Some of the OG's on here know of the really great luck that I've had over the past 5 years or so... so in order to keep everyone updated (and so that I can vent), allow me to recap the past few weeks. I got my head back for the CRX, so it's very very near completion. I've been keeping it at my parent's house on its tralier, so last weekend I went home and brought it back to my new house and parked it in my garage. The same day I did that, my roommate let me know that a girl was going to be staying with him for a bit. No big deal, she's pretty hot. So Monday I get home from work, and the garage door is sitting wide open, and no cars are in the driveway. I noticed the passenger door to the CRX was open, and the door that goes from the garage into the house was open as well. "That's weird" I thought to myself...so I go to investigate and notice that my P28 and Hondata box are both missing from the front seat of the CRX. I was pretty pissed off, so I called my roommate at work. I asked him if there was any reason why the garage door was wide fucking open and shit was missing out of my CRX. He responded "Well, Angie went to get a copy of the key made for the house, so she might have went out the garage door...she's going to be right back though." I asked him what time she did that, and his response was "Well, she got the key from me at lunch, so she shouldn't be that long". I said 'Clarence, it's fucking 6:30pm, where the fuck did she go to get the key made, fucking Alaska?? And why the fuck isn't she back yet?" She got back home around 8:45pm, walked in and saw that I looked pissed off and asked why, and I said 'If I were you, I'd avoid me like the fucking plague.' grr. So Tuesday rolls around. I decide that I'm going to drop my bike off at the dealership to get the 6,000 mile service done, since I've got 100% free maintenance. I left work early and got there about 4:30 (they close at 7). At 7:15, I still haven't got my bike back, but they're still telling me 'Oh, it'll just be a few more minutes.' I finally get it back a little bit later, put it in my truck, and drive home. When I get home I go to unload it out of my truck, and notice that the front brake lever is really really spongy, so I put it back in the truck and on my lunch break the next day I take it back to the dealership. They re-bleed the front brakes and tell me I'm good to go. Cool, it's wednesday and the weather is beautiful, so I decide to take it down some back roads that night. I come into a 45mph left hand sweeper at about 140mph, and reach for the front brake to scrub off some speed....and NOTHING is there. Zero front brake. I downshift 2 gears and push as hard as I can, scrape my knee around the curve without any pucks on (I don't ever try to go so low as to scrape my knee on the street, since I usually ride in jeans on the street and don't have any knee protection), and make it out of the curve ok. I pull over and notice that there's brake fluid all over the master cylinder. Great. So I putter the 80 or so miles home doing 45mph and load the bike in my truck again. Thursday I take it to the dealership AGAIN, and being sure not to be an asshole and doing my best to keep my composure, I explain to the service manager what happened, and they take the bike in the back for a third time; this time, however, the service manager is the one working on the bike. They flush the fluids AGAIN and give me back the bike. I let the bike sit overnite again, and come Friday morning guess what - no brakes AGAIN. So once more, on my lunchbreak I drive the 30 miles across Houston to the dealership and go through the same thing again. Friday night I go to unload the bike, and guess what happened...so Saturday morning I took the bike BACK to the dealership, unloaded it from my truck and walked it INTO the service department's shop, handed my keys to the manager, and told him not to give the fucking bike back to me until it's fixed. Insert here some bullshit going on at work that I'm not going to get into, pretty much lasting the entire span of last week (and now this week). Rewind back to Thursday. I get home from work, and dumb bitch (aka Angie, my roommate's friend) is at the house. She's got a miniature doberman (that pretty much looks like a brown chihuahua) that irritates the shit out of me. I hop into the shower, and when I get out a few minutes later my door is cracked. 'That's weird' I think to myself, I must not have shut it all the way, and a draft or something pushed it open the rest of my way. When I walk into my room, I immediately notice the giant puddle of piss covering my entertainment center - 2 of the speakers, my dvd player, my receiver/amp, and the tv stand, along with a good bit of the carpet. I walk downstairs, and tell Angie 'Look, I'm having a really shitty week, so don't take this personally, but if that little bitch pisses in my room ever again, I'm going to make fajitas out of his worthless ass.' So Saturday, the band was supposed to do some more tracking on the album we're recording. The guitar player was back home, so he was only a few miles away from the studio, but the singer and I were still in Houston. The plan was for Jared to get to the studio around 10 to start working on guitar tracks, meanwhile I would pick up the singer and we'd be at the studio by 11 (it's about an hour and a half drive from Houston). I drop the bike off at the dealership first thing in the morning, and call Meegz's cell phone. It goes straight to voicemail. I leave a message saying 'we gotta leave in like 20 minutes, call me back'. 20 minutes later I call him again, and his phone still goes straight to voicemail. I call the guitar player, and he wants me to wait around a bit for him. So 2pm rolls around and I still can't get ahold of him, so I decide to go ahead to the studio by myself. I get caught in traffic, and make it to the studio about 4:00pm. Jared and the engineer had failed to let me know ahead of time they would only be tracking until 4:30 or so, and then they had to leave; so I drove all the fucking way back and wasted my entire Saturday for absolutely nothing. So I get back to Houston later that evening, and a friend of mine that I ride bikes with calls me up. He's got to go to Tyler (about an hour north of Lufkin, 3 hours or so from Houston) to pick up a lifted Nissan 4x4 mudding truck, and offers to pay for my gas and food if I take my truck and trailer to pick it up. That's cool, maybe getting out of town will put me in a better mood. So I pull the trailer out of my garage and go to push the CRX off of it, and notice that all 4 tires are flat. Great. So I call up everyone I know that lives in the area to get a hand pushing it off the trailer, and by some strange stretch of luck EVERYONE is busy. I call my buddy back, and he comes over after he gets off work an hour and a half later, and we get the car off the trailer. I throw the tiedown straps in the back of my truck and we head out that evening, with our intentions being to wake up early the next morning, drive the truck on the trailer, and be home by noon on Sunday. We get to Tyler without any trouble, and wake up at 8am the next morning. We get out to where the truck is only to find that the battery is completely dead, and the truck won't turn over. We rig up some wire to use as jumper cables, and find that the starter is improperly shimmed and isn't contacting the flywheel. Great. So we decide to push it onto the trailer, but with 38" Super Swampers, it's far from easy to push. It was at this point in time we also discovered that the truck didn't stay put when it was in park and/or in gear, and the brakes on it didn't work. Lovely. So after about 3 hours of fucking with it, we FINALLY get the truck on the trailer, only to discover that I didn't grab my heavy-duty tie straps, I accidentally grabbed 4 lightweight motorcycle tiedowns. Lovely. So I hop into my truck to gently drive to wal-mart to buy some new tie straps, and my knee his my brake controller. No big deal, until I realize that it shorted out and the trailer brakes now stay engaged all the time. So I disconnect it, and we start the 20+ mile drive with 400lb tiedowns holding a 5,000lb truck on a 3000lb trailer with no trailer brakes, being towed by a 4500lb or so midsized truck. We finally make it to wal-mart after almost having SEVERAL disasters with the lack of trailer brakes, and I drop $115 on tiedowns and a new brake controller. I notice that the new brake controller doesn't have any installation instructions or wiring, but don't think anything of it at is uses the same wiring as my old controller. I plug it in and hear FZZZZZZT, and smoke pours out of the brake controller. Great, someone returned it and Wal-Mart, in their infinite wisdom, throws it right back on the shelf. I take it inside and exchange it for a new one (which plugs in and works properly), properly secure the truck on the trailer, and head on. A few hundred miles later, and I happen to glance in my rearview mirror to notice something black and rubbery detaching itsself from the trailer. I pull over to find that the tread on one of the trailer tires decided it wanted to go chill on the side of the road. By some stretch of good luck, there are a couplea tires in the back of the truck we picked up that, while being the completely wrong size tire (and one of them is a 14" wheel), they're the right bolt pattern. We put the 15" wheel in the place of the blown out tire (miraculously my truck used the same size lug nuts as the trailer, so my lug wrench worked) and head on down the road. literally 2 exits later I hear a loud pop, and the trailer goes sideways. After regaining control of the truck, I pull to the side of the road to find that ANOTHER trailer tire has blown out. We go to change the tire and realize that not only does the 14" wheel NOT fit over the hub, that the brakes on that particular hub aren't working - when I spun the hub, I could hear miscellaneous brake parts flopping around loosely. I figure fuck it, we're only about 20 miles from home, so I put the 14" wheel on backwards (so it's now sticking about 6" outside of the trailer), unplug the brake controller so that it doesn't lock up the fucked up hub, and limp home on the feeder road of the interstate at 40mph. After getting home and leaving the trailer at my buddy's house with the truck still on it, I realize that I've grabbed the wrong key ring, and while I can get into my house, the key that unlocks my bedroom door is on my other key ring, locked inside my bedroom. After storming around and screaming and cussing for a few minutes, I kick my bedroom door in, grab a towel, shower, mix myself a vodka and vodka, chug it, and pass out at arond 8:30. My roommates - and Angie - got home around 1:30am from the St. Patty's Day party they were at, and decide that it would be funny to all run into my room screaming and jump on me while I was asleep. It was all I could do to keep from punching her. Stupid bitch. So here I am at work, pissed off and frustrated as hell. The first person that says 'Looks like SOMEONE'S got a case of the MONDAYS!' is going to get hit in the face with my 1/2" breaker bar. To make it better, it took me about 45 minutes to type all this. When I typed it and hit 'post', my computer apparently had refreshed itsself and logged me out. So I had to re-type this entire fucking rant. Bah mother fucking humbug.