So it’s only fair to balance the bad with some good.  And Livejournal is typically a bastion of negativity, but on my drive home, I got to thinking about how bad life really isn’t.   Honestly, there’s only one thing lacking in my life, and you’ve heard me complain enough about it, but with that, I’d be 100% completely happy.  Which in turn, would make me not appreciate my own happiness.  You have to feel “bad” to know what’s “good”.

Reasons for being happy for me today include:
#1) The fact that I am working a job that I love, and getting paid more than almost every other 20 year old kid around.   I’m getting paid to fly a motherfucking airplane.  However, I have realized that teachers are 100% underpaid.  Remember a few sentences ago where I was saying that I’m getting paid a shitload?  It’s true, but it’s not enough.  Especially since I’m a teacher who can theoretically die any time I go out there to teach someone something.  But teaching isn’t easy, dudes.
#2) The fact that I’m well on my way towards my career goals, and that I have career goals.  Hell, there are tons of people out there who don’t know what they want to do, and I’m basically already at the stage where I’m ready to get myself a career.
#3) My student came in prepared and ready to go, knows his shit, and does well on the flying.  This makes it easier for me and makes me feel like I’m doing a better job. 
#4) Everyone I know is in good health, which is good.
#5) There was a nice sunset tonight.

There you have it.

So I can’t sleep (and I have work tomorrow, which is double shitty)…  And I was just thinking about something.

The interesting thing about relationships is that after you get out of one, if you never do any better, then you’ve clearly peaked.  You’ve always got to do better, or else you feel stupid, and/or regret.  The interesting part about this is that you’re never able to see this objectively until you’re out of the relationship.  If it’s the girl you just met, you’re completely enamored and you can’t possibly imagine them having any shortcomings…  And if it’s the end of the relationshpi, you just can’t find any benefits to staying.  It’s only after all is said and done that you can look back and say A) I should’ve gotten the hell out of Dodge earlier than that, or B) Fuck, what did I do?  

So then, the mess is clearly, “If I’m in a relationship, how do I know if I did better or not”…  And I think the answer is…  You don’t.

For someone who hasn’t been in a quality relationship in a while, I sure as hell think about this stuff in too much depth.  Guess that’s just the quotehopelessromanticunquote part of me.

Time for an update before I head off to bed.

Okay, so, a lot of stuff has happened since the last update.  I’ve got 2 quality stories.

The first:  I went to the mall last week with Danielle down in Indianapolis, as she let me crash at her house.  So I met up with her at the mall rather than try and follow her directions to her house… and I call her and she’s shopping with her mom.  So naturally this gives me a free pass to boredom, but also those girl stores that are always full of hotties but you can’t go in if you’re a single guy or else you look like a creep (which I am, but I don’t want to appear as such). 
So anyway, I’m in that Forever 21 store (and after seeing some of the shit they peddle, I’m convinced that I could sell a woman a sack of shit if I put enough rhinestones on it) and we’re spending too much time as it is.  We eventually leave and go to Charlotte Russe.  Now those of you that remember my previous Charlotte Russe story (with sofi, 8 foot tall fabric, bitch employee, near bannination from the store…) know that I’m not too fond of the place.  Nevermind that, there’s a 6 foot 2 inch blonde 120 lb hottie. WOOOOOO.  I was speechless, and Danielle notices that I’m not paying attention to her, which leads to a quick departure from the store (sad). 

Our final stop is American Eagle, aka: I’m trendy thus better than you, Inc.  Those of you who’ve seen me out in public know that I’m quite the opposite of a “Beacon of style”…  So I’m sitting there making idle chatter with Danielle as she looks at the 500th tanktop that looks the same but is a different color, and some broad walks up to me and goes “Excuse me, do you guys have…”
I interrupt with my hands (the international full palm out “hold on a second, scooter”) pose.  She stops talking.  Still quiet, I point to myself, my clothes, etc etc.  Then I begin, “Look at me, come on, really, do I look like I work here?  You picked the worst person ever to ask.”  She doesn’t appreciate my tone (wtf?  I’m being sarcastic, grow up, skank) and asks a legitimate employee.  She carries off and Danielle informs me that apparently the girl was hitting on me or something.  So Chris, holder of the best game you’ll ever see, decides that it’s time to make amends for my bad self, so I jot down my phone number on the back of my business card (bitches!) and hand it to her.  She replies “What is this?” with a tone of absolute disgust.  I just respond “Use it sometime, all the good stuff (my #) is on the back”.  hahahahahahahahahahaahahahah I’m a fag. 

So that’s story number one.

Story number one and a half: I was on a flight home to Boston and it got delayed for like 7 hours because of thunderstorms and shit… so the crew decided that free alcoholic beverages (first one only) would be given out on the flight. So when it comes time to order drinks, I go “Heineken” and the flight attendant goes “ID please?” and I go “Orange juice please” and the whole plane started laughing.

I told that story to tell you this story, another story about being own3d by my appearance:

Story number two is rather brief, and happened on my flight home (Indiana) from Boston (pseudo-home).  I get on the flight and I’m seated in the emergency exit row.  Anyone who has sat in the emergency row will tell you that beforehand they ask you if you’re cool with sitting there, and make sure you fit all the requirements (aka speak English), and so she asks all of us and we’re all cool.  She looks from left to right, with me being first.  Once she completes her questioning, she turns back to me really quick and asks, “Are you 15?”  I’m aghast for about a half second, then it all processes in my head.  I proceed to bust out laughing.  Loudly.  I respond, between laughs, that I’m 20.  She responds “No you aren’t.” in a very official/serious tone.  I continue nodding while laughing.  Jesus, I’ve been carded buying cigarettes and lottery tickets and the like for a bit, but FIFTEEN?  For Christ’s sake, I don’t look that young guys.  It sucks now, but I guess it’ll be nice when I’m 50 and I look like I’m 16.

Beyond that, there’s just been a whole lot of flying in my life, blah blah blah.  Going back to Boston for some reason always makes me yearn for a relationship, which is odd, but Matt says, “that’s because it’s bean town”…  And I don’t quite get the connection.