Chapter 125: Where are you from?

Or, Why I go on so many dates: part 2

“So, where are you from?”

“I’ve always found it hard to answer that question. I guess I’m from a lot of places.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, for example, I’m actually from here.”

“I thought you said you were new to the area.”

“I am, but if I left, and someone asked ‘Where are you from?’, then I could answer here.”

“… why? You’re not from here.”

“Because ‘here’ is where I went ‘there’ from. I’m as ‘from’ here as I am from most of the other places I’d answer with.”

“No, … I mean where did you grow up.”

“I don’t think that’s happened yet”.

“… What the hell is your problem??”

“I was home schooled.”

“Ooooooooohh. You poor thing!”

On the plus side, I think they’ve learned a lot more than they were expecting.

Chapter 124: The REAL difference between US and Canadian healthcare

During my sophomore year spring break my family decided to take a week long ski vacation to Whistler, British Columbia. The weather was fairly warm, which meant the bottom half of the mountain was raining most of the time. The snow had turned to a mashed potato consistency in many places, so we spent most of our time skiing the top half. Whistler has over 5000 feet of elevation to ski, so we didn’t get too bored.

My father is an excellent skier, and as such he likes to spend his time on very steep slopes and between very hard objects (like rocks and trees). During one run through a glade he was tripped by a fallen tree that had been completely covered by snow. Of course, by tripped I mean his skis went under the log and he was subsequently launched into the air over the log, landing in the snow. He hit his head fairly hard, and decided to call it a day and skied down to the apartment we were renting.

His head was still in fairly severe pain, so he went to a local doctor to see about the injury. The doctor listened to him explain what had happened, then turned and leveled with him.

“In all likelihood it’s a simple bruise, but it could also be a skull fractures or bone damage. In the US, you would have your head x-rayed, which normally costs (some large amount of money). However, since you’re in Canada I’m going to give you a choice. We can give give you an x-ray that will cost (some slightly smaller but still substantial amount of money), or … I can poke it. For free.”

“If it hurts like hell then chances are you’ve broken the bone. If not, then it’s just a bruise and you’ll be fine in a day or two.”

My dad paused, thought about it a little bit, and said, “Alright. Poke it.”

After one of the most anticlimactic pokes in the history of poking, my dad took an ibuprofen and was back on the double black diamonds by the next day. The bone was fine, and we had saved a decent amount of money.

There are several possible conclusions you could draw from this anecdote, and, unlike the entirety of the rest of my life, I’m not going to draw them for you.

In any event, thanks Canada.

BREAKING: The Netherlands, Belgium and Luxembourg all trashed by f’ing Yanks

I just got back from 10 days in Europe, where me and several happening dudes (Mark, Arpan, Sherwin) visited Amsterdam, Brussels, Bruges and Luxembourg City. Outside of Luxem-(Ithaca-the-country)-bourg, the entire trip was a non stop thrill ride of beer, broads and bad decisions.

EuroTrip 2008

Even though I fear incriminating myself, Sherwin has an excellent wrap-up of his portion of the trip: http://www.properscoundrels.com/?p=330.

Chapter 123: Sanity Answering Machine

Hello.

You’ve reached Sam’s brain.

His sanity can’t come to his attention right now, and I’m sure it would like to apologize in advance for what might be said in the immediate present.

DON’T HATE THE PLAYER CAUSE HE’S GOOD AT THE GAME
JUST CAUSE HE TALKIN’ ‘BOUT SOME MONEY OR GRATUITOUS FAME

If you leave your name, number and a reason for requiring his ability to reason, Sam’s sanity will be happy to respond once it returns.

SO WHEN YOU START TO QUESTION WHY I GOT WINS APLENTY
JUST REMEMBER YOU ROLL ONES AND I ROLL TWENTIES

You may leave your message at the ppbbtthh.

PPPPBBBBBTTTTHHH.

Chapter 122: How Jobs are like Girlfriends

I started dating my first girlfriend (Giant Eagle) the summer after my sophomore year of high school. I had recently learned to drive, and the mobility made the logistics of dating (working) finally easy. It was just something people my age did, and it felt like it came naturally with the car. Looking back on it, my first girlfriend (job) wasn’t something I ever really took seriously and I didn’t get much out of it. It was more just an automatic thing to do to pass the time.

I met the girl who would become my second girlfriend (Wal-Mart) while I was still dating the first girl, and I saw the opportunity to sort of switch them over coming a month before it actually happened. The new girl was exciting; she had just moved to town and was in the process of making a lot of new friends (store had just opened). Breaking up with Giant Eagle was essentially a formality. I wasn’t sad to leave, and she wasn’t sad to see me go.

Compared to Giant Eagle, Wal-Mart was amazing. She was fun, loved to see me, had tons of stories and we went on lots of dates (I worked a *lot*). In the back of my mind I knew she wasn’t really the person I had always dreamed about. She liked country music, and didn’t really ever care to move away from Pittsburgh. I saw her a couple times after I left for college (worked random holidays), but eventually she told me to just stop calling. Though I was fine with the casual relationship, apparently that wasn’t what she was looking for (”I’m sorry Sam, you can’t work here anymore.”).

My years of monogamy in high school gave way to an incredible cacophony of polygamous escapades in college (lots of concurrent campus jobs). I had several on again, off again relationships that lasted for years, mostly in parallel. Luckily, none of them really cared about the others so long as I gave them enough individual attention (though no more than 20 hours a week during the semesters).

Throughout my life up to this point I had been looking for a very specific type of girl (computer programming job), but by the time I graduated the only person who fit the mold I had built up in my head was a slightly awkward local girl (Hyland Software). Though it was what I had told myself I wanted, I wasn’t really happy. The relationship was too superficial, there wasn’t enough intellectual depth to keep me interested. That’s when my current girlfriend entered the picture (US Patent Office).

She came out of nowhere, and went against everything I had told myself I wanted (wasn’t a software job). Before I knew what had happened I had followed her down to DC and started a new life. She was smart, great in bed (money was good) and oddly philosophical in a way that none of my previous girlfriends had been. I was hooked.

We’ve been together for approaching two and a half years, and though we’ve had our share of sleepless nights (all nighters), I’d say I’m fairly content. She’s incredibly low maintenance, gets along great with my friends and lets me lead a very independent life. However, that’s where the only … problem … creeps in. I’m so independent that she doesn’t care if she doesn’t see me for weeks at a time (flexible schedule + work at home FTW). I never have to call, I rarely go out of my way to see her, and as long as I’m not sleeping around she doesn’t really care what trouble I get into. I’m beginning to think the entire relationship is just sex (my salary) with the occasional serious conversation.

I’ve been told throughout my life that you should never let yourself be defined by the woman you’re with (your career), and though I think that’s sage advice, I also think it’s missing the bigger picture. Why settle for essentially a part time girlfriend when you can have one that actually commands your attention? Why settle for someone who simply doesn’t detract from your life when you could be finding someone who adds incredibly to it?

Life’s too short for boring girlfriends.