The Return, Pt. MMXVI

I am really terrible at getting into routines.

Like, really bad.

I can never seem to do anything I plan on making a routine anymore than a week or so. If you continue through this blog's history, you'll see just how true that is. I'll post consistently for about a week, then I don't do anything for 3 months, or a year, and then another post, once again acknowledging my lack of consistency.  So, new plan:

I'm just gonna post when I feel like it.

I'm not gonna act like I have a bunch of readers that i need to keep satisfied by updating frequently.  I'm just gonna post when I feel like I have something worth sharing, or something I wanna get off my chest.  We'll try this for a while, hope it works out this time. I hope it does, if only because I need to work on my writing skills.  I look back at some of the stuff here and just cringe. I could definitely use the practice.

To kick things off for the thousandth time, here's a quick little story about an encounter I had recently.

I was on my way to work, running just a little behind, but had to stop to get some gas.  The gas station I stopped at was near the airport, so as I'm filling up there's a dull roar of airplanes coming and going. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice a minivan has pulled up close to me, and the lady in the passenger seat was trying to get my attention.  Due to the noise of the planes, I had to go over to her just to hear her properly.

"Would you like some beer?" she asked, holding out a mismatched six-pack. "We're about to fly home, and won't be able to take it with us, but it seems like a waste to throw it out. Would you like it?"

This sent several thoughts through my head, the chief of which being that I don't like beer, so even if I  ignore the fact that I don't know them, their six-pack is made of six different brands, and they assumed I am of age, I would never take it.

"No thanks," I said, with a grin.  This whole situation was just so bizarre to me, I couldn't help but smile about it.  I watched as they pulled up to another car, explained the situation to that gentleman, and  handed him the beer. He pulled out a few and looked them over, apparently approving of them as he stuck them in his truck.

I guess if I am ever in need of some alcohol but can't afford it, I'll just go hang out at the gas station near the airport.

"Real World Applications"

It's hard as a high school student to believe our teachers when they tell you that the things you learn in these classes will have "real world applications."  As if somehow knowing that sideburns were made famous by and named after one General Burnside is going to help you later in life.  Knowing the main themes and symbolism in Lord of the Flies will definitely make girls want you more than dudes who think it's just a stupid book about some kids who are trapped on an island.  Knowing that bats' eyes are mostly just there for aesthetics since they use echolocation will help you work harder to close that account at your nine to five job that you took because it pays the bills.

They weren't entirely wrong.  They just didn't point out the real lessons there.  Maybe being able to connect things like General Burnside and sideburns will help you connect other dots between people.  Being able to comprehend and assess a book like Lord of the Flies may help you understand more of the legal jargon in court documents.  Knowing that bats' eyes are useless but still around may just help you get through that tough workday when you feel useless.  Who knows?

Today, though, I had a real taste of one of the less identified lessons from high school.  I applied for a forbearance on one of my students loans, as I just moved and am having to play catch up on some other more important bills.  The way they figure out if I qualify for a forbearance is if my total payment to them is more than or right at 20% of my monthly income.  That's fine and dandy, except that I'd have to be making less money for that to be true.  How much less? About as much as my other student loan payment.

Because I have two separate student loans through different companies, the fact that my monthly payments exceed more than 20% doesn't matter.  All they see is how much money is coming in, and how much of that goes towards their loans, nevermind the fact that I have another loan that costs more than theirs does.

Do you see where this is going?

In high school I had a teacher who liked to give essay assignments with no warning. He would just spring it on you, with no care about how well it worked into everything else you had assigned that day.  He didn't care either.  His class was all that mattered to him. Just like how he loan company couldn't care less if I have other bills to pay.

 The funny thing is, the only things I ever learned from him were life lessons like this.  I learned the word 'chromatography', but I'm pretty sure I couldn't tell you what it means.  What I can tell you though is that if you're struggling and need just a little leeway to get back on your feet, you certainly can't count on loan companies.

I know you, right?

I ran across a woman the other day.

In a sense, at least.  She was the one doing the running.  She was coming at me from the other end of the park.  Something about her gait, her swinging arms, her countenance struck me as familiar. I'd met her before. I wasn't completely sure where, or when, but I knew I had.  There was no way this was the first time I was meeting her.  Where did I know her from?

"Excuse me, sorry about that..." She caught me off guard with her apology. I know her. I just know it. But how?  From where?

"Sir? Can I have my frisbee back?"  Right, that's why she came running over to me. Not because she recognized me in the same way, but because her frisbee had rolled into my leg.  But I know that I've met her before.  No, not met, knew. I knew this woman.  I knew her very well.  Why?

She thrust her hand out, a bit impatient at this point.  "Sorry," I said, shaking a stupid grin off my face, "I zoned out for a bit there.  Have we met before?"  I handed her the frisbee, studying her face for even a glimpse of recognition.

"No, no we haven't.  If you'll excuse me, I've got a game to return to."  She ran back out to her friends. I watched every step, unable to shake the feeling that I knew her. I was starting to feel like I owed her an apology for something from weeks ago. What could I have possibly done to this woman? She obviously didn't know me, but I definitely knew her.I felt so close to figuring it out, it was right there, her name, her name was--

And life goes on.

Lost my job recently.  Yeah.

See, we received an order from an ex-coworker, and the working manager at the time said to put "(coworker's name here) sucks" on the box.  Well, he thought it was a little humorous  as was the goal.  His parents, however, got kind of mad about it, and complained to corporate about it, so BNPC had no choice but to let me go...  Whatever.  I now deliver for a sandwich shop, so that's cool. The pay is better, it's more relaxed there.

So. Interesting stories? Um... I've had some bizarre dreams lately.  Those have been fun.  It's usually things like my friends trying to murder me, which is probably something important psychologically, but I'm not sure what.  And for those of you who do read this, yeah, it's been you.

See, one friend was chasing me with an ax the other night.  My other friends just watched it happen. I asked for help, pleaded for her to stop, but all my friends would do is shrug, and say "It was bound to happen."

Another friend tried to garrote me.  That was unusual and terrible.  Thinking about it, actually, it should've been unfeasible, since my friends are generally shorter than me, and would have trouble trying to do such a thing.  But it's a dream, and dreams don't make sense.

Another friend had a crane thingy (some sort of giant construction equipment machine) and a wrecking ball, and was whipping it around to try to smash me.  These dreams, while slightly disturbing, have been quite exciting I suppose, since I fear for my life.

It's all fun and games til I wake up screaming.

Flippin' Awesome.

Time for another story from my childhood.

Lets go with the time I flipped a four wheeler, yeah?

I mean, it was less of a flip than it was a barrel roll, but we're getting way ahead of ourselves in this story.

So my grandfather had a farm out in Alabama, around 48 acres of land, all owned by him entirely.  I use the term 'farm' very loosely here, as it wasn't a farm for animals or anything, but rather a farm of FUN.  In all seriousness though. he did rent out the large fields, of which there were 3, to have hay grown on them.  These fields were used by all of his children and grandchildren when we came to visit, such as dirtbiking and frisbee or football throwing.  Enough of this tangent though, back to the story.

On this farm, we did many a thing, as described above, but we had no four wheelers.  On this specific visit, unbeknownst to me, dad had purchased a four wheeler for us to use.  NOt a full sized one, but a tiny one made for kids about my age at the time (which was like 3rd grade or something, so like 8 or 9 I guess?).  I had never ridden one.  I had only recenlty had my training wheels ripped from my bike without my consent( another story for later), and I was not ready for this.  I very warily got on and rode it around a little bit, realizing that the longer you pulled the throttle, the faster it goes and accelerates.  This was a terrible thing for me to realize.  I came around the house, flying at the fastest speed I could accomplish on that turn, and accelerated straight forward, trying to see how fast this thing could go.  I glanced down, watching in amusement how fast the grass was moving under me.  When I looked back up, I saw I was headed straight for a fence, and I freaked out.  Without thinking, I turned hard, not slowing down at all, but due to inertia, I continued forward while the vehicle tried to turn.  What I ended up accomplishing was a barrel roll of sorts, where I ended up face down in the grass, and the four wheeler flipped over me, evidently pressing into my back one time, right in the middle.

My mother hadn't been paying attention, having been engaged in a conversation with our relatives, but when she heard the motor cut off, she panicked, running out to make sure I'm alright.  My dad, naturally, believed I was fine, and with no concern for my well being as I was being taken care of by mother, went out to make  sure the four wheeler wasn't broken or anything.  All I remember is being pulled out of the grass imprint I'd made and being brushed off, with lots of questions about how I was feeling.  Honestly, I felt fine, my back didn't hurt, my arms and legs weren't harmed in any way, I saw no issue with getting on again.  On the other hand, my mother would have no more of me riding that thing for the day.  We went inside so she could check me to make sure I was alright.  She noticed a tire print on my back, and lifted my shirt to make sure I was fine.  Turns out, it pressed down just hard enough top cause some bruises in the pattern of a tire print down my back. Though I thought it was awesome and couldn't wait to get back on and ride again, she was now terrified, maybe even wary of the four wheeler itself, so I didn't get to ride again.  Silly mama.

That's it for now. Maybe nest time we get a childhood story, it'll be how I got 60 fire ant bites on one hand.

That's Not How You're Supposed to Walk

So I checked my Google Drive to reread my prepared blog post from over a month ago, and realized that you guys wouldn't even care about it, since all it was was me raving about how great of a game Journey is.  I mean, not that it's not a great game, but I don't imagine y'all would care.  Also, it would sort of break the style of my posts, as it would be more like a review than story time.

What's new?  Not much.  About to build a PC for the first time ever, been watching far too many TV shows lately, and attending classes...

I rolled my ankle the other day at work.  I felt so stupid.  This apartment complex is very strangely organized and poorly labelled, so I approached several doors before realizing that the destination was likely on the back of the building.  So I started my way back around the building, in a bit of a huff at this point, and half stepped off of a ledge of sorts.  This caused my ankle to roll, me to do a 180 degree turn, and me to throw the pizza/sandwich combo (still contained in a thermal bag, mind you) into some bushes.  I ended up with a scrape on my knees, and a scrape down my arm, from my wrist to my elbow, along with the aforementioned rolled ankle.  I limp my way over to the stairs down to the door, hobble my way to it, and knock.  A woman answers the door, and promptly pays for her food.  As I handed it over I mentioned that I fell, and that she should probably check her food.  She found the sandwich to be in good condition, but when she opened the box for the pizza, we both saw it was ruined.  I ended up calling the store to have it remade, then coming back to deliver the new one to the customer.

The real zinger is that it was all for about a $1 tip.  That's it.  Rolling my ankle, hurting myself in multiple places, wasting gas on a trip back to the store.

Anyway, tune in next time for-ah, who knows.

Very strange customs.

Now it is time for the story of one of my student peers in one of my classes, and how he managed to alienate a couple of us in the class with his actions.

Class starts at 11 every Tuesday and Thursday.  Our professor does not delay the beginning of class at all, and starts promptly at the clocks stroke of 11, regardless of people being present or not, as most all professors do.  This guy, we'll call him Bale, always comes in late.  I mean, he is consistently about 10 minutes late.  Sometimes he's got coffee, once he was even in the middle of a phone call.  He holds no regard for the rest of us, and doesn't try to be quiet about showing up late.  This particular day, he showed up late, plopped his backpack down on the table, unzips it, pulls out his notebook, unceremoniously drops his bag on the ground, then plops himself into his chair.

As if that wasn't bad enough, he apparently did more that I was unaware of, until a fellow classmate stayed after to complain to the teacher about him.

"Excuse me, sir? Yeah, I just wanted to say that this (points at Bale) guy here is an asshole.  He came in late, making all sorts of noise and stuff-"

"As I am very aware of," says the professor.

"- and proceeds to sit down and fart, then turn around and hock a loogie on the floor next to him."

"Wait, what?" says the professor in disgust, "This true Bale? Did you really hock a loogie on the floor?

Bale gives a quizzical look to the professor and says " I didn't know people would be offended by th-"

"Didn't know people would be offended? It's disgusting," says the professor, "where would that ever be acceptable?"

"It doesn't even matter, it's just water, it'll evaporate, big whoop-"

"Just water? If you seriously believe that your saliva is just water, you are more of an idiot than I believed."

Bale just sat there, stupefied  as the professor continued to pack up his stuff and leave the classroom.  I left as soon as I could, leaving just Bale in the classroom, as the other student had left with the professor to discuss class matters.  Since then, he still shows up late, but now he sits in the back row every day, and tries to be a little more quiet.

Next time... I don't remember. Whatever it was my last post mentioned as the third story I have to tell.  That'll be next.