxious colour.

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Well time to go have dinner with my amazingsauce girlfriend.

Peace.
intimacy therapy.