They're pressure sealed with a metal top, so upon opening the bottle air rushes in and "pops" the button up quite audibly. That is the most satisfying hiss and pop I've yet to encounter. These little sweet coffee shots popped up quite a bit through my youth; in fact back in the day they were my favorite drink. I didn't have a car back then, but a pedal bike ride to the local Walgreens only took ten minutes. In the days of middle schooler downtime, ten minutes was time that couldn't be wasted in any better way. So I'd be in and out of the shop with a "frappuccino" in hand. Then would come the hiss and pop I've come to love.
These are such handsome little drinks! Next time I'm at the airport waiting for a flight (so... winter break), I'm buying one, and I'm drinking it. I shall here that beautiful hiss and pop from the calming environment of an airport terminal.
So in other news, I'm not doing to hot in CalcII. Which is some bullshit. It will definitely be a struggle to pull off a passing C. But I won't know if I pass or not until winter break. And what else is going down during winter break? Oh that's right! I'm flying out to Africa! Well take my word for it, if I end up keeping my head above water in all my classes, then I am going to throw the fuck down on that trip. I know I've kind of gotten away from my distinguished partying habits in the past couple months, but starting at 10,000ft out of Miami it will be time to get some cirrhosis. So just be weary of that because that's happening.
Of course it may be difficult, and I'll have to be one of the best C-17 cargo pilots in the Air Force, but those are shoes I feel like I could fill. Imagine what it must be like for your job to be that. My about section on Facebook would be ballin and a half....
Works at Air Force 1 as a Chief Pilot.
Job Description: BEST PILOT IN THE WORLD.
But unfortunately I have some time to wait before then. I can't jump ahead like that.
So I was scrolling through my twitter feed the other day and stumbled across a tweet from someone I used to be on the swim team with. Casey, who's two years younger than me (so a senior in HS now, used to drive her to school and bitch about it in this very blog) was tweeting about not wanting to go to swim practice. And I realized, I haven't gone swimming in a while. But it's weird because I still remember the whole process of going to swim practice.
It started with getting home from school and desperately not wanting to go to swim practice. So the evening rolls by, maybe a nap could be had, but sooner or later it's 7:30 and time to go. So now it's freezing, because I'm wearing a swim suit; and it's cold outside, because some asshole decided that high school swimming is a winter sport. So off I go to the pool, still desperately not wanting to get wet. I crank the heat on the drive, but no matter how uncomfortably hot I could get that car, water was still the last thing I wanted anywhere near me.
Now I'm sitting in a 90 degree car, fogging windows up and shit, and it's 30 degrees outside and I'm wearing flip flops, bathing suit, and a towel. After a few songs go by on the radio I decide it's time to stop being a bitch and go to practice. Out of the car I go, and of course the wind is blowing at twenty knots which makes it twenty times more miserable.
Ok I've gotten all the way from my house to the deck, and I still do not want anything to do with that swimming pool. It's 7:52 and in a mere eight minutes I'm going to have to face the fact that I'm gonna have to get in. I'm still cold. I still do not want to get wet. It was always a good idea to distract myself by talking to my friends on the team about parties or whatever I was into back then (partying). But just when I'd start to forget about the gravity of the situation I was in, the coach would tap me on the back with a kind but stern "Decker, stop flirting with girls and get in the pool."
I'd be like "Bullshit practice hasn't started yet." I'd point to the clock with a smug look on my face before returning to my conversation and FUCK. 8:02. I was soon starting to face the reality of having to get wet. With goggles in hand, I'd walk with my head down from the bleachers to the pool thinking of any other possible way to stall. "My waterbottle! I forgot to get my waterbottle!" I'd say. So I'd walk back to my spot on the bleachers, and pick up my waterbottle and head back to the pool.
Fuck. That only took 30 seconds. It is now 8:03 and at this point my coach is yelling "GET IN THE POOL." Ok! Shit... Stretch, do a few stretches. Alright I'm good. Then I'd just stare at the water for another couple seconds recollecting how terribly bad I wanted to stay dry. Oh well, I've already been cold as hell for the past half hour, I might as well end my dry-streak now. And I'd jump in.
Then the next hour and a half would suck; swimming back and fourth in cold water non stop. Kill me. Maybe if I held my breath long enough I'd pass out and not have to swim anymore. So I'd get about 30 seconds in and think 'fuck it', breathe, go back down, and the cycle would start over. Sooner or later it'd be 9:30, we'd all get out, dry off, and practice was over.
And it was a joyous moment! We'd be warm and dry for the next 22 and a half hours! But for that whole time, I'd smell like chlorine. Not like a little bit like 'oh he went to the pool last night', I'm talking about 'holy shit that kid smells like bleach'. All fucking day. It would radiate off my body and disinfect the room. If a couple of swimmers used the bathroom at the same time, the bathroom stopped smelling like shit, and started smelling like chlorine. I literally didn't have to shower if I didn't want to.
So that was what swimming in high school was like. I instantly knew what Casey was feeling when I read her post. She was dry and warm and did not want to get wet and cold. Which is something I no longer have to deal with in college. But as a result of swimming through high school, I can now swim faster than just about anyone who didn't swim in college. Which is really fucking helpful when competing to be a pilot.
So that's about all I have to say about this blog post. 63 days 10 hours and 6 minutes until my flight for Madrid leaves. Yeah, we're getting close. Until next time.
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