Okay, so I went to a party tonight and this girl was drawing attention to her chest by pointing out that she had a stamp on it (she was wearing a tanktop and it was 40 degrees outside.  She clearly was looking to attract attention).

Direct quotes here.

Girl: “Yeah, I got stamped on the chest”
Boy: “I can see that”
Me, walking up the stairs after getting another drink, “Yeah, because she needed more attention drawn to her chest”
Girl: :punch in shoulder:
Me: “What, it was a compliment!”

Side note: About 15 minutes later her and her friend came up to me trying to act like they were interested in me. I completely blew them off and totally fucked up whatever their plan was. I’m just drunk, I’m not fucking stupid.

Edit: picture of the girl: http://photos-959.facebook.com/n9/1125/9/13703729/n13703729_30547959_1391.jpg

Girls are stupid at Purdue.  I’m sick of their fucking sense of entitlement and absolute godliness.  This girl was a Purdue 7 or 8, which is also known as a real-life 4.5, and she’s acting like she deserves this fucking attention, well….  you don’t.  Calling it like I see it, once again.  Don’t let the door hit ya, bitch.

I really enjoy harassing girls, I honestly find it more fun than trying to pick up on them.  Part of my rationale is that making a joke like that has a 100% success rate.  If they’re mad, it’s still funny, and if they think it’s funny, everyone wins.  Trying to pick up on them has a 50% success rate (in theory, in practice it’s likely much less), where they either find me worth their time or not.  So I go with the insulting way.   I guess that makes me an asshole.  Oh well.

So this may sound morbid, but the last few years, the feeling has always been that I will die at a young age (much before “my time”, whenever that may be).  As morbid as it sounds, I’m eerie okay with it.  There’s just this sort of peace about it, and occasionally something will happen to remind me of these thoughts.  One of those things happened today.  But before I go into it, I’m going to get a little more morbid, sort of.

If I die, I don’t want anyone to be fucking sad at all.  Yeah, I’ll be gone, but who cares, it’s just the end of the cycle.  I’ve lived a pretty cool life, so don’t feel bad for me.  I want my funeral to be a fucking party, with some good live music and smiles on everyone’s faces.  Enjoy my life, don’t mourn my death.  I’m not one to be serious.  If I die because of something stupid, crack jokes, it’ll help you cope if you can’t help feeling bad.  I think a lot of people think like this, but when someone close to them dies, they throw it all out the window and don’t want to celebrate their recently departed one’s life, they just want to cry because they’ll never see them again.  Fuck, I’ve lived 20 (nearly 21) full lives, done more than lots of people.  If something stupid happens to me, that’s life.  And if I do die, someone needs to make sure that whoever makes funeral arrangements reads this LJ entry, because I don’t want to be watching people crying over me from whereever the hell I end up going.   It’s just not my style.

Hope that didn’t bring anyone down too much, but it’s just something I’ve thought of a few times, and figured I should put it down in writing.  But yeah, I blew a tire today at work.  Not on my car, on my airplane.  Yeah….  It wasn’t so much a near-death experience (I was able to keep the airplane on the runway, and it was fairly uneventful, other than extending my work day to a full 14 hours), but it made me think of what would have happened if the engine quit while climbing out, or whatever.  Dying single would suck, but on the other hand, I wouldn’t want to crush a girl like when a Purdue instructor died this summer, his girlfriend is just flat out destroyed…   So I guess it’s how the puzzle fits together.

Another thing I wonder about is if I’m going crazy.  I mumble to myself a lot, and there are only two types of people that do that…  geniuses and psychotic hobos.  I hope I’m the former…  But often times I think that some of this shit is just a figment of my imagination ala “A Beautiful Mind”….  but who knows.

Alright, is that enough incoherent babbling for you folks? 

Okay so I’ll just delve right into my first of two stories, both happening tonight. 

So I went to work out in the clubhouse which is about 750 yards from my apartment, basically the length of the complex.  Did my thing and stopped after the Bears game ended.  Started walking back, and I was particularly tired because I opted to run fast fast fast on the treadmill and lift a little longer than normal.  Anyway, I pass by someone’s apartment and this guy on the balcony is like “Do you like the Bears?” and I respond, “Uhh not really, but I don’t like the Panthers.”  “Well which do you like better, Bears or Panthers?”  Me: “Uhh probably the Bears since they have Orton”  Him: <something else, I forget what> Me: “Too bad they sucked in the last 5 minutes, Orton should’ve replaced Grossman.” Him <throws something at me> Me <continues walking>  Him, now down on the sidewalk, approaching me “Dude, bring it on” Me: “Dude wtf? I don’t even care about that shit, I’m a Dolphins fan.”  Him: “I don’t care”.  He then proceeds to get in my face and egg me on, etc.  

Quick status report…  He’s drunk, he’s got a friend next to him and he’s belligerent.  I, on the other hand, just completed working out and have tired arms and legs.  Just in case you’re a betting man, the line was 500,000:1 for me to be able to do one of three things:
1) Get back to my apartment with no repercussions
2) Beat this drunk ass so bad that his friend doesn’t even try to get a piece of me
3) Beat both of their asses.

Knowing this, I continue my verbal backpedalling hoping that I can stall long enough for some sort of intervening factor.

Nah, no way.  He proceeds to swing his leg behind me and as I try to step out of it, he’s able to get me off balance enough and take me to the ground.  We proceed to sit there in a bear hug for like a minute while I’m sitting there thinking, “Okay, if this guy seriously tries to beat my ass, what the fuck do I do to minimize damage and keep his fucking friend out of this.  Finally one of his friends grabs him and pulls him off and drags him back to the apartment.  A “thanks bro” and I’m on my way. 

So, given the situation that you’re fatigued, outnumbered and the guy is drunk, so punching him won’t be as effective, do you take the same course as me?   For this reason I’m considering starting to carry a knife.  A knife may have ended this all differently (although likely with an ambulance), but who knows…  had that friend not intervened, I could’ve had the shit beaten out of me just lying in a fucking patch of grass with nobody around.  Uhono.

Second story, we went to a random party tonight.  Just walked in the door of some apartment with music.  I was Matt, Nate, Sam and Alex, depending on who met me.  A dude with us stole three bottles of liquor (gin, cinnamon schnopps and triple sec, wtf good are those last two, really.)  Met a dude who looked EXACTLY like Tiger Woods and did the fist pump perfectly.   This girl was really good at shaking her ass, soon found out she was in Marine Corps ROTC.  Back away, Chris, this bitch can snap you in half.  At least we have a new hobby…  going into random parties looking for someone, meet some brothas and chill.

So today was the first day of my second to last semester at Purdue.   A quick synopsis of my classes (all of which are on Monday, Wednesday or Friday for the first time ever, woot!)

All my airplane classes are the same as last semester.  50 dudes, 10 girls, no fun.

My “communications in technology” class is Matt Orlando’s wet dream.  18 dudes, 0 girls.  That’s right, zero girls.  I was about the third one to the class, and I kept waiting to see a girl…  The 17th dude comes in and I’m like “You’ve got to be kidding me”.  Typical Purdue ratio.  So anyway, all of these dudes are in engineering technology or some computer shit.  It’s like listening to 17 Matt Orlandos talk, but without the knowledge of anything other than their career field and no interpersonal skills.  The TA asked, “What technology has most shaped your life?” and these guys were all “Nanoplastycartographiccryogenics” at which point I promptly spoke up that both fire and the wheel were pretty influential inventions.  The TA agreed and the final score was Chris 1, nerds 0.  That class is going to be a bitch.  I have to write a GROUP 10-15 page paper.  Combining the two worst parts of any academic schedule… group work and papers.  Fucking wonderful.

So I struck out in my first campus class in 2 years.  My second, however, I hit it big with.

Italian 201.  Me, four other dudes, and 10 chicks.  5 of which are pleasant on the eyes, 1 of which is hot, and maybe 2 are datable.  I got the fucking Albanian TA who was a hardass last time I “took” his class, aka dropping it after 2 classes because he wanted to be on some sort of pedestal over his students…  Oh well, we might be sending this class to pass/fail land anyway.

Let’s see, a brief summary of today:
woke up at 7:30, didn’t feel like going to work.  Proceeded to computer to block myself out on the schedule, and went back to sleep.  Nobody called.  Slept until 12:30.  That was good.

Did nothing all day.  That was bad

Except, went to Wal-Mart to purchase materials to make the Madden Bowl.  That was good. (Pictures will ensue, but my webspace is down)

Talked to Rachel and planned to go ice skating.  That’s good.

Rachel never called.  That’s bad.  Usually you have to date me before you can start standing me up.  Hmph

Sat around and watched tv all night.  That’s bad.

Found out I’d need 3 letters of recommendation to get into grad school, so we can scrap that idea.  That’s bad.

Sofi signed online, and like usual that ends up with me depressed.  That’s bad.

I’ve got nothing to do at work tomrrow.  That’s bad.

6-3, the Bads take it.