A look of half dread, half irritation crossed her face as I entered the office to ask if it was ok to ship 4 tires to the building, and to promise to pick them up from the office as soon as they got there. Ostensibly relieved that I wasn't trying to ask her out again, she told me that another tenant of the very same building had been hit by a duck boat, which again didn't stop at first, but this time the insurance company wasn't paying up. It was in the same place as where I got hit, and this girl who got it was also stopped at the light, but the mammoth boat apparently took out the side of her car, instead of the back, so the boat people are claiming she went too far into the other lane or something. I can see why they'd claim that: that's what they do. I offered to, if necessary, testify in a lawsuit that they hit me. I'm not sure how valuable that would be. I am temped to hang a webcam on my balcony, to catch them the next time they run someone over. There are other methods of recourse, but mentioning them here would probably count as probable cause.
The important thing is, that I have finally gotten around to buying winter tires for my car. Unfortunately they don't come with the rims, which come separately. This adds to the growing body of evidence suggestion that I should not have bought such a [relatively] expensive car, however every time I jam that shifter into a lower gear and feel the turbo in action, my regret fades away as quickly as my back is pressed into the drivers seat.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Fun Facts
Saturday I went salsa dancing with a girl who is afraid of some kinds of elevators. Interestingly enough, this is the second girl I've met with an elevator-related phobia.
My parents have begun calling me more frequently than every week. As there is nothing going on in my life, I have nothing to talk to them about. I think time must go slower for them or something, because to me it still feels like July.
Parking in the garage here involves navigating through a tight corridor filled with cars parked by idiots, any one of which could suddenly pull out into your path of travel. As you navigate this concrete maze, someone who considers himself an awesome driver will tailgate you, because he/she thinks it is a good idea to zoom past all the cars at like 50. Then you finally arrive at your space, park carefully, and open your door to see how far away from the line you are. If you look like you are a reasonable distance away from the line--as in, enough room to get out of your car--you'll need to re-park, because you are way to close on the other side. Later, when you come back to your car, a fatass SUV/minivan will be parked right next to you, forcing you to learn a new kind of yoga as you slinky in through your barely open car door. That same car will also block your vision as you tentatively back out of your space, hoping you don't get hit by one of the idiots cruising the parking garage like a highway. Little did the parking garage architects of this fair city know, making every space too small and labeling them all "compact" doesn't actually make the SUV drivers leave in shame. They just park anyway, as if they didn't care about wasting space. Shocking, I know.
Amazon is super cheap. They pretend it is a good thing by using the word "frugal." My desk is made out of a door--literally. If I removed the legs, added two hinges and a latch, I would have a cheapass door instead of a cheapass desk. Amazon also gives stock to all of its employees, so during any money-related conversation, there is always some jackass who starts off with "well as a stockholder...." Everybody is a stockholder here. They give you a bunch of shares that you cannot sell for the first few years.
I have...4 textbooks for flying stuff. Some of them were published by the FAA, and some of them were published as part of a kit for the private pilots license. The FAA also published a series of questions likely to be on the knowledge test to become a pilot. The really fun thing about these questions is some of them are about things that do not appear in any of my textbooks. My new favorite hobby is telling my friends I can't hang out because I'm "studying," which means manually flipping through these books looking for some obscure fact that might be on the test.
My allergies have flared up for no apparent reason. Since I haven't cleaned my desk since I started working here, I am now playing a fun little game I like to call "find the allergen."
Also, last night I watched a show on the History channel about theories that ancient structures were build under the influence of extraterrestrial aliens. I now have like five more places to visit, including a city that was put together like legos.
My parents have begun calling me more frequently than every week. As there is nothing going on in my life, I have nothing to talk to them about. I think time must go slower for them or something, because to me it still feels like July.
Parking in the garage here involves navigating through a tight corridor filled with cars parked by idiots, any one of which could suddenly pull out into your path of travel. As you navigate this concrete maze, someone who considers himself an awesome driver will tailgate you, because he/she thinks it is a good idea to zoom past all the cars at like 50. Then you finally arrive at your space, park carefully, and open your door to see how far away from the line you are. If you look like you are a reasonable distance away from the line--as in, enough room to get out of your car--you'll need to re-park, because you are way to close on the other side. Later, when you come back to your car, a fatass SUV/minivan will be parked right next to you, forcing you to learn a new kind of yoga as you slinky in through your barely open car door. That same car will also block your vision as you tentatively back out of your space, hoping you don't get hit by one of the idiots cruising the parking garage like a highway. Little did the parking garage architects of this fair city know, making every space too small and labeling them all "compact" doesn't actually make the SUV drivers leave in shame. They just park anyway, as if they didn't care about wasting space. Shocking, I know.
Amazon is super cheap. They pretend it is a good thing by using the word "frugal." My desk is made out of a door--literally. If I removed the legs, added two hinges and a latch, I would have a cheapass door instead of a cheapass desk. Amazon also gives stock to all of its employees, so during any money-related conversation, there is always some jackass who starts off with "well as a stockholder...." Everybody is a stockholder here. They give you a bunch of shares that you cannot sell for the first few years.
I have...4 textbooks for flying stuff. Some of them were published by the FAA, and some of them were published as part of a kit for the private pilots license. The FAA also published a series of questions likely to be on the knowledge test to become a pilot. The really fun thing about these questions is some of them are about things that do not appear in any of my textbooks. My new favorite hobby is telling my friends I can't hang out because I'm "studying," which means manually flipping through these books looking for some obscure fact that might be on the test.
My allergies have flared up for no apparent reason. Since I haven't cleaned my desk since I started working here, I am now playing a fun little game I like to call "find the allergen."
Also, last night I watched a show on the History channel about theories that ancient structures were build under the influence of extraterrestrial aliens. I now have like five more places to visit, including a city that was put together like legos.
Monday, September 28, 2009
Can't leave this scene behind
If I was going to play a joke on somebody, I would ask them to take my shift for "ordering open office hours" and tell them its up in room 749 and then laugh as they sit there alone in a conference room with their laptop.
Actually maybe these office hours are real; someone else just came in. But that's not important. I got to program something really cool at the end of last week, so my job isn't too bad.
Flying is, for the moment, pretty cool. I flew from Seattle to some place on the coast called Hoqium, and it was awesome because I was alone. I didn't have someone asking me questions every two seconds, and nobody knew when I screwed up, and I didn't get a lecture after each landing. And when I was maneuvering to enter the traffic pattern, I got a spare second to glance down at the tiny cars on the ground. They looked like toys, as if part of an elaborate train set.
When I got to Hoqium there was such an incredible headwind that when I landed, the plane looked as if it was just barely crawling over the runway. In reality is was going about...23 miles per hour relative to the ground, but that's pretty slow for a landing. It was fun. Then, after landing, I was waiting at the threshold of the runway to takeoff again, with a plane just coming up behind me, and I notice the baggage door was open. I wasn't sure what to hope for--whether I should hope the guy behind me didn't notice the baggage door, or that he did notice and thus wouldn't wonder why I suddenly taxied onto the grass and stopped my engine. There is a possibility that the baggage door was open the whole flight, but it might have simply popped open on the landing--it was a bouncy one.
Then I got a haircut because I had a date that night. I somewhat offended the person cutting my hair because I told him I worked at Union Station, and he thought my building has a glass roof with a waterfall, and I told him it doesn't. I've since identified a building nearby that looks like the one he was talking about, but I've never been inside.
Then I met up with some girl from the internet. We met at a bar in yet another town around here that I'd never heard of. Like every other girl that has given me directions, she gave them in the form of "get off the highway, turn right, go through 2.5 traffic lights, stop on the corner and talk to a guy named Pete, he'll point which way to go..." while, like most guys that I know, I prefer to know where something is. I prefer to give and receive directions in the form of addresses, lat/long coordinates, and recently, radials from airports. Unfortunately neither method worked; google didn't know where this place was, and she told me the wrong road in her directions, and my GPS thought the bar was inside a middle school. I circled a confusing five block radius for an hour looking for a road that didn't really exist. On the bright side, she turned out to be an actual girl.
I think I'm going to try to have a life while finishing these flying lessons. I'm accustomed to focusing on one thing at a time. It helps that it will be cloudy this week. Might try to go salsa dancing again--hopefully all of my moves haven't gone stale.
Oh, also during my haircut I made two discoveries that cancled each other out: apparently I have a receding hairline, and also apparently someone invented shampoo that prevents hair loss. I would tell you the chemicals/hormones involved, but to spell them right I'd have to read them directly off the bottle, so just take my word for it. The hair cutter person could have been lying, but he suggested this nioxy stuff before I told him my office didn't have a waterfall in the roof, so I think he was being straight with me. Good thing, too. I recently watched some French movie called Last Tango in Paris, where this old guy with a receded hairline has a really creepy affair with some French girl, who shoots him at the end of the movie because he asked what her name was. I don't want to end up like him. Seriously? I shouldn't be allowed to edit my netflix queue unsupervised.
In summary, I feel like I am kind of having a life again, even if its marginal. I am technically meeting new people, and am sort of staying on top of the whole grooming/clean apartment thing. If I could just spare some time to buy a real coffee table, I'd be in good shape.
Actually maybe these office hours are real; someone else just came in. But that's not important. I got to program something really cool at the end of last week, so my job isn't too bad.
Flying is, for the moment, pretty cool. I flew from Seattle to some place on the coast called Hoqium, and it was awesome because I was alone. I didn't have someone asking me questions every two seconds, and nobody knew when I screwed up, and I didn't get a lecture after each landing. And when I was maneuvering to enter the traffic pattern, I got a spare second to glance down at the tiny cars on the ground. They looked like toys, as if part of an elaborate train set.
When I got to Hoqium there was such an incredible headwind that when I landed, the plane looked as if it was just barely crawling over the runway. In reality is was going about...23 miles per hour relative to the ground, but that's pretty slow for a landing. It was fun. Then, after landing, I was waiting at the threshold of the runway to takeoff again, with a plane just coming up behind me, and I notice the baggage door was open. I wasn't sure what to hope for--whether I should hope the guy behind me didn't notice the baggage door, or that he did notice and thus wouldn't wonder why I suddenly taxied onto the grass and stopped my engine. There is a possibility that the baggage door was open the whole flight, but it might have simply popped open on the landing--it was a bouncy one.
Then I got a haircut because I had a date that night. I somewhat offended the person cutting my hair because I told him I worked at Union Station, and he thought my building has a glass roof with a waterfall, and I told him it doesn't. I've since identified a building nearby that looks like the one he was talking about, but I've never been inside.
Then I met up with some girl from the internet. We met at a bar in yet another town around here that I'd never heard of. Like every other girl that has given me directions, she gave them in the form of "get off the highway, turn right, go through 2.5 traffic lights, stop on the corner and talk to a guy named Pete, he'll point which way to go..." while, like most guys that I know, I prefer to know where something is. I prefer to give and receive directions in the form of addresses, lat/long coordinates, and recently, radials from airports. Unfortunately neither method worked; google didn't know where this place was, and she told me the wrong road in her directions, and my GPS thought the bar was inside a middle school. I circled a confusing five block radius for an hour looking for a road that didn't really exist. On the bright side, she turned out to be an actual girl.
I think I'm going to try to have a life while finishing these flying lessons. I'm accustomed to focusing on one thing at a time. It helps that it will be cloudy this week. Might try to go salsa dancing again--hopefully all of my moves haven't gone stale.
Oh, also during my haircut I made two discoveries that cancled each other out: apparently I have a receding hairline, and also apparently someone invented shampoo that prevents hair loss. I would tell you the chemicals/hormones involved, but to spell them right I'd have to read them directly off the bottle, so just take my word for it. The hair cutter person could have been lying, but he suggested this nioxy stuff before I told him my office didn't have a waterfall in the roof, so I think he was being straight with me. Good thing, too. I recently watched some French movie called Last Tango in Paris, where this old guy with a receded hairline has a really creepy affair with some French girl, who shoots him at the end of the movie because he asked what her name was. I don't want to end up like him. Seriously? I shouldn't be allowed to edit my netflix queue unsupervised.
In summary, I feel like I am kind of having a life again, even if its marginal. I am technically meeting new people, and am sort of staying on top of the whole grooming/clean apartment thing. If I could just spare some time to buy a real coffee table, I'd be in good shape.
Friday, September 18, 2009
Stage Check Fail
I arrived at the airport is good spirits, mostly because New Divide was playing on the radio. I don't know if you've ever been in a Subaru STI with your foot holding the accelerator all the way while a Linkin Park song is playing, but if you haven't, you should put that on your list of things to do be for you die, or turn 30.
I noted, as I unlocked the cabin door of Cessna '139, that for the first time I was actually feeling confident about flying. Usually I'm extremely nervous or in a hurry, or any thing but confident. Today was confident. It is important that you understand that, because shortely thereafter I failed my second Stage Check, and I find that quite ironic. The Stage Check was going well at first, or so I thought, and started to go bad when the check instructor told me to pretend I had an engine fire. Engine fire's are kind of fun because we hurtle ourselves towards the ground in an attempt to either put out the imaginary flames or just get on the ground and out of the airplane. I screwed that maneuver up. Then we went to Bremeteron airport, and things really fell apart.
The north end of Bremerton's runway is closed, currently. Now, when I say the north end, I mean most of the runway, with a tiny little open area on the southern end. It wasn't so much a runway as a runway-tipped stretch of asphalt. Technically not a problem, because a test pilot can land a brand new Cessna in 600-900 feet depending on conditions. I, personally, have taken about three thousand feet, in any condition, to do a go around. And thats for the 1 out of 2 times I actually make the landing. Honestly I'd prefer a runway the size of Florida. I'm pretty sure I could land on that. Anyway, I'll skip the play by play but I made a number of mistakes that would have had my normal instructor, Matt, yelling at me, literally, especially taking off with 30 degrees of flaps in. There isn't really a direct vehicular analogy I can make to taking off with 30 degrees of flaps, but it would be somewhat like getting chased by a velociraptor in a convertible and only using second gear...with someone in the passenger seat yelling "Don't ever do that!" Actually the check instructor didn't mind so much.
This is the paragraph where I was going to complain about flying, but on the way up the stairs to my apartment I went over all of the whiny things I was going to say, and thoroughly depressed myself. So we'll skip that part. I don't know whats going to happen though. The theory that I would actually complete my training was based on the idea that I would have passed the stage check on monday.
I'm going to go play Rock Band by myself and then see District 9 with some friends. I don't really want to see District 9 again, but I do want my friends to think I don't hate them, and I do need to hang out with people. The voices in my head are always bitching that I need to be more social.
I noted, as I unlocked the cabin door of Cessna '139, that for the first time I was actually feeling confident about flying. Usually I'm extremely nervous or in a hurry, or any thing but confident. Today was confident. It is important that you understand that, because shortely thereafter I failed my second Stage Check, and I find that quite ironic. The Stage Check was going well at first, or so I thought, and started to go bad when the check instructor told me to pretend I had an engine fire. Engine fire's are kind of fun because we hurtle ourselves towards the ground in an attempt to either put out the imaginary flames or just get on the ground and out of the airplane. I screwed that maneuver up. Then we went to Bremeteron airport, and things really fell apart.
The north end of Bremerton's runway is closed, currently. Now, when I say the north end, I mean most of the runway, with a tiny little open area on the southern end. It wasn't so much a runway as a runway-tipped stretch of asphalt. Technically not a problem, because a test pilot can land a brand new Cessna in 600-900 feet depending on conditions. I, personally, have taken about three thousand feet, in any condition, to do a go around. And thats for the 1 out of 2 times I actually make the landing. Honestly I'd prefer a runway the size of Florida. I'm pretty sure I could land on that. Anyway, I'll skip the play by play but I made a number of mistakes that would have had my normal instructor, Matt, yelling at me, literally, especially taking off with 30 degrees of flaps in. There isn't really a direct vehicular analogy I can make to taking off with 30 degrees of flaps, but it would be somewhat like getting chased by a velociraptor in a convertible and only using second gear...with someone in the passenger seat yelling "Don't ever do that!" Actually the check instructor didn't mind so much.
This is the paragraph where I was going to complain about flying, but on the way up the stairs to my apartment I went over all of the whiny things I was going to say, and thoroughly depressed myself. So we'll skip that part. I don't know whats going to happen though. The theory that I would actually complete my training was based on the idea that I would have passed the stage check on monday.
I'm going to go play Rock Band by myself and then see District 9 with some friends. I don't really want to see District 9 again, but I do want my friends to think I don't hate them, and I do need to hang out with people. The voices in my head are always bitching that I need to be more social.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
"Don't Taxi Anywhere Near That F****er"
It is a strange sight indeed, to be at the threshold of the taxiway in a tiny Cessna and watch a heavy jet with four turbines roll by. When I was five I had no interest in passenger jets: it was all attack helicopters and F-14s with the movable wings in my fantasies, however now that I've grown older there is a certain majesty to the big jets. For starters, they're big. They are also oddly graceful. Mostly big, though, and powerful. The jet that passed us had its turbines spinning so it could taxi, and we actually had to pause before following it because the jetwash from its probably idle engines would have been enough to...disturb our tiny airplane. It was an experience that I have nothing to compare to.
I think I'm getting better at reading body language. I think the cute girl that works at the font desk has no interest in talking to me. Sad.
My Rock Band guitar came, finally. It looks totally ridiculous next to my real guitars, which, by the way, I've started playing again. In fact, with a little more work hopefully I'll be able to record that parady of Taylor Swift's Love Story that I wrote. But I digress. Rock Band. It's really not that fun all by yourself. Kinda mellows you out. Playing the real guitar is stressful because it is a lot of work and I don't know many songs yet. Playing the plastic, toy guitar game is not stressful at all; I just watch the colors on the screen. I don't even have to pay that much attention to what I'm doing. Ironic I'd consider that to be a bonus in a video game.
Yeah. I didn't really have much to write about. I was just stressed about flying and couldn't sleep.
I think I'm getting better at reading body language. I think the cute girl that works at the font desk has no interest in talking to me. Sad.
My Rock Band guitar came, finally. It looks totally ridiculous next to my real guitars, which, by the way, I've started playing again. In fact, with a little more work hopefully I'll be able to record that parady of Taylor Swift's Love Story that I wrote. But I digress. Rock Band. It's really not that fun all by yourself. Kinda mellows you out. Playing the real guitar is stressful because it is a lot of work and I don't know many songs yet. Playing the plastic, toy guitar game is not stressful at all; I just watch the colors on the screen. I don't even have to pay that much attention to what I'm doing. Ironic I'd consider that to be a bonus in a video game.
Yeah. I didn't really have much to write about. I was just stressed about flying and couldn't sleep.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Rizo was in town for PAX, which I missed out on because I was "on call" and flying and also didn't realize it would get sold out. Penny Arcade is popular; who knew?
Did wrangle up some time to hang out with him Sunday night. We went to a show for some band called Freeze Pop. Or...no I think it was freezepop. That sounds right. Anyway, I had a good time and I realized I really need to get out more. I also remembered how cool some geeks are. Like, I was actually sad when we parted ways and I wouldn't see them again because they were that much fun to hang out with. I wasn't totally into freeze pop, but I am a fan of the whole small but alchohol-providing music venue idea. I bet there are some with music I like. I also realized I want to be in a rock band that played in a venue like that. I told people that night that I would choose which genre I played based on the kind of girls (and how many) listen to that kind of music. They thought I was joking :)
On that subject, I ran into this girl Stef who works at the Starbucks that I visit every day, not because I like coffee but because I need to get out of the office. And I'm falling asleep at my desk. She has tatoos on her wrists so when she puts her arms together it looks like an original nintendo controller. Rizo took a picture of me pretending to play her. It's on my phone. I was going to post the picture here, but the last time I connected my phone to my computer (to download pics of my car) some of my phone numbers disappeared for a few weeks, only to reappear after I recollected them all. So just imagine it.
Eight days of September have gone by. Time is running out for me to get my license. I still have to do three cross country solos, with one of them being a 4 hour, 100 nautical mile ordeal, two stage checks and a end-of-course check and before most of that: a bunch of solo flights. Plus, somewhere in all of that, I also have to learn how to do all these maneuvers like "slow flight" and "power off stall" and "s-turns across a road" well enough to actually pass my checkride. My intructor is already talking about scheduling the checkride examiner.
Did wrangle up some time to hang out with him Sunday night. We went to a show for some band called Freeze Pop. Or...no I think it was freezepop. That sounds right. Anyway, I had a good time and I realized I really need to get out more. I also remembered how cool some geeks are. Like, I was actually sad when we parted ways and I wouldn't see them again because they were that much fun to hang out with. I wasn't totally into freeze pop, but I am a fan of the whole small but alchohol-providing music venue idea. I bet there are some with music I like. I also realized I want to be in a rock band that played in a venue like that. I told people that night that I would choose which genre I played based on the kind of girls (and how many) listen to that kind of music. They thought I was joking :)
On that subject, I ran into this girl Stef who works at the Starbucks that I visit every day, not because I like coffee but because I need to get out of the office. And I'm falling asleep at my desk. She has tatoos on her wrists so when she puts her arms together it looks like an original nintendo controller. Rizo took a picture of me pretending to play her. It's on my phone. I was going to post the picture here, but the last time I connected my phone to my computer (to download pics of my car) some of my phone numbers disappeared for a few weeks, only to reappear after I recollected them all. So just imagine it.
Eight days of September have gone by. Time is running out for me to get my license. I still have to do three cross country solos, with one of them being a 4 hour, 100 nautical mile ordeal, two stage checks and a end-of-course check and before most of that: a bunch of solo flights. Plus, somewhere in all of that, I also have to learn how to do all these maneuvers like "slow flight" and "power off stall" and "s-turns across a road" well enough to actually pass my checkride. My intructor is already talking about scheduling the checkride examiner.
Sunday, September 6, 2009
The World is my Playground
I found an awesome coffee/donut shop a block or two away. It has excellent ambiance: wood floors, big glass windows, and bookshelves lining the two story loft design. It is the kind of place tv people would use to emphasize something taking place in a city. In fact, when I sat down on the upper level and looked outside, I couldn't help thinking "wow I feel like I'm in a city." Then I realized how ridiculous that sounded, since I live two blocks away and am actually in the city all the time. Hey, I never promised to make sense.
I think I am going to hang out there more often. Not only can I just take a break from boring federal aviation regulations by looking outside, but they have donuts. I've also been doing some studying down in the lounge of my apartment building. I'd be there now, actually, reading this thrilling literary tour de force called "Part 91 General Operating and Flight Rules" however I glanced in there on my way in and there was just a guy watching tennis on the tv. I have no interest in meeting guys, and tennis has to be one of the most boring sports to watch. I actually found it boring while playing it, back in high school. I only did it to keep my parents happy. For some reason my mom thought that coming home from school and playing Starcraft for 5 hours was a poor use of my time. Parents.
Actually, and I hate to admit this, she was right. I can't believe I'm admiting that. I absolutely hated her harassing me about joining team sports and all that stupid afterschool activity crap, especially since I was already in marching band which took up all my time. Playing starcraft and diablo for hours on end hasn't really helped me. I know this because I still suck at starcraft. A South Korean player could probably beat me even if she was blindfolded and with her hands tied behind her back, and had to rely on moving the mouse with her nose. The only videogame I ever dominated at was Descent III. I was, literally, the king. I would fight everyone at once and win. Thats not really good for anything other than telling people I used to be good at Descent III. If I had spent all that time on worthwhile things, I probably could have become an expert salsa dancer, and taken a few flight lessons, and learned to rally race and learned conversational Spanish by the time I was out of high school. Oh, and learned the guitar. Then in college, I could have creaked along with the flight training and had a bunch of adventures going to Mexico and playing "All the Small Things" for girls in my dorm room instead of sitting around in my boxers playing Warcraft III. I'm just kidding, actually: I mostly played Unreal Tournament.
However the past can't be changed. I can't go back in time and use my time better. All I can do is look forward. I have decided the world is my playground. There are good times and adventures to be had. One of the first things I'm going to do when I have time for a social life, is overdress for drinking in super awesome suits and go out drinking with Luke. Actually first I am going to get a haircut and buy pants that fit. Then I and Luke and hopefully a third man are going to dress like James Bond and go out drinking hard liquor on the rocks, like in these vodka commercials. I mostly like those commercials because they use an awesome Black Rebel Motorcycle Club song. It is hard for me to take those commercials seriously, and I actually burst into laughter every time I hear the line "there was a time when men were men" but I nonetheless want to be like those guys in the commercials. Yes, I have been watching too much tv; thanks for noticing. Also, I'm going to be drinking more captain than vodka. And I'll probably be ordering Malibu Bay Breezes and drinking them on my way back to the table.
I also plan to go out salsa dancing a lot, and I pla...ok the only point of this paragraph was going to be to work in those captain morgan commercials, and to say that I want a night of dancing worthy of having this techno song for a soundtrack. According to you tube that is "Pjanoo club mix" by Eric Prydz. I knew a girl once who, like me, had a soundtrack to her life. She yelled at me for still wanting to date her though. Her fault for being interesting.
Oh, and nascent desire to have sex on a roller coaster is being added to my list of womanly traits that indicate marriage potential.
I think I am going to hang out there more often. Not only can I just take a break from boring federal aviation regulations by looking outside, but they have donuts. I've also been doing some studying down in the lounge of my apartment building. I'd be there now, actually, reading this thrilling literary tour de force called "Part 91 General Operating and Flight Rules" however I glanced in there on my way in and there was just a guy watching tennis on the tv. I have no interest in meeting guys, and tennis has to be one of the most boring sports to watch. I actually found it boring while playing it, back in high school. I only did it to keep my parents happy. For some reason my mom thought that coming home from school and playing Starcraft for 5 hours was a poor use of my time. Parents.
Actually, and I hate to admit this, she was right. I can't believe I'm admiting that. I absolutely hated her harassing me about joining team sports and all that stupid afterschool activity crap, especially since I was already in marching band which took up all my time. Playing starcraft and diablo for hours on end hasn't really helped me. I know this because I still suck at starcraft. A South Korean player could probably beat me even if she was blindfolded and with her hands tied behind her back, and had to rely on moving the mouse with her nose. The only videogame I ever dominated at was Descent III. I was, literally, the king. I would fight everyone at once and win. Thats not really good for anything other than telling people I used to be good at Descent III. If I had spent all that time on worthwhile things, I probably could have become an expert salsa dancer, and taken a few flight lessons, and learned to rally race and learned conversational Spanish by the time I was out of high school. Oh, and learned the guitar. Then in college, I could have creaked along with the flight training and had a bunch of adventures going to Mexico and playing "All the Small Things" for girls in my dorm room instead of sitting around in my boxers playing Warcraft III. I'm just kidding, actually: I mostly played Unreal Tournament.
However the past can't be changed. I can't go back in time and use my time better. All I can do is look forward. I have decided the world is my playground. There are good times and adventures to be had. One of the first things I'm going to do when I have time for a social life, is overdress for drinking in super awesome suits and go out drinking with Luke. Actually first I am going to get a haircut and buy pants that fit. Then I and Luke and hopefully a third man are going to dress like James Bond and go out drinking hard liquor on the rocks, like in these vodka commercials. I mostly like those commercials because they use an awesome Black Rebel Motorcycle Club song. It is hard for me to take those commercials seriously, and I actually burst into laughter every time I hear the line "there was a time when men were men" but I nonetheless want to be like those guys in the commercials. Yes, I have been watching too much tv; thanks for noticing. Also, I'm going to be drinking more captain than vodka. And I'll probably be ordering Malibu Bay Breezes and drinking them on my way back to the table.
I also plan to go out salsa dancing a lot, and I pla...ok the only point of this paragraph was going to be to work in those captain morgan commercials, and to say that I want a night of dancing worthy of having this techno song for a soundtrack. According to you tube that is "Pjanoo club mix" by Eric Prydz. I knew a girl once who, like me, had a soundtrack to her life. She yelled at me for still wanting to date her though. Her fault for being interesting.
Oh, and nascent desire to have sex on a roller coaster is being added to my list of womanly traits that indicate marriage potential.
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