Last night my one friend asked me out. The premise for getting me alone was going upstairs to meet her friends cat who is partly psychotic and bites people. I have a set of three scratches on my wrist that is probably infected but looks like it was made but a three-inch-tall version of Wolverine, so I don't mind at all. The overall trend is that I'm getting better. I'm way better than I was a few months ago. So thats good.
I took the "just friends" option, since I am uninterested in dating her. It makes me wonder, though: if I wasn't so damn picky, how many girlfriends would I have had? Kind of unfortunate...her friends are pretty cool, and they are the only non-Drexel people I know in Seattle. Idk if I'm going to see them anymore now that she knows I'm not interested. We'll see. The whole finding friends things is still a priority anyway.
This morning I finally let go of Katie. As I watched the guy roll her out of the apartment complex I felt sad and took a picture with my phone. Although I will probably never see her again either way, it feels good to know that she is not getting thrown out or chopped for parts. Bittersweet, really. I haven't fallen in love often, and most of those girls were friends that I never managed to date. They have, however, been on the back of that bike. So, moving on, I guess.
Then I had a flight lesson today. We just did a pattern flight, where we take off and stay in the traffic pattern, taking off and flying back to land and take off again. I actually did worse this time than last time. We had to abandon most of the landings. We kept coming in too high, and I was way behind most of the time. There is way too much going on in the cockpit. Aaaaand we are getting close to my solo. Yikes.
I just asked out this girl that works in the apartment office. Sort of. I mean, I asked if she wanted to see Transformers tonight, and she couldn't tonight, but we made tentative plans for tomorrow. I probably had that retarded look on my face I always get when I ask girls out. I don't know if she is interested or if she just said yes to humor me, but I do know that I can stop worrying about seeming uninterested. I still don't have her number, though. And I'm going to Portland with Luke tomorrow. Basically...I have to hope that we get back in time for me to get to the office and see what showing or whatever.
So.......I don't know whats going to happen next. But it will be interesting.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Bounteous Boring Blog Bit
I woke up today, and for reasons unknown decide to read the blog of one of the girls I was (still am) in love with back East. Not sure why I did that; I knew it would make me sad but I read it anyway. I guess somewhere in the back of my mind I was secretly hoping she had broken up with her boyfriend. She hasn't. In fact, there were pictures of her and her boyfriend.
Then while in the shower I came up with a story idea about a guy (who is a blacksmith) who is in love with some girl with a terminal illness that can only be cured by an expensive serum from an exotic country. The guy goes there, and comes back months later with three vials of the serum (having sold his father's legendary and priceless, named sword to pay for them) and finds out that the girl is engaged to some soldier guy. So blacksmith guy cures her and makes plans to leave. Soldier guy comes to the blacksmith shop to ask if he can buy blacksmith guys cabin up on the mountain, but blacksmith guy had been dreaming of living with the girl there, so he says no, and also tells soldier guy "if you come near me again, I will kill you." Then blacksmith guy proclaims that no one should ever live in that cabin, or on that land, and then goes off to find a witch (I watched Monty Python and the Holy Grail a few nights ago). And after shopping around for a few witches, he eventually finds one to curse the land. That part gets a little fuzzy, because I was done showering at that point. But they may have put a casket with a skeleton inside (I just watched Kill Bill last night) that comes alive if someone tries to sleep on the property. Idk. I think a good ending for this story is that blacksmith guy goes off to ride dragons: but to do that he has to hike far away, and climb the tallest mountains, shedding all fears of heights, to reach where the dragon people live, and then they might not even let him fly anyway. It is kind of ironic: I've been trying to come up with something I could use as a bed time story, and that fits perfectly except for that that it is bitter and depressing and not really much of a story. I suppose I'll keep trying. I need to learn to write stories that are not obvious allegories to my unrequitted affections....
Anyway: after my shower I had a flight lesson today. It was awesome. The clouds were too low for us to fly out to the practice area so all we could do was stay in the traffic pattern. What that means is that we flew in a little rectangle around the airport ten times. Unfortunately I'm still not too good at landing, but I'm not too bad at it either. I think if I was alone in the airplane, and there was no crosswind like there was today, I'd have a 50/50 shot of setting that bird down without breaking anything.
I have continued my investigation into flying myself all the way to Philly. Here is what I know: Boeing Field (BFI) to Philly International (PHL) is 2065.5 nautical miles. That's assuming I could flying straight from one to the other without diverting around airspace and weather and mountains. According to the internet, the fastest plane with a piston engine (not a jet) is the Lancair Columbia 400, which costs about half a million dollars new. It does look sexy though. The Lancair Columbia 400 has a cruising speed of about 230 to 240 knots. At that speed it would take 13 hours to get to Philly. So even a plane I can't afford would still take a whole day to get me back home, and even with the security b.s. flying commercial is a more practical (and far more economical) option. I will probably still fly myself back at some point, but it won't be the jet setting scenario I'd hoped for. In fact, I haven't even bothered looking at jets. The amount of training it would take before I can fly one...well lets just say I probably wouldn't even be living in Seattle by then.
Oh, anyway. Then after my flight lesson some guy in a Porsche tried to race me on Airport Way. Sadly I wasn't in the mood and had to turn left anyway. I was incredibly hungry and stopped at a gas station to buy a hotdog that was not really a hotdog but some kind of sasauge with spicy stuff in it, and also I forgot to get anything to drink. So I tried to eat that on the way home. Then I went to Gwen's boyfriend's graduation party and met a bunch of new people. That was fun. I like meeting new people, and at the same time I'm shy. I'm like a shy extrovert. As if that makes sense. Or I'm just lonely because I live alone. I had a great idea the other day for meeting people. Something about...crap now I can't remember what it was. Whatever, I'll just go to happy hour more often.
Oh. OH. Lets get something clear up here: if you are drinking some kind of fruity drink, like with pineapple, and freaking cranberry, and whatever else she put in it, and you can still taste the rum + vodka + gin in it? Thats a problem. Or its gonna be. You see there is something I've noticed about fruity drinks (besides how damn delicious they are) and that is that the fruit juices and stuff are so potent that you don't actually taste the alcohol. So Friday night I went to a party at Lisa's place. She is one of the girls I play Settler's with. She seems attracted to me, and I to her roomate Rachel. Its my standard one-way-love train (really more like a "like" train, but I digress) only I'm in the middle for once. Anyway, Lisa made an enormous pitcher of something called a Fishbowl. Hmm...a pitcher. That reminds me of my birthday. I seem to have bad luck with pitchers. Anyway, she put a lot of liquor in this thing, and I didn't think anything of it because I'm used to feeling the burn in my drinks. I should have, though, especially when I announced to everyone that I totally wanted a cup cake and left and came back with "Sweet Cream" flavored ice cream from Coldstone (and it was a little chilly out, mind you). But I digress.
Two tall glasses of this fishbowl stuff and then we went inside and I did two doubleshots of vodka right in a row. I may or may not have other stuff to drink. Probably not. Anyway, thats when the warning bells started to go off. Actually they were more like warning waves. Of nausia. I spent the next few hours sipping water and nibbling on chips, trying to restore the balance of my stomach chemistry like some sort of drinking jedi. This time I didn't fail. Perhaps because I didn't have an annoying jackass following me around trying to get me to drink another beer.
The moral of the story is: if you drink a big tall glass of something fruity that tastes strongly of alcohol, that does not equal one drink. And if you are a lightweight like me, skipping dinner (except for some ice cream) and then doing a bunch of shots of vodka when you're drunk...well that is not a good idea either. I don't really know why I'm broadcasting this. Perhaps more for my own sake so I'll remember next time. Also, fishbowls don't taste that great. Malibu...something something's are better. Mai...pina...no thats not it. What was that drink? Bay Breeze!!! Yes. Malibu Bay Breezes are waaaay better. And it takes like 5 to get you buzzed, instead of 1/2. So it is a little easier to pace yourself. Betsy, as well as the open bar at Owen's wedding, made delicious Malibu Bay Breezes.
Ok most of that was incoherent...lets just go ahead and pretend that is a writing style. You know, the obscuration of the juxtaposition of ideas as a metaphor for conciousness while being intoxicated. I'm an awesome writer like that. I can't promise, though, that I will have much to write about in the future. The next few months of my life will be dominated by flying lessons, and in the spare time between trying to meet enough people so that I don't go crazy from loneliness and boredom. I will endeavour to seek out adventure when I can, to recount raucous parties where I wake up pantless in someone's path tub, or harrowing adventures aloft with wings and glory, or random shennanigas in the heart of the Emerald City with people both creepy and interesting, or tales of nearly bringing down the entire ordering system at work, of wining and dining the hottest ladies around and dancing all night. However for the next few weeks, I'm just trying to get out of bed at the same time every morning.
Then while in the shower I came up with a story idea about a guy (who is a blacksmith) who is in love with some girl with a terminal illness that can only be cured by an expensive serum from an exotic country. The guy goes there, and comes back months later with three vials of the serum (having sold his father's legendary and priceless, named sword to pay for them) and finds out that the girl is engaged to some soldier guy. So blacksmith guy cures her and makes plans to leave. Soldier guy comes to the blacksmith shop to ask if he can buy blacksmith guys cabin up on the mountain, but blacksmith guy had been dreaming of living with the girl there, so he says no, and also tells soldier guy "if you come near me again, I will kill you." Then blacksmith guy proclaims that no one should ever live in that cabin, or on that land, and then goes off to find a witch (I watched Monty Python and the Holy Grail a few nights ago). And after shopping around for a few witches, he eventually finds one to curse the land. That part gets a little fuzzy, because I was done showering at that point. But they may have put a casket with a skeleton inside (I just watched Kill Bill last night) that comes alive if someone tries to sleep on the property. Idk. I think a good ending for this story is that blacksmith guy goes off to ride dragons: but to do that he has to hike far away, and climb the tallest mountains, shedding all fears of heights, to reach where the dragon people live, and then they might not even let him fly anyway. It is kind of ironic: I've been trying to come up with something I could use as a bed time story, and that fits perfectly except for that that it is bitter and depressing and not really much of a story. I suppose I'll keep trying. I need to learn to write stories that are not obvious allegories to my unrequitted affections....
Anyway: after my shower I had a flight lesson today. It was awesome. The clouds were too low for us to fly out to the practice area so all we could do was stay in the traffic pattern. What that means is that we flew in a little rectangle around the airport ten times. Unfortunately I'm still not too good at landing, but I'm not too bad at it either. I think if I was alone in the airplane, and there was no crosswind like there was today, I'd have a 50/50 shot of setting that bird down without breaking anything.
I have continued my investigation into flying myself all the way to Philly. Here is what I know: Boeing Field (BFI) to Philly International (PHL) is 2065.5 nautical miles. That's assuming I could flying straight from one to the other without diverting around airspace and weather and mountains. According to the internet, the fastest plane with a piston engine (not a jet) is the Lancair Columbia 400, which costs about half a million dollars new. It does look sexy though. The Lancair Columbia 400 has a cruising speed of about 230 to 240 knots. At that speed it would take 13 hours to get to Philly. So even a plane I can't afford would still take a whole day to get me back home, and even with the security b.s. flying commercial is a more practical (and far more economical) option. I will probably still fly myself back at some point, but it won't be the jet setting scenario I'd hoped for. In fact, I haven't even bothered looking at jets. The amount of training it would take before I can fly one...well lets just say I probably wouldn't even be living in Seattle by then.
Oh, anyway. Then after my flight lesson some guy in a Porsche tried to race me on Airport Way. Sadly I wasn't in the mood and had to turn left anyway. I was incredibly hungry and stopped at a gas station to buy a hotdog that was not really a hotdog but some kind of sasauge with spicy stuff in it, and also I forgot to get anything to drink. So I tried to eat that on the way home. Then I went to Gwen's boyfriend's graduation party and met a bunch of new people. That was fun. I like meeting new people, and at the same time I'm shy. I'm like a shy extrovert. As if that makes sense. Or I'm just lonely because I live alone. I had a great idea the other day for meeting people. Something about...crap now I can't remember what it was. Whatever, I'll just go to happy hour more often.
Oh. OH. Lets get something clear up here: if you are drinking some kind of fruity drink, like with pineapple, and freaking cranberry, and whatever else she put in it, and you can still taste the rum + vodka + gin in it? Thats a problem. Or its gonna be. You see there is something I've noticed about fruity drinks (besides how damn delicious they are) and that is that the fruit juices and stuff are so potent that you don't actually taste the alcohol. So Friday night I went to a party at Lisa's place. She is one of the girls I play Settler's with. She seems attracted to me, and I to her roomate Rachel. Its my standard one-way-love train (really more like a "like" train, but I digress) only I'm in the middle for once. Anyway, Lisa made an enormous pitcher of something called a Fishbowl. Hmm...a pitcher. That reminds me of my birthday. I seem to have bad luck with pitchers. Anyway, she put a lot of liquor in this thing, and I didn't think anything of it because I'm used to feeling the burn in my drinks. I should have, though, especially when I announced to everyone that I totally wanted a cup cake and left and came back with "Sweet Cream" flavored ice cream from Coldstone (and it was a little chilly out, mind you). But I digress.
Two tall glasses of this fishbowl stuff and then we went inside and I did two doubleshots of vodka right in a row. I may or may not have other stuff to drink. Probably not. Anyway, thats when the warning bells started to go off. Actually they were more like warning waves. Of nausia. I spent the next few hours sipping water and nibbling on chips, trying to restore the balance of my stomach chemistry like some sort of drinking jedi. This time I didn't fail. Perhaps because I didn't have an annoying jackass following me around trying to get me to drink another beer.
The moral of the story is: if you drink a big tall glass of something fruity that tastes strongly of alcohol, that does not equal one drink. And if you are a lightweight like me, skipping dinner (except for some ice cream) and then doing a bunch of shots of vodka when you're drunk...well that is not a good idea either. I don't really know why I'm broadcasting this. Perhaps more for my own sake so I'll remember next time. Also, fishbowls don't taste that great. Malibu...something something's are better. Mai...pina...no thats not it. What was that drink? Bay Breeze!!! Yes. Malibu Bay Breezes are waaaay better. And it takes like 5 to get you buzzed, instead of 1/2. So it is a little easier to pace yourself. Betsy, as well as the open bar at Owen's wedding, made delicious Malibu Bay Breezes.
Ok most of that was incoherent...lets just go ahead and pretend that is a writing style. You know, the obscuration of the juxtaposition of ideas as a metaphor for conciousness while being intoxicated. I'm an awesome writer like that. I can't promise, though, that I will have much to write about in the future. The next few months of my life will be dominated by flying lessons, and in the spare time between trying to meet enough people so that I don't go crazy from loneliness and boredom. I will endeavour to seek out adventure when I can, to recount raucous parties where I wake up pantless in someone's path tub, or harrowing adventures aloft with wings and glory, or random shennanigas in the heart of the Emerald City with people both creepy and interesting, or tales of nearly bringing down the entire ordering system at work, of wining and dining the hottest ladies around and dancing all night. However for the next few weeks, I'm just trying to get out of bed at the same time every morning.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
In Ur Citee, Dringkin Ur Rum
Being away from Philly only made me like it more. I only had a week there, and spent most of it running between different groups of friends and family. I hope to visit again, as soon as I save enough vacation time.
I finally posted my ninja on a for sale mailing list at work. The first reply came roughly ten seconds later, followed by others. Sounds like Katie is going to a good home. In fact, there is kind of an informal waiting list for her. Makes me happy. I like the idea that she is going off to someone (who happens to have a Ninja 250 engine lying around for some reason) much more than getting chopped up for parts. This fact is somehow making it easier to let her go.
I should be on to my next bike already, but flight lessons and car payments and other projects are getting in the way. Like for work I am researching how graphics can best represent large sets of data. Which really means I am just reading The Visual Display of Quantitative Information, and making a slideshow based solely on that book and stuff I make up. I also wanted to learn Texas Hold'em and go to Vegas and play. And, as with the flying (where the goal is to fly a tiny plane from Seattle to Philly, making stops in cities as necessary to possibly grab lunch with female facebook friends), I came up with a ridiculous poker goal: being able to pay for the hotel and everything in Vegas from your poker winnings. I don't know how long it will take to get that skillful. Probably a while.
The amount of people that know my name at various restaurants is getting out of hand. The people at the sandwich stop know my name somehow. I don't even know how. Most of the time I just order a sandwich (or soup!) from the internet, and then go pick up my food without really interacting with them. However, when I go and order in person my name is on the little sandwich ticket without them asking. So thats scary. Some of the girls at Starbucks are cute. And I'm still after that girl that works for my apartment building. I really can't tell if she's interested or not. You see I always seems to be wrong about whether or not a girl is interested. Either I think she is, and she's not, or I think she wants to be friends, and she's in love with me...wait, here, I diagrammed it:
Thats about right. I was going to write more here, but it took too long to make that graph.
I finally posted my ninja on a for sale mailing list at work. The first reply came roughly ten seconds later, followed by others. Sounds like Katie is going to a good home. In fact, there is kind of an informal waiting list for her. Makes me happy. I like the idea that she is going off to someone (who happens to have a Ninja 250 engine lying around for some reason) much more than getting chopped up for parts. This fact is somehow making it easier to let her go.
I should be on to my next bike already, but flight lessons and car payments and other projects are getting in the way. Like for work I am researching how graphics can best represent large sets of data. Which really means I am just reading The Visual Display of Quantitative Information, and making a slideshow based solely on that book and stuff I make up. I also wanted to learn Texas Hold'em and go to Vegas and play. And, as with the flying (where the goal is to fly a tiny plane from Seattle to Philly, making stops in cities as necessary to possibly grab lunch with female facebook friends), I came up with a ridiculous poker goal: being able to pay for the hotel and everything in Vegas from your poker winnings. I don't know how long it will take to get that skillful. Probably a while.
The amount of people that know my name at various restaurants is getting out of hand. The people at the sandwich stop know my name somehow. I don't even know how. Most of the time I just order a sandwich (or soup!) from the internet, and then go pick up my food without really interacting with them. However, when I go and order in person my name is on the little sandwich ticket without them asking. So thats scary. Some of the girls at Starbucks are cute. And I'm still after that girl that works for my apartment building. I really can't tell if she's interested or not. You see I always seems to be wrong about whether or not a girl is interested. Either I think she is, and she's not, or I think she wants to be friends, and she's in love with me...wait, here, I diagrammed it:
Thats about right. I was going to write more here, but it took too long to make that graph.
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