pop_tart's Xanga

Monday, June 16, 2008

Mon, 16 Jun 2008 03:00:24 GMT

Well hello..

If you haven't already, read PorkTornado's latest blog. It's a good one. First the guy is funny as hell and instantly becomes my hero. Then he becomes a pilot. Now he's a flight instructor. Now he's living MY dream. Jerk.

Still my hero..

And I'm living my dream anyway, right, right? No. Not right.

I hate my job. I want to quit. I think some illegal things are happening that I'm not too sure about, and I'm not getting to put in as many hours as a want. I thought I'd be flight instructing more, but I'm stuck at my stupid computer updating the company website and making powerpoint presentations to sell airplanes. Which is great and stuff, but I miss flying. I don't have a single student because this whole operation is so small. I'd planned on most of my income coming from flying (because that's what my boss told me before I took the job) because I get paid more per hour for that. But now, even if I hit 40 hours a week, I'm still way below poverty level.

And I can't hit 40 hours anyway because there's just not that much to do. I'm bored, and I feel guilty about just being there and not doing anything except earning money, so I leave early everyday. I go home unhappy every afternoon.

AND to boot, I keep watching the jets come in across the street and think, "man I want to work line crew again." And I do. I loved that job.

Enough of my whining. I'm in Ponca now, for Father's day and whatever. It went well, and I'm staying here overnight because I'm procrastinating going back to OKC because I hate it there.

Also it's because I can't leave since my massive cat is sitting on me. If you want a visual, then check out this picture of him engulfing a duffel bag. Now imagine that, sprawled out across my lap and purring and being all hot and kneading my bare leg with his claws.

He threw up on the driveway today, and there was a frog in it.

---------------------------------------------

This post seems to be in typical blogger fashion in that I am whining about my life and posting pictures of my cat. In keeping with this dork theme, I think I will tell you all that I went to Scarborough Faire a few weekends ago, and I dressed accordingly. Daniel and my coach a bunch of other people I know from fencing went down to watch our friends Kate and Dave get married at the Faire.

Kate and Dave are cool. Every time we have a tournament in Dallas, they let us stay at their place and play guitar hero until we pass out. Then they feed us breakfast the next morning. Then we go to the tournament, and I beat Kate, HA. Just kidding. Not really.

It's okay, we're buddies.

Anyway, they were even cool enough to let a bunch of us use their house to crash at before we saw them get hitched at the Faire. Which was awesome and stuff until we realized we were short a wedding present. Daniel suggested we steal something from their house and "regift" it to them. Genius.

So we went through their house trying to think of stuff that we could easily wrap. You know like pictures of them together already in frames, or that 12 year old bottle of scotch David has, or that decrepit-looking plant in the corner.

"Hey, congratulations on getting married, guys! We got you this dying plant!"

"Wow... Thanks Daniel and Cathy. It... Looks just like the one we already have in our living room."

"Yeah, that's what YOU think."

We opted for the gift card. Anyway, here's proof of my nerd-self, if you didn't believe it before:

Cathy at a Renaissance Faire, nerding it up.

My favorite part is the dagger on the back. My coach, Jerry, let me borrow it from the club, and Daniel had a sword, too. Unfortunately, Jerry zip-tied our weapons to their hilts because he knows us too well. The whole day after the wedding was spent pretending to get into dueling matches with each other, only to find we can't get our swords out.

Here's my favorite provocative pose with a stupid bottle of water. I make it a point to get sauced at weddings where there is free alcohol, so I'm none too camera shy in this one.

If you look closely, you can see a shadow where my boobs are supposed to be.

Monday, April 14, 2008

Mon, 14 Apr 2008 05:54:28 GMT

Today I learned that "koi," those big fish you usually see in oriental ponds, are actually just big goldfish that were placed in a giant fish tank... Seriously, they just grow according to the size of tank you put them in. I'm not exactly a fish expert here, so I'm not sure on the details. I'm just saying that's crazytalk.

So... I propose we take all the fish out of the Atlanta Aquarium and replace them with "Goldie." Theoretically, Goldie could grow to the size of a couch, or possibly a Tahoe.

This is all for science, people, but just think of the applications: we could "harvest" Goldie when it came time and feed all the hobos in Atlanta for like a year. In fact, we could solve world hunger with a mere handful of Goldies. Think about it.

Apartment Shopping

Wed, 09 Apr 2008 22:26:35 GMT

The last time I went apartment shopping I had my mommy with me. And fully equipped with our Sunday newspaper and OSU Off Campus Living Guide, she and I set out to persue Stillwater's wholesome variety of properties. Within a week, I found my exclusive, upscale penthouse studio suite next to the drainage ditch/wildlife reservoir in the ass-end of the complex. I named it, "the Ess Hole."

I could see daylight through the cracks in the door (this would have been okay if the cracks weren't in the middle of the door), the heater broke constantly, my stairs and the lack of light made me an easy rape victim anytime after sunset, and my neighbors were all on welfare. I loved it. It was my grown up hidey hole, and I was excited because this time it was not made out of couch cushions. I stripped the door and repainted it, bought new blinds, bleached everything, ripped the laminate off the desk, etc, etc, and it rocked.

Then I got roommates and moved into the Reserve because that's where you go when you get roommates who don't own any furniture. The Reserve came complete with wild college parties/orgies whenever OSU won a game, and a lawn dotted with beer cans the morning after. More importantly, though, it came with a dishwasher.

But! Fast forward to now! I'm apartment shopping on my very own in a new town with a new car and a new job, and I'm all starry-eyed about flying and fencing and driving on highways! Here's a glimpse of what I thought it was going to be like!

*50's housewife-driving-the-car-to-the-grocery-store music plays. You know, the kind with the strings all playing pizzicato.* Cathy, wearing a sundress and bonnet, leaps gaily to and fro among brightly colored apartment complexes, purse swinging from her arm, Apartment Finder in hand, retarded smile on her face. The happy apartment man opens the door to an immaculate room with freshly shampooed carpet, everything sparkles like in those bathroom cleaner commercials, and Cathy claps like an idiot.

Okay.

Now picture Cathy driving in her new Mazda, which is not an automatic, whilst holding a map, an apartment guide, the classifieds, and a gas station sandwich. She's wearing job interview clothes because she just accepted her AirOne position, and her janky fencing clothes and the remainder of the newspaper are strewn about the back seat. After accidentally driving around to all fifty welfare housing complexes, she realizes it's after 6, and all the offices to the non-budget-restriction apartments are closed.

She parks, crams the sandwich, and juggles the endless amount of paper before her. Half an hour later she gives up because Oklahoma City property is more expensive than renting a hangar for the space shuttle. Note to self: do not even attempt California.

Two and a half weeks later she is digging through the piles on her desk looking for that damn presentation outline. She unearths the Apartment Finder, swears a little, and calls her mother.

I've been busy... No, not that kind of busy. You're sick.

Thu, 27 Mar 2008 02:41:17 GMT

Yours truly has a job.

That's right guys, in a matter of weeks, I will be joining the American workforce and paying my taxes and building a new tomorrow, etc, etc. Actually I'm already doing all that, but this will be my first post-college, "real" job.

I'll be working for AirOne Flight Academy in Oklahoma City at Wiley Post airport doing flight instructing and aircraft sales. I'll get paid almost double what I get paid for flight instructing now, which is awesome, but not even the best part. The best part is that I will be making/performing presentations for companies who are looking to buy into a business jet. When they buy into the plane, AirOne keeps it, maintains it, and flies it for them. So in about a month.... I will sell shares in a plane and then get to fly the fancy business executives around in it, plus flight instruct in much nicer planes than the ones I'm in now. Oh, yeah, and 10% commission on stuff I help sell. FREAKING WIN-WIN.

I know. You're jealous that I have my dream job already. You should really work on that; jealousy is not a healthy feeling.

The parents have been taking this well, of course. As dad puts it, "we might launch one." They are looking forward to kicking me off the payroll, so to speak, along with the car/health/dental insurance policies and cell phone bill. Apparently I'm expensive or something.

The reason I kept looking for a job in OKC, though, is fencing. I've kind of become attached to the sport, and I find more and more that I want to devote pretty much all of my resources into becoming an elite athlete. I want to win North American Cups. I want to win World Cups. If I wasn't going to be 27 by the time the 2012 Olympics roll around, I would want to go win that, too. My coach says you have be a little crazy if you want to compete at this level. I think centering your career for the next four years around where the fencing center is located is just this kind of crazy.

Here's my logic, though. I have the talent, the desire, and the resources (hopefully). The only time in my life that I will ever be able to see how good I can get at fencing is now. Now, while I'm still young and single and stupid. For me, it isn't about winning or competing so much as it is about seeing what my best looks like.

That having been said, I'm skipping my own graduation ceremony for summer nationals qualifiers in El Paso! I called my parents up, and the conversation went as follows:

Me: Mom, do you mind if I skip my graduation ceremony? I've got to go qualify for summer nationals on the same day. I mean, I can probably file for an exemption if I need to, but I pretty much need to fence at the exact time of the ceremony. Is that cool? It's okay if you're not happy with it, I can figure something else out I guess. I mean, if you're not okay with it.

Mom: Pfft, whatever. If you want to go to the whole 3-hours-of-inspirational-speaking-about-how-you're-going-to-grow-up-to-be-a-millionaire-and-drive-a-Ferrari, I guess we can come and sit through it....... But you can go fence, too, it's up to you.

Me: Wait... Really? I thought Grandma was going to come down.

Mom: Yeah, that fell through. Do what you want.

Me: Should I at least call dad to make sure he's okay with it?

Mom: Oh, yeah. Good idea.

-----------------------------------------------

Me: Dad, do you care if I skip my graduation ceremony to go to a fencing tournament?

Dad: No.

Me:........

Dad: Look, if you want to go through that whole tear-jerking walking across the stage bit, it's cool; we'll take pictures. But if you need to go, it's not going to bother me any. I wish I'd skipped my own.

Me: Amazing.

Thursday, January 17, 2008

Thu, 17 Jan 2008 15:52:27 GMT

That fencing trip to Richmond I talked about was a total disaster. I wrote up a long-winded schpeil about it, but never got around to posting it. I may put it up later in a "Pop_Tart: B Sides and Rarities" post if you're lucky. The short version is that we missed our flight out of Dallas, which was the last flight out for the day in the entire airport, and Daniel fenced the next morning. After several phone calls to parents, frantic over-the-phone Orbitz shopping, several calls to every rental car service available, negotiating with the ticket lady, and a call to American Airlines, we snagged some (relatively, for the time being) cheap (see: not cheap at all) tickets to Baltimore, Maryland and a Chrysler Sebring to get us down to Richmond. Never had I pulled so much money out of my butt before, and never had it hurt so bad.

We go through security, and it turns out I forgot to take the pocketknife that David gave me out of my purse. Since I already spent all my savings on new plane tickets, I didn't have the $10 they charge to mail it back home, so I had to give it up.

Then the flight gets delayed for like four hours, and we get into Baltimore at 4 AM, which leaves us just enough time to rent the car and drive straight through the night to the venue because registration for men's saber opens at 7.

Then the Sebring turns out to be a convertible Sebring, which doesn't hold Daniel's family-sized fencing bag in its trunk, so we spend an extra ten minutes cramming it into the back seat in 20 degree weather. What the hell good is a convertible in winter? That's probably why you had plenty of them left in the lot, Dollar Rental. For future reference, convertible Sebrings aren't "midsize," asshats.

I'm still a little sore because we paid an extra $100 because we're both under 25.

So, a huge cup of coffee and three hours later, we get to the venue and Daniel fences and does pretty well, considering he's just pulled an all-nighter, but we can't check into the hotel afterwards until our friend Brian shows up because the hotel is booked in his name. Our coach, Jerry, was refereeing at the tournament, so he gives us his roomkey and tells us to go take a nap in his room. We ask about his roommates, but he says they should be working all day, but just in case, don't sleep naked.

We heed his advice, and for good cause. Jerry's roommates come back and find two people of the opposite sex half-asleep on the bed (at the opposite ends of the bed, mind you), and the most awkward conversation I have ever had ensues:

Me: "Uh. Hi. We're Jerry's kids. He... Said we could sleep here since, uh..."

Daniel: "-- Since we pulled an all-nighter to get here and can't check into our hotel yet."

Foreign referee dude: "Oh. Ok."

Other foreign referee dude: "Hey, uh..... I'm gonna go to *mumblemumblesomething* Bye."

*BLANK STARE*

*AWKWARD SILENCE AS FOREIGN GUY WALKS AROUND THE ROOM COLLECTING HIS STUFF SO HE CAN CHANGE CLOTHES*

He goes to the bathroom to change.

Daniel: "This is too awkward. I can't take it. Is he going to stay here or leave like the other one did?"

Me: "I don't know. Do we pretend to be asleep? It's totally not believable if we fake it. I'm so lost."

Daniel: *sexual remark about faking it*

We pretended to sleep. Later on, Jerry comes back and we have a good laugh about the whole thing.

So then we checked into our hotel and got stuck on an elevator. Then the bathroom flooded. Then we had a pretty good trip for a while. My cousin Paul drove over from somewhere else in Virginia (sorry, Paul, totally forgot where), and we hung out and ate really good seafood. Then I fenced, and did pretty well, and things were generally a success until the journey home.

First, let me point out that we had to check out of the hotel room before I could take a post-fencing-tournament shower, so I had to fly back filthy and sitting next to people. After the drive back to Baltimore (had fly out of the same place we arrived, plus return the car), the flight gets delayed for about an hour, and we leave Maryland at about the same time that ice storm hits Oklahoma, and all flights into and out of OKC were cancelled. Since we flew out of Dallas (ironically, to save money), we land safely and then can't find our fencing bags for like half an hour. We discover them in a corner by themselves somewhere in a hallway. The reunion is very happy.

Then Jerry calls and asks if we're still in Dallas because he's stuck in the airport since he flew out of Oklahoma City... Which would have been hilarious, except that we had just been through such hell, all we had left was sympathy. So we pick him up and drive him to OKC without his luggage.

But wait. That's not all.... The ice storm hit kind of hard, so the driving is slow. We reach OKC at around 5 in the morning, so I sleep on an air mattress in Daniel's apartment for a few hours before booking it up to Stillwater just in time to arrive at school to take my final exam for Aviation Management in the clothes I've been wearing for over 24 hours now with no post-fencing shower. I did get clean on the walk to class, though, because it totally rained on me the entire way there, and the umbrella didn't help. Then I left the umbrella in the room, and someone stole it, so I walked back in the rain anyway.

And Jerry didn't get his luggage back for a week.

THE END.

Monday, December 03, 2007

Mon, 03 Dec 2007 02:29:11 GMT

I feel the need to point out that my last post came way before Dave Barry's Holiday Gift Guide. I am not linking to the Holiday Gift Guide on his site because I am jealous and lazy.

Whatever. So I graduate in May with dual majors in Aviation Pro-Pilot and Aviation Management. "Dual" majors are better than a "double major" because it means I get two diplomas, as if I had gone to college twice. SWEET FREAKIN DEAL, RIGHT?

The majority of the role models in my life have spent years and years getting their masters/doctorates/multiple degrees in Everything Under The Sun, and you know what? I'm totally right there with them at the ripe age of 22! Take that, role models! Looks like you need to go back to school if you want me to keep idolizing you.

What's that? 40 years of experience at life? A fine flock of children to carry on your legacy? Yeah, well, uh... Yeah? Well, I fly planes. Yeah.

-----------------------------------------

Anyway, I'm flying to Virginia this weekend for a North American Cup fencing tournament, and I'll be fighting against the top women saberists in the nation. It's officially creeping me out because there are 79 of us, and everyone has a cooler name than I do. Like Aiuto or Franciszowicka or D'Asaro. Suddenly my theory that the weirder your name is, the better you are at fencing hits home because "Latimer" has an unfortunately appropriate number of vowels for all of its syllables. Also, there are no punctuation marks or spaces to offset that fact, so you are definitely looking at the little fish in the big pond now.

I need a confidence-boosting, international-sounding, fencing name.

L'Atimer
LaTimer
Guatimer
Latizowski
Zlatimer
Latimernik
Latimer-Chowski
Lasdasdlkjgasdkjgasdfgasdkgasdklgj

Any of these will do. Of course, I will have to wait to get the name change done because those legal things cost money, and I already spent all of mine on the DAMN PLANE TICKET. I'm eating Ramen noodles and cardboard, people. If anybody out there is rich, I promise I will tattoo your name on my forehead if you will sponsor me for the Olympics.

I really want to sell business jets for a living, in case you were wondering, but I might end up going regional airlines so I can deadhead on airline flights across the country for free to support my fencing addiction. Impossible life! That should be my motto.

Thursday, October 18, 2007

Thu, 18 Oct 2007 03:17:38 GMT

If you have ever flown on a commercial airliner, you have most likely flipped through one of several complimentary magazines and catalogs in the hopes of keeping yourself occupied/distracted for at least a portion of the flight. And you probably know that the most infamous of these catalogs, The Skymall, is primarily geared towards upper-middle to upper class middle-aged farts who have nothing better to spend their money on than $100 "revolutionary" back support braces and coffee-makers with built in TVs.

But. If you have ever reeeally stopped to look at those things, you will find it is the most entertaining thing you could EVER find to do on a flight. Especially if you are sitting next to doughnut_girl and Ooh_good on a flight back from Tucson, AZ after having kicked the the majority of the ass that showed up at a North American Cup fencing tournament.

I submit the following wish list:

The Holiday Pop-Art Toaster-- The Holiday Pop-Art Toaster burns cheap images of your favorite Christmas miscellany into your toast! It is sure to dually impress AND piss off your guests by leaving a single piece of toast both totally burnt AND untoasted for a perfect combination of the two least desirable ways to eat bread. $59.95.

The World's Largest Jigsaw Puzzle!-- Entertains Grandpa for four to six years guaranteed! Designed specifically for Skymall because no one besides us could possibly care less, this puzzle took ten years and one hundred and seven monkeys to create, and broke the 1996 Guinness record for biggest waste of time and resources ever. $29.95.

The Timemug Rhinestone Collection-- What better way to say "I couldn't think of anything to get you for Christmas" than a coffee mug with a clock in it? Sure to impress, the Timemug will ensure you are always "fashionably on time" the next time you step into a meeting sipping Starbucks out of your watch-cup. $29.95.

Mr. Clock Radio-- Quite possibly the worst invention ever, Mr. Clock Radio can wake you over 30 different ways, winks and blinks, and even reacts to light. Annoy your spouse or terrorize your children daily by letting them wake up or go to sleep to Mr. Clock Radio's creepy, glowing eyes that seem to stare straight into your soul... Here is another photo of Mr. Clock Radio dreaming about your wife. $79.99.

Polar Fleece Footed Pajamas-- For the parents who truly believe there is nothing more character-building for your son or daughter than getting beat up at a sleepover of pre-teens. $59.99 (no,really).

Larger sizes for, um... For 30 year olds who are sill reliving their youth in their mom's basement??: $74.99 (for serious).

The AV100 Deluxe Tabletop Aquarium-- The aquarium screensaver on your PC not real enough anymore? Now you can have a real aquarium designed to just look like a screensaver on a desktop! A perfect waste table space! Confuse your guests! $149.99.

Um. This is a normal vest, but when you click on the link to see what color the vest is, the caption will tell you it is “deep biscuit.” Yes. "Deep." "Biscuit." "Deep biscuit."

Thursday, September 13, 2007

Thu, 13 Sep 2007 02:09:03 GMT

As I suspected, I hate all of my classes. I'll give you the run-down: Aviation Finance, Aviation Management, Aviation Marketing, and Aviation Safety. They're real thinkers. I don't think I've ever spent a class period of Finance or Marketing where I stayed conscious for the duration. And if you guys have ever seen me fall asleep during something important (which I'm sure you have, it happens often enough) you know that I am practically a living, drooling, bobble-head figurine. I blame two things. First, my sleep deprivation, obviously, but that's a constant throughout all my semesters, and I've always been able to cope. The real kicker is that the lights are turned down, and the windows shut, and the only illumination is from the ever-informative powerpoint slides graphically depicting in cute little bubbles that old people like "value-added services" whereas young people like brand names. Um.

1. Who hasn't figured that out already?
2. Who cares?

Marketing departments? Okay, who cares that matters?

Yeah.

Anyway, it's going to be rough this year, and I might pull my old friend Caffeine Addiction out of the closet and dust him off a bit, because that's the only way I'm going to get "participation points" for keeping my eyes open. Maybe my old friend "The Big Book of Sudoku Puzzles" will also see some action.

Seriously, guys. I'm not a lazy individual, and I'm not at all fond of disrespecting my teachers in class, but I simply don't care. Management is my backup major in case I lose limbs or my medical or (God forbid) have an accident on my record. I went into it thinking the classes would be easy (and they are, don't get me wrong), but I never considered that attending them would be like beating myself in the head with a blunt object. Honestly, I don't know how I'm going to pay attention tomorrow morning, which leads me to... Skipping class! Which I can't do too often because attendance is required.

Wait, let me rephrase that. "Participation" is required, as stated a few paragraphs earlier, because the university decided last year that requiring attendance was illegal. Upon hearing this, though, the Secret Society of Teachers-Whose-Classes-No-One-Shows-Up-To-Because-They-Are-Boring held an emergency seance (complete with hooded robes) to decide how to avoid the embarrassing situation of zero class attendance on a repeated basis. In the midst of the frantic turmoil and cross burning, some smart-ass in the back piped up with "participation points!," and the loophole was born.

Flash back to Cathy, sitting in a dark room with a notebook sprawled across her lap, konked out and snoring. She face-plants into the desk. It is a sad day.

Wednesday, August 08, 2007

Wed, 08 Aug 2007 18:52:03 GMT

So I forgot that I was still in college, and now I am supremely bummed about going back. This will be my fifth year, and I've pretty much taken all the cool classes like Turbine Engines and Advanced Aircraft Systems, and now I am left with Aviation Finance and Business Marketing and the like. Most people call your fifth year your "victory lap," but in my case, I think "death march in January" is going to be more appropriate. No self-defense class, no rock climbing, just... safety and management for a whole year. Oh boy.

However, I am hopefully replacing the blow-off classes with flight instructing out at the airport, so that I can teach young and innocent minds to live on the edge and enjoy cheating death at every opportunity in OSU's fine fleet of "vintage" aircraft circa 1975. And if the airplanes don't kill me, surely some wide-eyed, half-wit student will. I am so excited.

Seriously, guys, the more stories I hear from instructors, the more I want to move to the east coast and tow Cingular banners along a beach to build flight hours instead. It's creeping me out.

But before I can risk my life everyday for measely wages at the Flight Center, I have to pass my CFI checkride, and it is more nerve-wracking than I would like to admit to myself. I have lost sleep and invested countless hours of worrying to death, all with the hopes of scaring myself into crunch-time studying, but to no avail. All those years of shoddy study habits have come back to haunt me because an all-nighter and five cans of Mountain Dew simply won't cut it this time.

This checkride is known to last up to 8 hours, and you take it with some hard-ass who works for the FAA down in Oklahoma City. All together, it involves two written exams (that you take beforehand), an oral exam (the part that takes forever), and a practical exam (where you fly the airplane). It covers subject areas such as teaching psychology, building lesson plans, aerodynamics, flight maneuvers, weather theory, weather charts, airspace, airport operations, emergency procedures, powerplants and aircraft systems, flight instruments, aircraft performance, regulations involving certified flight instructors, regs involving student pilots and various certificates and ratings, aircraft weight and balance, navigation, aeronautical decision making, and much, much more. Oh, and did I mention there's a 70% fail rate? I think I need to.

Wish me luck, people!

Things That Totally Sucked About Summer Nationals

Mon, 09 Jul 2007 18:28:31 GMT

1. I caught a sinus infection, and spent the whole time grossing people out with my obnoxious cough and constant nose-blowing.

2. I lost/someone stole $120 out of my wallet, that I didn't even mean to pull out of the ATM, except that I hit the wrong button.

3. I got a bad referee in Div 1A and lost my first direct elimination bout, leaving me with a measily 35th place out of 56 people.

4. I sucked it up in my Div II bouts and lost my second direct elimination bout, leaving me 19th, when all my friends and people who I've beat before got top 16/top 8. I left without saying goodbye to anyone, and on my way out I checked to see if anyone had turned in $120 in cash, and no. No one had.

5. I was by myself for the last two days of this six day onslaught, sulking in my hotel room, and I actually broke down and cried.

6. After having asked for this time off from BOTH my employers back in MAY, and restating my desire/need to be gone, both of them scheduled me TWICE EACH, and I got two lovely voicemails asking why I wasn't at work yet before I figured it out.

7. On the plane ride back, a guy had a medical emergency and had to be shipped away in an ambulance.

8. I am at work now, with all of my stuff still packed in the car because I had to drive straight here from !!$^^%#! Wichita to make it on time. I reiterate: I was supposed to have today off. I have not slept in 36 hours. I have not taken a shower since my last event. I am still sick. I am skipping work at one of my jobs to be at the other one. But I don't really care because I need to work to earn that $120 back.

Am I going again next year? HELL YES. It was a blast. In fact, I'm going to like four of these next year, and I'm stoked.