Definitely Not Bored

My first salsa class that I took ended last Thursday. The instructor has been bugging everyone to do this competition thing he came up with: basically everyone in the class goes to a party at the studio and performs and wins some coupons. I was uninterested, on account of how well my last performance went. At the end of class this one girl asked if I would be her partner for the competition...something about her partner bailing on her. I immediately said yes, because I will probably always say yes to a girl for that, no matter how dumb an idea.

So me and salsa girl went to Century Ballroom that night to practice. Actually first I hitched a ride with her to her place to get her phone and get some pizza with her and her roomate, which was exciting because, having no idea where I was, I was basically lost with two strangers. Then we went to Century Ballroom. That night I was actually supposed to meet up with some girl from cragslist; she had written some post about having a crazy life and needing someone to talk to over drinks or whatever. It was probably in the platonic I-just-want-to-use-you-section of the personals. Whatever the case, she was totally unresponsive and I was surprised when she actually called me about our tentative plans that night. Her phone was apparently dying. Through the static I told her that something came up and I couldn't make it, and she said she wasn't interested in hanging out at all. Penitent, I hung up my awesome brick phone and tried to focus on practicing with salsa girl. Later that night, I wrote an email to standoffish-craigslist-girl, apologizing and explaining my last minute contest entry and suggesting that she try salsa dancing if she wanted to meet people.

The next day, standoffish-craigslist-girl sent me a bitchy, flippant, response requesting that I never email her again. Crestfallen, I agonized for hours over my terrible habit of double booking myself and standing people up. After all, I did stand her up and however innocent I thought it was at the time, I was at fault. I tried to think about something else, literally, for like two or three hours, but that was difficult because the only other thing I had to concentrate on was my work, with was agonizing in its own way. Finally, I told myself that standoffish-craigslist-girl didn't need to be such a bitch about the whole thing, and felt a little anger. And now it doesn't bother me.

That night (Friday night), I practiced with salsa girl one more time at my apartment, and then we went out for a quick bite to eat before she had to go work the door for the salsa party at which we'd be performing. I found what I thought was a quick, cheap italian place online, and then we walked to it and discovered it was one of those fancy places with wine glasses on the table and amazing food that you would take someone on a first date.

Then we danced that night, and we won the competition. Our routine was short and easy, but I still had trouble because I was so nervous. In fact, the closer we got to the end of it the more nervous I got, and some part of my mind began screaming "haven't screwed up yet! almost at the end and haven't screwed up yet! its gonna happen...." Fortunately it didn't happen. Then I spent the rest of the party dancing. Salsa-girl had brought her friend to tape us, and I taught her a little salsa and bachatta. Then I missed my chance to dance with this one cute girl because I was on my way to the bar. Then I danced with a bunch of beginners. Then I was chilling on the couch, because I was super exhausted, and some guy came in right before the party was over and talked about Magic the card game with me. A lot. I've played the game about once in my life. Then me, magic guy, salsa girl, her friend with the camera, and the dance instructor all when out to some wine tasting bar.

I've spent the past two months drinking wine alone in my apartment to acquire a taste for drink, so I had no problem with the choice of venue. I ordered a pinot noir rose, which to my surprise tasted really good. Not just tasted good for wine, but actually tasted good. Like, I enjoyed drinking it. I am concered that, with my luck, pink wine is probably a girly drink, but I'll tackle that problem later. Then we ordered some kind of fancy shrimp dish, which I realized much too late that I was allergic too. I spent the next...well pretty much the rest of the night aggressively sipping water, trying to will my lungs to not shut down completely, while I debated whether I could make it just sitting there, or would have to make it two blocks back to the mildly effective 0ver-the-counter inhaler in my medicine cabinet, or just go to the emergency room. I managed to sit there and tough it out, and by "last glass" I was actually feeling ok.

Then salsa girl invited me out the next night, Saturday, to celebrate her birthday, which was not actually Saturday. I danced a lot with her and this other girl from class, and accidentally looked clingy because I couldn't find any other girls to dance with. Then she made fun of me and asked if I was going to dance with anyone else, so I went looking for someone else to dance with and ended up on the other side of the room for a few songs, accidentally making her think she hurt my feelings. I really have a way with girls. Then we went to a bar next door and I told her stories about the girls I went dancing with in Philly. Nicole and Cassie...not Kristal. Then I told her how my last ex girlfriend bought me an ipod and then dumped me because I didn't like her dog enough. Then I told her about the night I learned the hard way that Captain and Pineapple was a girly drink. And then I told her about the flying. Which is odd...I try not to mention the flying. With the sportbike, and the climbing, and the dancing, and the flying, and all the other stuff on my list I think it would be a little too easy to give off the impression that I'm trying to hard. Which I probably did. But, whatever. Quarter life crisis.

Then we danced some more, and she drove me home, and I invited her up. We did a shot and hung out for hours talking and watching classic videos before she elected to go home. I always thought it was like a social...thing that if a girl comes back to your place after a night of drinking that she wants to hook up. I'm starting to think that I'm the only one who really pays any attention to these. I mean, does anyone other than me actually follow the divide-by-two-add-seven rule? I'm starting to think no. And even I sort of bent it for the one girl I chased after. Welllll she was ninteen and a half. Technically I was safe by a fraction. But I digress.

I woke up sunday morning without a hangover, gladly, and immediately started preparing for my flight lesson that day. Then I showed up at my flight lesson, late, because I didn't realize that my instructor works on the airfield and that him saying "I get off work at 4:30" meant we're starting at 4:30. I got there around 5pm. Then I told him I didn't get all 11 checklists memorized like he asked me to, because there are like hundred things on those checklists and it took me all week to get through one and a half of them, which annoyed him even more.

Then we flew, which was terrifying because he had me do all of the initial radio calls to ground control and the tower. His teaching method involves being incredibly fast paced, so for just over and hour I was overcome with airspeeds and headings and bank angles and pitch attitudes and not gripping the stick so tightly and trimming often by not too often but still often enough for him to stop yelling at me and looking outside instead of chasing the instruments and stalling without losing too much attitude and then all of a sudden it was night and we were landing and I was barely capable of making a radio call. I was so fried that "Boeing tower, cessna blah blah blah over somewhere for full stop have information romeo" was some kind of mind teaser. Shortly before, or after, touching down my instructor mentioned that I would be doing the landing next time--just in case I felt any relief from being on the ground again, which I wouldn't have anyway, because our airport has more than a single runway and taxiway and I get completely lost on the ground, and I have enough trouble moving the plane on the ground when I do know where I'm going. Imagine if the steering wheel of your car was connected to the wheels via a rubber band (literally) and you'll have an idea what I go through.

I fumbled through some more checklists and we were done. According to the plane's clock, the engine was running for slightly under and hour, yet the flight felt like it took all day. Which it did, somehow, because I got home around ten. By the time I was back in my apartment I was completely drained, but set to work memorizing another checklist. As of right now I have 3 out of 11 memorized.

Then today I went to work and took an extra long lunch break to become a member of a credit union, so I can get pre approved for a loan for a car. Public transit to the flight school sucks (actually it kind of sucks in general) and renting a zip car to get down there runs me about $60 a lesson (and makes everyone ask why I don't own a car, to which I reply with my dumb story about trying to live off of public transportation, and something about having a motorcycle). Of course, signing up for a bank account nowadays involves forking over all kinds of sensitive information, a process that can be excrutiatingly painful to a guy so paranoid he uses a questionably legal false alias for routine purchases online. I suffered through it, though, and they pre-approved me for over twice what I needed: enough to buy about half an Aston Martin. I think my flight instructor is out of town this weekend, so I'm hoping I will have time to go buy a car.

My next hobby is going to be figuring out how to reduce stress.