You know, I thought everything was going swimmingly today.  My Father and I weren't fighting; in fact, we were getting along, talking, all that shit.

And then My Fucking Father says tonight, "You are not smart when it comes to money and stocks."  And then he asks me if I have a job waiting for me when we get back from Europe.  And when I tell him the truth, he again tells me go to back to school, with this goddamn insult: "You slept 15 hours once."  That was a decade ago -- those were the days -- and it was only 13, asshole.

I am beyond hurt.  I just quietly say "Okaaaaaaay," in that same whiny voice he uses when he says it, then not do it.  That's very pathological, I know, and it means I have some deep issues, I know, but it's the only defense mechanism that works towards my objective: To get back at him.

Fuck you, Father.

Epic Flying Fail

Stuck in Toronto even though we should've been in Zurich by now.  I blame Pearson airport, which shut down one of its runways for "construction" and made us miss our flight.

Tracking down a new flight and getting a hotel was long, grueling and arduous.  Getting to a hotel?  My fucking God, that's a goddamn story to tell.  And I thought all Canadians were smart and hard-working.

At least the day's ending nice.  At a swank Hilton with competent staff, a fucking luxurious room (I have a separate living room!  And a flat-screen TV too!!), and free Internet.

For My 1,000th Post. ...

I can't believe I've made it a thousand blog posts!  Awesome!!!

Well, to commemorate this historic milestone ... I'm going to announce that I probably will be dark for the next ten days or so.  I'm on vacation, and it's a certainty I won't be able to blog every day.  I'll try; I'm visiting my sister and brother-in-law, and they have computers.  But, for example, the Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey will probably be shelved for the next two Saturdays.  And I won't be able to keep up with daily updates.

I think it's a nice thing.  It's always good to take a break once in a while.

I'll see y'all some time around the week of June 5.

Bad Day. I Always Have One Before Leaving On Vacation.

It all started when My Fucking Father was bitching at me over the phone about the suit that wasn't ready to be picked up for another 90 minutes.  Without anything to do all he does is start a fight with me over stupid shit he already knows.  And I have to deal with this little bitch in close confines for the next ten fucking days?!?!?!  My God, I already know I'll need a vacation after this vacation.
It went all downhill from there.

I needed to do the following things:

• Pick up my altered suit.
• Deposit my money.
• Copy my bank statement to send in my health insurance renewal form.
• Send said health form.
• Finish and file my latest column on the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition, which is officially off of newsstands as of ... um, tonight.  OK, I guess it's too late.  (By the way, I really did jerk off to it after I got done.)
• Mow the lawn.  Don't want to see three weeks' worth of outgrowth when I come back, I agree with Father about that.
• Look at porn.

As always, that last thing dictates how I get to the other things on my to-do list.  I think that's a sign that I'm an addict.  Anyway, I wanted to do most of those things overnight, but after my function I was so damn tired I actually passed out at a decent hour and woke up around 9:30 this morning.  And porn doesn't totally rule my life; I did get around to filing that column and mowing the lawn ... well, and beating off after the column ... plus touching myself when I woke up because I had morningwood and I wanted to cash in.

Because of the column, I didn't get around to mowing until 12:45, even though I wanted to do it earlier in the day, a cooler day than expected, so I would've mowed in very tepid temps.  And I got done with both front- and backyard at 2:15, way after I wanted to.

The only place I could sneakread Playboy was 20 miles away.  It's probably the last time I'll be able to look at porn -- let alone masturbate; that's why I practiced onanism twice this morning -- for two weeks, so I made it a point to make this long trip, even if I would be coming back in the teeth of afternoon rush.

Going down, I realized something: At 4 o'clock I think I'll be able to check me and my parents in online.  I should do that.  I realize that at a quarter to three, while I was about to hit the highway.  That, along with my free of traffic, made me very cognizant of the time I spend on me porn.  But, it is porn.  So I spent about half an hour, left at 3:40 -- and promptly spent the next 30 minutes in bumper-to-bumper traffic.

My Fucking Father's bitchy ways -- seriously, he seems to be at his most petulant right before he goes on trips, it's pathological -- were bouncing around in my head and making me crazy.  And I had a bunch of shit I had to do, so I was very frazzled.  I was computing what else I needed to do, in what order I should do them, and whether I'd be able to get home in time for dinner (and avoid My Fucking Father bitching at me and starting a fight, although I was in such a state that I wouldn't mind joining him in one to see if he would do something so radical as to not go).

What I wanted to do was go online, check in and print out my statement that I need to send to the state, or else I would lose my health insurance.  So I go online ... and the fucking modem doesn't work.  The Internet light cuts in and out.  So what I do is unplug it plug it in my mother's office to "clean it out," then replug it.  That always works.  But it didn't work this time, for the first time ever.  Out of all the times for this trick to not work for the first goddamn time, it'd have to be at a point where I've got shit to do.

I think Grandmother nattering away on the phone has something to do with it.  The landline's frequency is on the same ... wavelength (?) as the modem's, so using it has sometimes caused interference.  I'm so mad I want to march up there and order to get off the phone.  But I can't.  She's my Grandmother.  She raised me.  So I decide to leave and print out my bank statement at the library, which is incredibly unsafe because I'll be checking into private information in public.  But I had shit to do.

Well, here is where I made my big mistake.  Not not forgetting my library card, which I left on my bed while I was getting my alteration ticket.  On my way to the library, I was lamenting that I had put my to-do list in order where depositing my money was the last thing I was going to do.  I had mentally planned on doing down the street to do that, even though I could've done that on my way home just now.  It'd be a waste of time, especially since I hadn't filled out my health app; I would need to drop it off, then go to the bank.  But as long as I have to go to the library, I might as well deposit it up at this branch.  But ... is it possible that it could show up on the statement I'll be printing out online?  It was worth taking a chance on if it meant saving some time.  Besides, I've always wanted to know how quickly a transaction gets posted to your account.

The answer: Almost instantaneous.  Almost ten minutes after dropping off the money, I saw my statement, which had my deposit as a pending transaction.  Fuck you, Internet.  I was so mad that I audibly said, "Goddammit. ..."  Even though I had my latest paper statement, I wanted to print it out because it reflected the credit card charge I moved up paying.  My smaller checking account would give me a better case for either renewing my health insurance or getting it at the same or smaller premiums.  It can't work with this deposit; I mean, what's the fucking use of paying my credit card off now?

So now I have a choice.  My paper statement shows I have $6,500.  The online statement shows that I have $6,300, the latest of which being a huge deposit.  Which one makes me look more eligible for poor people's insurance?  Come to think about it, I really don't know.  I thought I had to copy my online statement, but even with the depost I only have $100 more.  Well, shit; there's a chance I wasted twenty cents copying statements I'm not going to use.

Anyway, as I was leaving the library in a huff, I was bemoaning my Rube Goldberg fate, and mentally plotting ways I could beat the shit out of Grandmother.  I wouldn't've ruined my chances of getting health insurance I can afford if I didn't deposit my money first, I wouldn't've been tempted to deposit my money first if I had to stop at the library along the way.  If I was able to print out my statement (let alone check in) at home, I would just need to go the mall to pick up my suit.  But no, I had to make this extra-special stop because my fucking Grandmother wanted to be a teenage girl with her friend on the phone.

(Oh, another cavalcade of disaster which was this day: Printing out copies meant I had to use cash.  I didn't cash today because the only thing I anticipated buying was an iced drink at the coffeeshop, and if it was the only thing, I might as well just charge it and stick to my rule of not taking out my wallet for every single thing every single day.  But because I just did for the copies, I might as well pay cash for my iced drink.  But what if I didn't have to go to the fucking library at all?  Fuck you, Grandmother.  And what if I didn't need to use the copies?  At this point, I'll have to use the copies because it'd be a tremendous waste not to.  Fuck my goddamn life.)

My pissed-offness continued when picking up the suit.  I reached into the pocket where I thought I put my ticket in, but I panicked when I didn't feel it, I was at the counter and the employees said hi.  At this point I was running red, so all my social graces went out the window.  I shouted, to myself although it was loud enough that I wouldn't blame the workers if they thought they were yelling at me, "Shit!!!"  They were really nice to me, however; I gave them my name and description of the suit I needed hemmed, and they remembered me and trusted that the striped seersucker suit is the one I was there for.

When I got back to my car, I reached for my phone.  Because I'm wearing my high school shorts and they're really tiny and I have tiny pockets, I didn't have any room in them for my cell, so that's why I left it in my car.  When I saw my phone, there were pink corners sticking out from my inside my flip.  Oh shit, I realized; I put the ticket in my phone for safe-keeping.  I'm an idiot.

And then I was driving to the post office to check on how late they're open (so I'd know how much time I have to fill out the health insurance app), I realized I was even more of an idiot.  The health insurance renewal form is a big one, and the return envelope isn't usual size but the size of a sheet of paper.  I remember that the instructions say that the postage won't be your usual stamp because of it.  I would need to go to the post office and see how much exact postage would be.  And when I got there, a bit past 5:15, it was a ghost town, the office and the parking lot.  Shit, these postal workers have an eye on the clock their whole day and get the fuck out of Dodge once the clock strikes 5.  They really are union workers, aren't they?

Anyway, that meant that it was useless to drive around like a chicken with its head cut off because I couldn't complete the task of sending my health insurance form this evening.  I really, really didn't want to drive around tomorrow; I just wanted to relax, get my luggage together, and sleep in.  Can't do that anymore.

At least the pressure's off.  It was further deflated tonight when the modem didn't work after my parents came home and Grandmother was off the phone; so it wasn't Grandmother.  I actually unplugged the phone in the same splitter as the modem, and it worked.  What the fuck?  Anyway, after I was able to connect to the Internet, I still couldn't check in.  There's a list of, I guess, U.S. destination cities that one could check in online from, and MSP was not on it.  After staying on the phone for a half fucking hour tonight, Air Canada told me I could not check in online because MSP is one of the few United States cities without any Air Canada employees.

Now I'm rallying to finish this blog before midnight because I have yet to blog for the day.  And I still haven't gotten around to finishing my packing.  I think I've said all I needed to say about this goddamned day.

Expense Tracking Fail

I just spent the last two hours going through my day planner, my credit card statement online, this blog and my shitty memory just so I can fill out my daily expenses.  I keep track of them as a way of tracking how much money's frittering through my fingers.  But I've become lazy with it the past couple years, and having a "regular" job the past month has made it even easier for me to push it off.  That has allowed my memories to fade, unfortunately, which gave me yet another excuse to procrastinate.  The fact that I had to swap in month of May in my day planner was the only thing that forced me to get around to it.

Unfortunately there are too many holes in my memory that aren't helped by any clues or records I've kept.  I've done all I can, I've fixed what I thought I could fix, and I have to go on.  Because I have other shit to do.  I'll get to make up for it in, oh, another two weeks.

Allergies? What Allergies? Oh, Those Allergies.

People have been saying this is the worst allergy season ever.  I thought every spring is the worst allergy season ever, at least according to me.  But when people were reporting that a week ago, I wasn't feeling anything -- no runny nose, no scratchy eyes, no sneezing, no nothing.

I had not been taking my leftover Nasonex from last year yet.  But hearing the reports, I decided to break it out.  Thank Buddha it still works!  It was like a godsend for me last year, when I was prescribed it.  It actually helped with things, unlike Claritin or any of the pills I tried taking.

I was reminded that I needed ot use it every day when I tried going without it during a rainy day a couple days ago.  I thought there wouldn't be any allergies because everything would be washed out, so I didn't snort the Nasonex.  But apparently there was enough pollen in the air, or allergies are activated by heat, or something, because I was sneezing and scratching like a motherfucker.

Furthermore, today was the first day where I used it and I didn't feel the effects as strongly as I did before.  Late in the afternoon I had to take out my Kleenex a few too many times, even though I followed the instructions and snorted 11 hours before I needed it the most (because that's when the instructions say you need to do it before to achieve maximum effect -- I think).  I am running out, and it is a year old.  That worries me, especially since I don't know if my allergies will act up on my vacation.

So There's This Guy. ...

I hung out with a high school friend.  Hadn't seen here in damn well two decades.  But we got reacquainted with each other on facebook, and she invited me over to her place, and we hung out last night.
But there was this friend of hers. ...  I really paid no attention to him at all during my stay, but now, looking back on it, he was an asshole.  And he falls into a particular type of asshole I encounter from time to time that I absolutely despise: The Person Who Doesn't Act Like You Exist Just Because You Are Brave Enough To Enter Into A Social Situation Where You Don't Know Most Of The People.

There were, like, four other people there.  They all waved hi back except for this guy.  No matter; I was just taking it all in.  The only time, the only, when he even said anything to me was when he went to sit on the same bench to talk to his friend.  Some bullshit about feelings and, uh, I don't know, it wasn't my fucking business, who cares.

But right in the middle of this dramatic heart-to-heart conversation, one which he initiated and carried because it was so important to him, was when he warn/yell at me, I guess, when the bench under us rocked back.  Now first of all, this was the first thing he said to me.  He didn't say when my high school friend introduced me; the first thing he said to me was, "Don't rock the bench!" which is something normal, civilized people don't say to each other the first time out.  Second of all, he didn't look at me when said this.  Not only did I not really understand at the time that he was talking to me and not anybody else, but lack of eye contact is a real big pet peeve of mine.  Don't like something I did (or, in this case, something you think I did)?  Say it to my face, dick.

When I was left I had to circle back around in front of my friend's house.  And as I drove past, I saw this prick, this bullet-headed basketcase (he was totally bald, and he was the only douche among us wearing a sweater in what was a sultry night) sit right on the same side of the bench I did not two minutes earlier.  He totally wanted me gone.  Fucker didn't even wait for the warmth from my ass to cool off.

These are signs of a total, passive-aggressive dick.  I'm angry at myself for thinking so much about him, and after our "meeting."  But these types are a particular virulent strain of buttmunch.  And I'm kind of afraid what I would do, or have to do, if I ever ran into him around town.  Minneapolis/St. Paul isn't that big of a city.

The Shame In Their Eyes

Stories like what happened yesterday is why I started up this blog.  I certainly want to work on my writing in the (increasingly long) hopes of parlaying this into something I can get paid for.  But at the end of the day, Wailing And Failing is about me venting about my life, and how so much bullshit can pile up to the point where I just have to put it down somewhere or else I will explode.

Ran errands for my sister.  When I got home, the parents asked me if the library was still open.  Why?  They want color copies of the passports in case we lose them.  Wow, I didn't think of that.  That's a very good idea!  Sure, I'll go out to the library and get color copies for us.  I'll be right back!

And that's when my adventure began.

But when I got to the library, I couldn't find copiers that make color copies.  Shocking.  Budgets cuts, I assume.  Damn you, Pawlenty.  So I go to the next library I know will have color printers, about 10 minutes away.  But they don't have color either.  I swear I thought they did.

So screw the library.  I go across the street to The UPS Store.  They have color copies.  But when I show them the passports, the guy shuts me down.  Apparently it's illegal.  I always thought you should make copies.  But I guess it's illegal to do them in color, or to have somebody do them for you, or to have someone do it for you without changing the size of it, or something.  The guy was very apologetic, but he had rules he had to follow.  Perplexed, I left.

I left my cellphone in my car because I didn't have any place for it in my pockets.  When I got back to it, there were two missed calls.  'Rents.  Call home; get Father.  Shit.

What do I say?  I think he'd get mad if I told him I went to The UPS Store, so I leave that out.  I told him that I went to two libraries and neither of them had color printing.  Can you believe that?

And this is where the beatings and yelling I took as a kid affects my current choices.  I ask My Father, "What should I do now?" anticipating that he'd get mad.  He says, I think, "Just come home!"  Him speaking so fast (in Chinese) isn't helping me completely understand what he's saying.  So I just come home.

I walk in the door.  Mother's at the top step.

"So, you get the copies?"

"No."

"Not black-and-white?"

"No."

"Why not?"

And this is an instance that leads me to believe that maybe, possible, I was adopted.  I wasn't being an asshole, I was just doing what I thought she wanted me to do, which was get color copies of our passports.  But I couldn't get them!  So I didn't do anything.  So I said:

"Because you wanted them in color."

I wasn't trying to be a smartass.  I was being matter-of-fact about it.  Maybe I don't get it.  Maybe I have Asperger's Syndrome.  But I detected a slight hint of indignation, even resignation at what her child has become, as she slowly gallumphed back into the kitchen.  Even though I detected it, it didn't change my mood.  Hey, it's what she wanted.

What affected me just a little more -- but just a little -- is seeing My Fucking Father glare at me from the kitchen sink when I reached the top of the stairs.  And then he shook his head as he got back to what he was doing at the sink.  What?  You told me to come home.

When I stopped to think about it, he hates it when we can't start dinner because I'm not home.  He always calls me around dinnertime during the workweek when I'm enjoying coffee.  So maybe he was angry at me for taking 45 minutes for something that shouldn't've taken more than 15.  Or maybe he was upset that I didn't take black-and-white copies of our passports like he thought he told me over the phone.  Who fucking knows; even though I saw his consternation, I didn't think too much of it.  I mean, he told me to come, bottom line.

The weirdest thing about this is that neither parental unit held it above my head.  They talked to me over dinner, civilly, without scorn or sarcasm.  Maybe I underestimated their reaction towards what I did (or didn't do).  Maybe they just let it go.  Or maybe they realized that I am who I am, and just accepted me for who am I.

Wishful thinking, huh?

The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey

#-1: Gopher baseball (Last Week: -1). A 3-2 week.  But about that third win ... it happened in the first game of Thursday's twi-night doubleheader with Ohio St.  With the scored tied at 2 in the bottom of the ninth, men on first and second and one out, Troy Larson hit a cue shot off the Buckeye shortstop, which caromed into centerfield.  With that 3-2 walkoff (I hate that term "walkoff," and I don't know why ... I should say "game-ending" instead) win, the Gophers secured a spot in the Big Ten Tournament.

Their regular season finale against Ohio St. will determine whether the Goofs get second place in the conference.  They're currently a half-game behind Illinois and tied with Purdue in third.  That's important because the conference tournament comprises of only six teams, and the top two teams get to skip the first day, Wednesday.  Unfortunately, the game that was supposed to start last night was postponed due to in-and-out rain.  It was rescheduled for noon today, or six minutes ago ... but the steady showers I hear outside are the same ones they're hearing at Target Field because they're delayed yet again.

#-2: Twins (Last Week: -Infinity).  Did it have to take Harmon Killebrew, arguably The Greatest Twin Ever, to die in order for this team to stop sucking?  Apparently so; the day he passed (by the way, that was quick, wasn't it?  There was an announcement that he's stopping cancer treatment on Friday, and he's gone four days later?  It was probably planned that the statement would be released well along his, for lack of a better word, "journey" towards the end, I guess.), the Twinks ended a nine-game losing streak by beating Seattle, 2-1.  That adds up to three.  Three was the Killer's number.  Coincidence?  Defintely so.  (Sorry, making fun of people who read too much into things.)

That actually began a three-game winning streak for the team, including a mini-sweep of Oakland in Oakland, before they attended Killebrew's memorial service in Peoria, Ariz. Friday morning.  They then lost to the Diamondbacks, 8-7.  It's as if they can't win unless they're in shock over an icon's passing.  They finish up their interleague series this weekend, then fly home to do three with Seattle, host a public memorial to Harmon Thursday (an off-day), then begin a weekend series against the Los Angels of Anaheim Angels of Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim Angels Of. ...

#-3: Timberwolves (Re-Entry!).  The curse of the franchise drafting "n+1" in an "n" draft continues.  OK, let's be real: There is no one guy in this draft.  In fact, this could be the shittiest draft since 2000, where the best guy in that class is Kenyon Martin.  It could be the worst ever.

Still, there is consensus coming around one guy: Duke Point Guard Kyrie Irving.  Jonny Flynn is not the answer, and Ricky Rubio would rather eat Osama bin Laden's shit than play for the Woofs (don't blame him), so General Manager David Kahn needs a PG, even though he's drafted a dozen of them the past two years.

Since they had the worst record in the league, they had the best chance to get the #1 pick.  But not only has, like, only three teams with the worst record that year actually get the top draft pick, but the Woofie Dogs have frequently slid down.  And that they did -- to one spot, with Cleveland, post-LeBron, getting the first overall.

Well, fuck this team.  Really, fuck them.  You might as well move the club.  Who is the second best player in the draft, Derrick Williams out of Arizona?  He demands to be a Small Forward, and Minnesota has a bunch of Power Forwards that should be threes.  Who else is there?  Kahn might as well trade the pick for a veteran player who'll at least make this team professional, or sell it for money to improve Target Center after the downtown deal to refurbish the Metrodome for the Vikings fell through.  Seriously, they just shouldn't pick at all.

By the way, the things Kahn said ... well, I'm not a conspiracy theorist, but I'm not going to say he's completely crazy.  One thing about this hubbub I'm sure of; most of the people who are bitching that they want Kahn fired for his post-lottery fixing comments only want to because they hate Kahn and will use anything to get him shitcanned.  I understand the sentiment, but you goddamn well know that if this team was a more successful one, you'd let him skate.  Hypocrisy, plain and simple.  And by the way, it does seem like a coincidence that the Cavaliers won the pick, doesn't it? ...

#-4: Wild (Re-Entry!).  Derek Boogaard's tox report came in.  The Boogeyman did something foolish, and fatal: He chased down oxycodone with alcohol.  With his death, it's assured: He replaces Marian Gaborik in fans' minds as The Greatest Wild Player Ever.  I mean that.

Back To Unemployment -- And Freedom!

Today ends my last day at my day job.  And with no night job prospects in sight, I am going back to the two jobs I did before finding real, full-time work: Being a PCA for Grandmother and being a hearing subject at the University of Minnesota.
There actually is some good in that.  First of all, this means I can finally start planning, let alone packing, for my trip to Europe next week.  I really, truly haven't thought about it at all till now.  Also, I haven't been writing as much as I should, and the company I think I'm propping up by myself is woefully barren of content.  I can fill that now that I have time.  And as much as it felt appropriate -- and oddly easy -- to set my body clock to wake up in the morning and work like everybody else's in the world, it's time for me to march to the beat of my own drummer.  I think I'm just a guy who has to wake up at noon and go to sleep at 6 in the morning.

But of course there's a downside.  I go back to my credit card, where I cut off most entertainment charges and still have to pay $500 this month.  If that's just me going out and doing stuff, I have two choices: Don't go out and do stuff (easier said than done; I mean, I'm not dead), or find a job.  And the two I still have don't count.

I'll be back on the grind, at least for a while, or maybe/unless I finally get my butt back to school.  In the meantime, I have some packing to do.  Well ... actually I have some fun stuff I want to do tonight.  I'll get around to packing soon.

"Collector's" Pop Bottles Crossroads

There were these Pepsi, Coke and RC "collector's" bottles that we have had as far as I can remember.  There was a chance they were in this garage before we even moved in, which was a long, long time ago.  They were just ... there.  I didn't think too much of it. 

Yet, when My Father started cleaning out the garage a few months ago, I got really, really sentimental.  I remember seeing them in the garage when I was young, and I left them alone.  Now, there was a possibility that My Father left them there because he thought they were going to accrue in value.  But really, when I saw them, pangs of my long-forgotten youth came back on me like a wave.  It's really, really pathetic that I only cared about these bottles as they were being taken out to the curb to be recycled.  But these bottles, to me, deserved a fate better than mere recycling.

So you know what I did?  The first time he put those collector's bottles out, in the morning, just after I administered insulin shots to Grandmother, I went outside, took those bottles, and put them in my car trunk.  I will not let these good soldiers, made out of sturdy glass that have stood the test of time, to be merely ran through a life cycle.  They could be used by someone ... for something else ... and maybe I can make some money off of it.  And I did it again the next week.  I now have two big plastic bigs filled with Pepsi, Coke and RC bottles, both two-liters and those old-school glass six-packs.

But I'll be goddamned, he was cleaning out the garage this past weekend and found even more hidden in an old cabinet.  He took out one of the two recycling bins we were issued by the city, put them in that bin, and put them next to his window outside, just outside the garage door, to put out to the curb this morning.

Mentally I was racing to Thursday -- this morning -- and thinking about how to "save" these bottles.  I've been leaving for work in the morning after they left for the morning, so it's easy to just throw the bottles in the trunk of my car and put them in storage before I come back from work that evening, or some other day.  Since they're at work all day -- assuming they don't come back for a surprise doctor's appointment or something -- they won't know I took the bottles before the recycler did.

However ... I looked up the prices for bottles up for auction on eBay.  They ain't worth shit.  And they're not selling.  But they say that they're collector's items themselves!  Turns out my sentimental is just that, because it looks quite doubtful I could get any money for them.  I might as well ... have them recycled.  So maybe I shouldn't over-exert myself.  I have more than enough.  And maybe getting this ... "clutter" out of the house will be good for us, for me.  Besides, I told myself that I just don't have the time to "save" every glass bottle that might be in the garage; if My Fucking Father finds more during this project I'm working on, I'll just have to let it go.

I thought about this when leaving for work this morning.  I was sort of running late, and yet I went down to the end of the driveway and just stared at that blue bin of bottles.  My knee-jerk reaction was, "Dump the bottles into the car ... I can figure out how to bag them up by the time I take it to storage."  But ... maybe it wasn't worth it.  I did want to make it to work on time (which I did), and maybe taking these seemingly worthless glass bottles, as old as they are, as beautiful as they are, made no sense.

There were 13 bottles My Fucking Father put into this bin.  They were all Pepsi 2-liters, except two of them, a Coke and an RC.  So I compromised.  I did pluck a fully-furnished game of Clue: Master Detective (the bigger sequel to Clue) out of last week's recycle pile.  I took those two outlier bottles and threw them in my trunk.  The other 11 Pepsis?  I let them go.

And I probably will forget later all the angst I'm expending on this now.

I think I've been so busy with working that ... I haven't realized till tonight that today (Thursday) is my last day working there.  I have mixed feelings.  On the one hand, I am leaving after a month; even though this new type of "test-driving" new questions has reinvigorated me, I don't know if I could do this 40 hours a week.  Best to leave while not burning too many bridges with the surly attitude that was bound to come out given time.

On the other hand ... shit, I could still use the money.  And after adjusting my body to a "normal" schedule, I "get" to revert back to my normal schedule of waking up at 1 in the afternoon.  That's great for my body, and for my writing, but it's not good for the pocketbook.  Hell, I just saw my credit card statement online.  Even stripping away all entertainment expenses, I will have charged another $500 on my card this month.  No huge ancillary things, just gasoline mostly.  Which means I need money, money I won't have after I lose my job, which is today.

As much as I like my freedom from indentured servitude, which all work is, I will miss the job and, most importantly, the people I've been working with.

Bad Driver: 884 ACM

Bitch, bitch, bitch, you shouldn't've done that.  All I did was try to merge.  You act like I was taking your toy away.

Man, it's been a long, long time since I faced somebody who wouldn't let me merge in front of her.  And ... oh my God, have I ever been given the finger on the road?  I thought I had been, but now that I think about it, there's been only one time, and -- believe it or not, guys -- she did it in jest.  But there was no more road for me to go on, and I had to get onto your lane.  All I asked you was "no," shaking my head.  And for that you gave me the finger?

Alright.  One of these days these Unsafe Driving Reports to Minnesota DPS will come to fruition someday.

You know, maybe -- just maybe -- she would have let me in if I put my turn signal on.  As you probably were razzled while you were driving, so I was too -- some asshole, either from work or the building across the parking lot -- honked his fucking horn at me while I tried to get on the busy street.  Now why would some asshole do that?  We work around the same place, so we might run into each other again.  What the fuck, seriously?  So I had that I had to deal with and then I had this I had to deal with.

Well, fuck y'all, and hope to see y'all again.

Do They Know?

I've been scared of this possibility for awhile now.  I have to let it out.

There are, oh, three or four girls at My Favorite Stripclub (Dayshift Version) who know about my practice of taking out my dick.  None of them know, however, that I confess about it here.

Well, they might know by now.

It's all in the way things had changed the last time I was there.  I already told you about one of them, one whom I was reluctant to show my dick to before I gave in to my carnal urges and did, and then became really cold to at the other place she works at.

But then there was another one, one whom I had wrote extensively about.  She's the first person to wank my dick at this stripclub, and we continued to do so until -- I guess this is her opinion -- I carried it a bit too far.  She had not touched my pee-pee the last few times I was there and I was getting quite upset, as well as blueballs.

So, the last time I was there, I made my frustrations known ... without whipping it out.  She told me she thinks I wrote shit about her on the Internet.  After thinking, "Wow, you actually read my stuff!" I had to play coy -- "That wasn't me," I said.  Not knowing if she actually did Google herself and saw me.  It's very possible I'm right and someone else had been talking about her.  But maybe my reluctance to defend myself is the end result of hesitation that she is right and narcissism about being read.

I still said it wasn't me.  In the end, she said she doesn't do extras anymore -- maybe it was because of this, because of me, but I didn't press the issue.  Hey, she could've thrown my ass out.  And where else would I go to get my rocks off?  So I didn't pressure.  And she let me stay.  And we had a cordial conversation and the lamest air dance I've ever gotten from her.  And because of my history with her, I'll probably get a couch dance from her for a $20 two-for-one the next time I'm there.  And I'll hope for another handjob that I probably will never get from her again.  (By the way, thank God for Summer, whom I did expose myself to but finally did what I hoped she would do!!!)

It's the third one that scares me, the one that saved me from my sexual frustration when the one I just wrote about started playing cocktease.  She wasn't the sexiest, but she knew what I wanted and didn't mind getting her hands dirty.  Best of all, she worked cheap.  I love her.  So when I was told the last time I was there that she's taking a "sabbatical," that's when I got real concerned.

See now ... one girl I showed my dick to seems real pissed at me, even though she's acting like she's not.  There's another that flat-out accused me of telling of my exploits with her on the Internet and is no longer giving me hand love.  And now a third just leaves the club and possibly the earth?  Oh my God, is it possible that ... I did all of this?

I really, really, really need to know their sudden attitude change towards me is the result of this blog.  But if it is ... um, I really don't know how I could deal with the guilt.  I have guilt now, and right now the hairs on the back of my neck are standing on end.

Still ... there is this one other cute girl.  If she's still working there the next time I'm there, should I try and corrupt her, too?

My God, I'm a perv.

Threatened By Facebook

Threats piss me off.  Really piss me off.  I can't really do anything about them.  I don't like that fucking asshole with the Vikings threatening to take my job away from me, and I don't like that the biggest social networking site on Earth just threatened me, either.

I told you back in October about commingling facebook for real friends and porn stars and Playboy nude models and how I got into trouble from facebook for friending them.  Well, I basically got my supposed last threat when I logged in just tonight:

Final Warning – Friend Requests Blocked for 30 Days

Not one week.  Not two weeks.  A whole goddamn month.  And if I violate their rules one more time, I will not be allowed to make or, I think, accept friend requests ever again.

Well, shit.  I guess I hadn't taken facebook that seriously before this.  Now that I think about it, I have been friending like a motherfucker for the past month or so.

But do I think I brought this on myself?  Fuck no!  As I said back in October, I have no fucking idea which one of these Playmate bitches complained on me.  Shit, one "celebrity" who got naked for a pictorial back in '93 accepted my friend request fucking today!!

And maybe facebook should blame itself.  They keep listing these "People You May Know."  Most of them are Playmates.  You don't think I might friend those people, facebook assholes???  If you don't want me troubling these chicks, maybe you shouldn't post their photos on my facebook.  You feed me crack, then you get all shocked when I whip out my dick so I can get some more?  Or ... something like that.  You know what I mean, I'm just saying that I wouldn't be getting into trouble if you, facebook, didn't tempt me.  It's your fault.

Worst of all, there's no way I can see where I can turn off this "People You May Know" box on the right-hand side of my page.  You spit in my face by grounding me from friending me for a month, yet you invite me to friend more people?  This is an unfair goddamn set-up, facebook.  Unless and until I can find a way to remove this feature, fuck you.

A Slice Of Life In The Minneapple

In Uptown there's a used electronics place on the main drag, Hennepin Avenue, called Reboot.  It's right next to a place I've come to frequent more often late on weekends, Red's Savoy Pizza.  Recommend both its pizza as well as its signature philly cheesesteak.

I first noticed this when eating at Red's for the first time.  Reboot has a window display of all the refurbished TV and computer screens they have for sale.  But after they close, they don't just shut everything off.  Instead, one of the screens displayed a movie -- Pee-Wee's Big Adventure.  I remember watching that a long, long time ago!

They continue this movie on a loop, presumably all night.  I've come across the film whenever I eat at Red's or I'm just walking around, and the scene of the movie when I come across it either sparks a memory in me or is so captivating that I always stop in my tracks and watch at least a few seconds.  Tonight, I saw the scene where Pee-Wee chains his bike.  So he opens up his compartment and starts pulling out his chain ... and he keeps pulling it out ... and pulling it out ... and pulling it out until he has a mountain of metal links in front of his bike.  When I first saw this many moons ago, I swore I could see the bottom of the compartment; the "endless" chain was being fed through the bottom, even though we obviously weren't supposed to see it.

I don't know how much in energy playing Pee-Wee's Big Adventure every night costs Reboot, but I hope it's not too much.  And I hope they're getting what they want out of it, whatever it may be.  I cherish it.  It's a minor miracle, I think.  Because for me, I imagine some homeless guy, or someone who just broke up with his girlfriend or her boyfriend, or a woman down on his luck, or even a lonely man wanting a late-night bite to eat because he doesn't want to go home to his family and his troubles yet, stopping to see a familiar movie playing on a storefront in the middle of the night for no apparent reason.  Whatever the circumstances and regardless of the randomness, he or she just stops, looks, and smiles at the very funny movie he gets to watch for a little bit right on the street as if he or she was watching it at home.  And all the troubles that are plaguing him or her are vanquished, just for that little period of time, in this little pocket tucked away in the city of Minneapolis.

The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey

#-1: Gopher baseball (Last Week: -2).  These are the times in the WMNSS where the pickings are slim.  It makes me hella easy for me to do this -- there are many times in the winter and spring where I go, "Should I even do this anymore?" -- but with this being the fallow season, where Gopher baseball will slowly cede its place to the Lynx before the winter season cranks up again, I'm left to fill space for two teams that are going to go nowhere.  That means there's a dangerous amount of time for me to ruminate, almost nauseatingly so, about how the teams I cover for the survey are so terrible.

This isn't exactly one of those times.  But it must be said again: The Big Ten in baseball is a mid-major conference, therefore the path to any success, let alone the College World Series, is that much tougher for the Goofs.  And yet, somehow, they swept Michigan last week with the last two games being a combined score of 17-12 to, if I'm correct, get back into second place in the conference.  I swear they were third from the bottom last week.  Nick O'Shea was named Co-Big Ten Player Of The Week for hitting .636, hitting three home runs and driving in six in the U.'s first sweep of the Wolverines in six years.

Unfortunately they started their series at Penn St. last (Friday) night with a 7-0 turd.  Believe it or not, they finish their regular season this week.  Minnesota plays two more afternoon games against the Nittany Lions this weekend, then host their final nonconference game Tuesday against North Dakota St. (at Siebert), then for some reason (maybe the high school baseball tournaments?) cram a three-game series at Target against Ohio St. in two weekdays, including a doubleheader on Thursday.  Thursday?

#-Infinity: Twins (Last Week: -1).  I rarely give the -Infinity to any team unless their season is over short of a championship.  But the Twinks' week has been so awful, both on the field and off, that, deserved and undeserved, I'm putting the fork in 'em.  At least this week.

These fuckers lost every single game this week -- 0-6.  Joe Mauer's still out.  Jim Thome's still out.  Delmon Young's just starting to get back in the lineup.  Justin Morneau still doesn't look like a decent major-league player, let alone one fully healed from a concussion.  And the pitching blows.  I am seeing the same storyline from Brett Favre in Carl Pavano; increasing stretches of mediocrity, threatening to bring down the team he's expected to lead.

This losing streak includes a two-game sweep at home of Detroit.  A friend had an extra ticket to the Tuesday game.  It's the first Twins game I saw purely as a spectator.  And it sucked.  Oh yeah, the $545 million ballpark is awesome and stuff, but the sellout streak was over early this season -- we're totally getting our money back on this investment, huh?  It was Francisco Liriano's first game since his no-hitter; I knew he was going to get shelled early and often, but five runs in the first three innings?  He had so much trouble pitching he almost airmailed two throws in an intentional walk.  Then he got pulled because he got hurt.  Trade him.

Oh, and this was the game that got delayed an hour because of rain and hail.  I don't care about tradition, and I don't give a damn if I was spoiled because of the Metrodome; rain delays suck.  They waste our time.  I had a job to go to in the morning, and since they probably weren't going to make the game competitive, me and the three other friends I was with took off after the fifth inning.  We made a mockery of the game -- well, actually the Twins made a mockery of the game by playing so shittily -- but we had no choice.  We have lives to live.  You put a retractable roof on that sucker and there'd be no delays ever.  We're already paying $550 million for this son-of-a-bitch, what's another $100 million?  Told ya.

This team right now is as bad as those teams in the mid-'90's, when we were all speculating that they were going to leave Minnesota.  No we only want them to.  Because this team was supposed to win the American League Central Division -- not compete, but win.  And not to say that a new stadium guarantees that every year, but Twins management said, explicitly, that a new ballpark would mean they would be competitive forever.  Well, where the fuck are you people now?  We give you $360+ million and you give us the worst record in the league, featuring a bunch of minor-leaguers that show just how fallow our system really is?

I know how this story's going to end.  We're going to take this season, only the second in this brand-new ballpark, because we have to.  We're going to take the first-overall draft pick and shed Morneau and Young and Michael Cuddyer to start a "youth movement," then sometime in the next two years the Pohlads are going to sell the team because they have finally wringed as much profit out of this team.  They got their goddamn stadium, but we don't have our championship team.  People of Minnesota, we've been had.  And I knew this was fucking going to happen, all along.

They finish at home against the Blue Jays and then have two more two-game series (what the fuck is with all these two-game series?  That's five now!!) at Seattle and at Oakland, then begin interleague play at another shitty team, the Arizona Diamondbacks.  Just what this team needs: A weeklong roadtrip through three cities out west without a day off.

Nightmare Journal

Had a nightmare some time this week, don't exactly remember when.  But this is the first nightmare I remember in a long time.

Details are sketchy, but there was a nuclear attack in the English Isle, either England or Northern Ireland.  And I was scared because I was in France or Belgium or Denmark.  Not only was I scared of the nuclear radiation, but I think I was frightened in my nightmare that I wasn't able to make plans to get back home.

This nightmare was so bad, and so vivid, that when I woke up I noticed that I had my left arm raised up by my head.  I always have that when I'm going through vicious nightmares.

What does this mean?  I think it has something to do with my upcoming trip to Europe.

My circadian rhythm adjustment as a result of having a day job has finally caught up to me and assaulted me.  I slept through primetime (and Dancing With The Stars) on Monday, and after being able to stay up for primetime (and America's Next Top Model) yesterday, I decided to see what would happen if I just curled up and turned off all the lights at 10.  I woke up at 4.

I'm grateful for six hours of sleep; I haven't had that during the day since starting this job.  But I have a long day ahead of me, and if I'm up this early, it means I'm going to crash some time during the day.  As long as I make it till the end, where I can finally eat something big, take in a conference call, then get in some much-needed exercise, I'll do OK.  I can crash when I get home late tonight.

Wish me luck.

When I leave for work at the end of the day, I have to take a left onto a very congestive road which leads to the highway.  Sometimes I do it like it's no big deal.  Sometimes I wait for minutes.  Sometimes I take a right and then do a U-turn at the next light.  Sometimes I don't even go out that way.

Yesterday I was panicking.  The line of cars coming from the left and the right weren't lining up so that there was a nice, big hole for me to drive into.  It was one of those cases where there was no traffic coming from one side, but there was from the other, so I had to wait, and then the traffic flipped, and I still had to wait.  (I hate left turns.  Unfortunately, this building is situated so that I need to make a few lefts in order to get onto the highway I need to get onto.)

I was getting antsy.  And then, the straw that broke the camel's back: A car pulled up behind me.  Boy, I have bad memories of some car riding my ass while I wait for the perfect opportunity to pull away.  Hate it, hate it, hate it to this day.

So I had to make a rash decision, something that could've gotten me into an accident.  I coast out, make sure the coast wasn't clear (and it wasn't), and even though I was in the left turn lane and had my left blinker on, I immediately jerked my car to the right.  Must've confused the hell out of the guy behind me, who really wasn't bothering me much.  But honestly, I didn't see if there was a car in the right turn lane.  And what happens if the guy behind was being a dick?  There were a couple possibilities where I easily could've gotten into an accident.  Luckily, I didn't.

Worst of all?  Thinking back on it, there's a chance that the guy behind me was someone I work with.  What if he thinks less of me now?

Hot Town, Summer In The City

Man, I hope I haven't used that title before, but for some reason I think I already have.  Fuck it, I'll use it anyway.

Anyhoo, today was the first real hot day of the year -- 80's and humid.  We didn't really have a spring.  We went from a very long winter to this summer day.  Anyway again, a bunch of things happened today as a result of the heat that I don't like:

1) I wanted to sport my Minnesota North Stars gear today.  No reason, I just kind of felt like being an obnoxious sports fan at work.  One looks that much more conspicuous -- and therefore annoying -- when you're wearing a lot of sports stuff and you're not a sporting event.  I think I was OK.

I went to work with my North Stars hat and jersey.  Things were fine, except that whenever I moved my hand, the huge sleeve from my jersey would pick up and move all my papers around.  Yeah, this will probably be the last time I wear a hockey jersey to work.  Got a few compliments that are always appreciated, though.

Mid-morning ushered in a change, however.  The air conditioning in the room started to not work.  It got very uncomfortable wearing a polyester jersey.  Eventually I just had to take it off the rest of the day.  Thankfully I had a t-shirt underneath.

As for the hat. ...  When you wear it enough times, it gets dirty, if only on the inside collar, where it quickly gets yellow and brown from all the sweat.  I know that.  I have almost two dozen hats, and all of them have that shitty-looking collar.  Plus you sometimes adjust your hat with fingers that you haven't cleaned yet, so the brim gets dirty.

Eventually every hat gets dirty.  Still, I try to break in a new hat by shielding it from as much dirt and grime as possible.  At some point I'm going to forget, but I'll do my damndest to keep my virginal hat.  I feel that way about the North Stars hat, my newest one.  I bought it at the Mall Of America on sale and I didn't use till about a month ago, when I attended a hockey game at the Xcel Energy Center.  Hell, I didn't even take the hat out of the bag for three or four months.  That's my modus operandi: Keep them as immaculate as possible.

However, I also need to sleep.  And since I started working days, I have re-remembered that the best way to try and catch a nap during lunchtime is to fold my hat and put it on my head in such a way that it just about covers my eyes.  I was not going to treat my North Stars hat any different.

However, remember that it reached into the eighties and was humid.  As I was trying to pass out I could feel the sweat generating on my skin.  "Oh-oh," I thought to myself ... but then I started paralyzing, a sign that I was about to fall asleep.  I never really did; it was too damn hot.  Still, when my alarm cell woke me up, I took off the North Stars hat, and I saw patches of sweat on the back of the head, where the sweat from my brow seeped in.  And now my pristine hat's ruined.

2) When my sister was in town, she used my car.  Recently I found a note of hers.  It was a series of directions she probably wrote for herself.  Well, I like that little reminder that she was still around, so I didn't clean it out and put it on the passenger floormat.

I went to the Twins game tonight -- more on that later.  Instead of just cranking it full blast from the start of my way downtown, I roll down the windows and gently turn on the "circular" fan in the car.  If the car's overheating -- there's nothing to suggest that it was, but it was hot outside -- I would be able to vent it through the car because the windows would be down.  Plus, putting the windows down before I got onto the highway seemed like a smart idea to gradually lead the car into giving me air conditioning, which uses a lot of energy.

I didn't think it'd kick up so much turbulence inside my car.  After I made a left onto the "mainer" drag from my neighborhood and picked up some speed, but not yet at highway speed, the wind swirling in my car picked up this little note.  It started floating, then stuck to the inside A-pillar.  "Oh shit," I thought, and I tried to trap it little Post-It in my car by pulling the windows up.  But it was too late; halfway up, the note flew right out my car.  Looking at my rearview mirror, I saw the turquoise note flipping in the wind, right in front of the probably stunned cars behind me.

Thought about going back and looking for it after the game.  Promptly forgot.  Wouldn't've been useful probably anyway.

RIP, turquoise Post-It note my sister made.

3) The game sucked.  It sucked so bad that I broke a cardinal rule of mine: I left the game early.  Now, I'm one of those purist, die-hard traditionalists.  I usually don't leave a game until it's over because that's what I went there for.  But this time there were a few things that persuaded me to leave -- in concert, unbeknownst to me, with the other three friends I was with, thus relieving me of any guilt over ditching them:

• First of all, the Twinks sucked tonight.  I knew Francisco Liriano wasn't going to pitch even close as well to the no-hitter he threw last week.  But the fucker didn't even get to the fourth inning, allowing four runs in the process.  He was so bad, his pitches went wild on a four-pitch intentional walk, for shit's sake.  He was pulled at the end of that inning because he was "hurt."  If "hurt" meant "back to his inferior ways," then I might buy it.
• There was a rain delay that lasted more than an hour.  See, this shit is why this team should've stayed in the Metrodome, or at least get a retractable roof stadium built instead of this Target Field crap.  People say there's tradition behind the rain-out, maybe even a hint of romanticism.  I may have been softened up by the fact the baseball team had played indoors as long as I remember it, but I call bullshit on this outdoor rain delay crap.  I want a game to go off as scheduled, and I want it to get to its finish as naturally as possible without any outside distractions -- like the fucking weather.  Waiting around to see the game get going back again slowly pissed me off.
• Oh yeah, did I mention that I have a day job?  Well, at least until next week.
• And after it started raining hard, it started hailing.  Hailing???  Not only was it not supposed to hail, it wasn't even supposed to rain until after midnight.  Thanks, Weather Channel.  It got louder -- therefore bigger -- and more frequent.  I spent ten minutes finding a parking spot that I didn't have to pay for.  I'm closer to the highway on-ramp than the stadium, and now, seeing this hail, I'm kicking myself that I didn't play it safe and get my car in an indoor ramp.  All I could think about once I saw the balls start to fall is rushing back to my car to see everything all dented up and shit.  My mind's now totally out of the game.

So with all that, once the game resumed, I think all four of us made a tacit agreement to stick around until 9:30 or so to see if the Twins could mount a remarkable comeback.  They couldn't.  So after five innings, where the game goes official (just in case of another storm), I decide to leave.  Thankfully, my other three friends thought it was the perfect time to take off too.  They also have day jobs.  It seems like a tremendous waste of money.  But with so many people ditching the game before it was over, maybe this is a sign that I'm growing up.  Or that I don't care that much about sports anymore.

4) I finally tried the new gyros place across the street from My Favorite Stripclub (No Cover Division).  I wanted to leave the game, but I didn't really need to go home yet.  Plus, there were no dents on the car from the hail, thank Buddha, so I was in a sort-of good mood.  Also, I thought I was hungry; even though I ate at Twins Dog and drank a whole souvenir-size cup of Pepsi, I thought the calories were sweat out of me because of the heat, so I could eat again.  Finally, there was never a good time to try this place, at least not anytime soon.  No better night than now.

Pretty good.  I had the gyro combo.  The Gyro was fat; I had to eat the lamb before eating the whole thing, soft taco-style, in the pita.  What I appreciate more (other than the fact that they were open past their announced 10 p.m. weekday closing time) is that both the gyro and the fries came out hot.  Really hot.  So hot, in fact, that I should've waited for it to cool, because either the gyro or the fries (maybe both) put a blister on my tongue.  This is why I sometimes wait until the food gets a little too cold before I eat it; that patience bars self-injury.

Short Temper In The Morning

Didn't get much sleep this morning. Schedule over the weekend threw me off. Should've gone to bed earlier Sunday night/Monday morning, but didn't.
Woken up by Grandmother. Still feelin' very groggy. Things were OK, but I thought something was off. Grandmother was quite spry and chipper.

When I tested her blood, I checked the time: 7:21 a.m. And that clock's fast. She woke me up ten minutes before I wanted to. And I was angry. But irrationally so.

What I did next is something I'm not proud of. I blog this to understand why I did it in an effort to not do it again. I don't know if that's possible; I'm always at my worst in the morning. But the original aim of Wailing And Failing is to work through and eliminate my shortcomings.

This is what I did, and I want I meant to "communicate" to Grandmother my disapproval of her waking me up ten minutes early:

• Looked at her as she was opening an alcoholic wipe.  Stared at her as if she was stupid.  Why are you opening that?  You don't fucking see the insulin needle anywhere in front of you, do you?
• Waited, passive-aggressively, to see if she would at least make a move to the refrigerator, where I put the insulin.  She does do that nowadays, and I'd appreciate it now, since she woke me up early and stuff.  This was your fucking idea, why don't you get your bushy-tailed ass up to the fridge and get it yourself?
• I sigh, not overly loud yet loud enough to, I think, have her hear it.  Fine, you goddamn deaf, blind and dumb bat, I'll do it myself.
• I finally wait long enough to bait my Grandmother into finally getting around to what I think is her problem: "Where's the insulin?" she asked.  Good -- got you in my manipulative trap.
• Gesturing like she's a mute, I lay out my palm and wave it towards the refrigerator.  Well of course it's in the fridge, where it always is.  Now fetch.
• I sigh as I lower myself back into my chair, like that hydraulic sound you hear when a forklift lowers its fork.  You should be doing this work all by your fucking self, Granny, since you woke me up so motherfucking early in the morning, Christ. ...
• And then she walks back from the kitchen without the insulin.  Where the fuck is it?  Oh, right ... I forgot to put it in the fridge last night.  It's in my room.  Let me go get it.  Whoops.

When I went back inside, I checked my watch.  By the time I get it, go back to the dining room, give it to Grandmother, and go back into my bed, the alarm would go off.  I turn off the alarm on my watch as soon as it beeps and hit the snooze button on my cell.  I loll in bed another eight minutes before the alarm goes off again, but I don't fall back to sleep because I now think of all the things I should be doing now that I'm up early.

I'm trying, and I really don't want to disrespect and bully my Grandmother.  When I reflect on what I did this morning, all I can think of is ... My Fucking Father.  He hasn't acted civilly towards her ever since I left for college, and maybe even since my childhood.  He complained on Saturday about how she's a drain on the household utilities, but I think it's overblown.  And I sublimate his behavior towards her and copy it when she pisses me off the same way she pisses him off.  And I don't like it, because My Fucking Father's an asshole, and I don't want to spread the poison I learn from him.

But even after I vow not to follow down My Fucking Father's path, this morning happens.  Will I ever learn?  And can I ever change?

Why Was I Let Go?

It's been a week since I lost my nighttime test scoring position, and the last paycheck from them arrived yesterday, so I don't think they can touch me anymore, at least for now. And yet I'm still kind of confused as to what happened there.

I started work there at the beginning of last month. My project was scheduled to last about six weeks, or until next week. But about two weeks into my project I was told I would be switched over to another project ... which was to last only two weeks. When I was dismissed late last month, I left the place two weeks before I initially thought I was going to leave. That's another $300 I expected but won't get.

Why was I basically fired? Did I do something wrong? Was it because I portrayed a negative attitude? I don't think I did. Was it because I looked unkempt, or I smell? That's the reason I got fired from my last job, and that was a goddamn setup.

Was I too fast? They keep track of how fast you're going through the answers and how accurate you are. I was plenty fast; in fact, I may have been the guy who went through the most papers every night. Is that a good thing? Maybe not. In my old job I was told to keep my numbers up and so I kept working as fast as I could. But that meant I ran out of work most nights, so I wouldn't get the eight hours a night I needed and expected. So I slowed down. I might've hurt my numbers, but at least I got my 8. And once word filtered up that my pace slowed to a glacial pace, I probably lost my job. But I don't give a shit. I felt disrespected to be dispatched so early in my worknight so often. I saw it as a way to get mine, what I deserved.

Was I too good? I was switched from a math problem, one that has a straightforward set of answers to track on each student's page, to two multi-part social studies questions. Maybe they thought I had the competency to deal with more complicated, "right-brain" questions. But did they think that maybe I would rather stick around for an extra two weeks instead of taking up a challenge? I don't know how I'm supposed to feel "respected" by getting tougher prompts if I'm canned two weeks early.

Added to that is the scoring director. He seemed nice enough, but was a little too aloof. Moreover, we ran into each other a couple times in the bathroom. It was awkward to be cordial anyway, but he didn't even acknowledge me while we were in there. Weird. And kind of cold, too.

So it wasn't the greatest place to work. A hell of a lot less friendly than my day job. But still, there were many people there I liked working with. Plus, it's work -- decent work for decent pay. It's money I need. And now I don't have it. And I wonder why the fuck not.

No Rest For The Wicked. I Didn't Know My Car Was Wicked.

I really, really wanted to stay home this weekend. I got annoyed enough with My Father that, after surveying what I could do this weekend, I decided that I could stay home. The price of gas is still high, even though it's now at around $3.89 a gallon. (BTW, I swear that the assassination of Osama bin Laden is a reason it's gone down. Really. The price of gas is tied to the general morale of the American public.) There really is a point where I just can't justify driving around to places when there is stuff I can do at home. So even though I considered going all the way down to Canterbury Park to watch the Kentucky Derby -- I realized later that the park itself isn't open to live racing for another two weeks, so it made no sense to go down there when I would only be watching horse racing on TV anyway, even with this potential ticket mailed to me by Canterbury that could have given me a grand to bet on races with -- I decided to stay home and do some chores.

One of those chores was finally getting around to fixing the garage door. I finally got my ass up Saturday to affix the beams and retie all the wires I needed to do. I didn't get around to it because I didn't have the new wire I needed, but apparently Father found one and he put it in, though half-assedly.

I was hoping the wires were good and I just needed to line up the sensor beams. No, that wasn't it. After a few minutes, I realized that the next thing I needed to look at was the main motor, which is right in the middle of the ceiling in our garage. The two cars are parked right below it. And I didn't have enough room to put in a ladder to look.

So, that meant I had to move my car. And by my person rules, if I just move my car down the driveway, well, I'm cooking the oil in my engine that won't get hot enough long enough to burn off all the impurities, which means I'll allow sludge to develop, and all because I moved my car down several yards. So that meant I had to go out tonight because then I'll drive my car enough to get it hot to burn off all the bad stuff in the oil. So I made last night an evening of it; instead of watching the Celtics-Heat game and Tina Fey on Saturday Night Live at home, I hit two stripclubs and had coffee and a late-night snack.

(By the way, I didn't completely fix the garage door. Father mismatched the wires to the terminals, and then one of the casters fell off the rolling track, and then the vertical brace fell off ... bottom line, Father came in as I was out in the garage and he's going to take care of it all today. Maybe.)

Sunday was ... Sunday. We don't go out Sunday. It is Mother's Day, but I don't think Mother wanted to go anywhere. But as I was passed out to pay the sleep debt I accrued working over the week (and even though Grandmother probably thought it was Monday, otherwise why would she wake me up to do her tests at 7:30 on a fucking Sunday morning), I was woken up by Grandmother at around 11.

Father was on the landline. Apparently there's a new Chinese buffet that opened up nearby and maybe we want to go there for Mother's Day. Check it out, won't you?

Well, fuck me. I guess I shouldn't have counted on staying home for Mommy's Day, even though that's what we've done the past few years. But with this new buffet (which, by the way, looks very well appointed, but there were a few white people working there, and that's always a red flag that it might not be a good buffet [it's something my parents taught me, and to be honest, it seems right more often than not]) I have to check out, I'll have to drive some more -- again. It's not the driveway, it's close enough that my temperature gauge won't reach optimal by the time I get there, so I might as well do more shit (like walking around the mall, returning this tray, and blogging this for the day and going to yet another stripclub) to make sure my car's engine's going to be OK. And shit, I might as keep it on the driveway and use it to take the family the buffet tonight -- the one in St. Paul, the my parents prefer, the only place outside they'll go to. Only the best for Mom.

So what was supposed to be a restful day for me and my automobile turned out to be as active a one as I usually have. More gas, more money. Things get in the way, and yet nothing changes.

The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey

#-1: Twins (Last Week: -5). A 3-2 week -- first the 2, then the 3. Start off with the losses that completed a sweep at Kansas City for the first time in ages that was a bright red flag in the troubles plauging the Twinks -- the injuries, the track record of the minor leaguers called up to help out the team, the dearth of offense.

But then Francisco Liriano throws his first no-hitter. In fact, it was his first complete game ever. In fact, it was his first shutout ever. No-hitters are absolutely no predictor of future success -- Dan Barriero of KFAN tweeted immediately after the feat, "Trade him. Now," and that's not a bad idea -- but it started a two-game sweep of the similarly shuffling Chicago White Sox and began their current winning streak; Friday's 9-2 victory over Boston was only the second time the team scored more than five runs.

You should have looked at the lineup the Twins trotted out today; there were so many new people that it feels like the franchise is rebuilding. Right now they're playing the Red Sox on FOX; after finishing up the series Monday, they immediately head back home for yet another two-game series (what's the deal with all these two-fers? I don't remember more than one a year, and this is their third) against Detroit, then they begin a weekend three-gamer in Target against Toronto.

#-2: Gopher baseball (Last Week: -2). Split their four games this screening week. Of course my friend and I go to a game where they lose, namely Sunday's dreadful 7-1 loss to Iowa depriving the Goofs of a sweep of the Hawkeyes that they needed. And then they go to Fargo, N.D. and loss at North Dakota St. on Tuesday. They give up the lead with four in the eighth inning ... to fucking North Dakota St. That has definitely got to hurt any chance they have of getting to the NCAA Tournament.

On the bright side, Friday they won their fourth straight Big Ten road game, 4-1 over Michigan. They're playing the second game of their three-game series right now; after this weekend, they stay on the road and start a trio against Penn St. Friday.

#-Infinity: Swarm (Last Week: -1). Everybody was hyped up last Saturday. With the way they ended the regular season, not only was the local National Lacrosse League team poised to make it to the Western Conference Final match, but also to finally give this success-starved metropolis a winner to watch.

Instead, they shit the bed. A team that poured on the goals in their last regular season game against Colorado was nowhere to be found when it counted, as the Washington Stealth held them scoreless in the fourth quarter. Man, that would have been frustrating to watch in person. A 5-1 Smarm lead early in the game became a 10-8 deficit after the third period, and that was it. And for the second time in franchise history, they host a playoff game and get upset. They still have not won a postseason game ever.

Failure in front of your home team when it counts? Now the Swarm is a Minnesota sports franchise.

Sleep Limbo

I was so tired that I decided to turn off the TV at 9:30 (after the 30 Rock season finale, which was very solid). But then I got caught up on public television on a story about the psychological profile written up on Adolf Hitler during World War II, when it was groundbreaking stuff, and I had to watch. Then I had to take a shit. And then it was 10, and I was still tired, so I decided to hit the hay again.

And I woke up at 1. I was in a state of sleep where I throw my left arm over my head, so my entire arm was numb when I finally came to. The clock I have next to me is wrong and my watch was on my table, so I didn't know for a minute exactly what time it was. I had to turn on my TV to get the time.

So now I am in this limbo: So far away from my waking-up time that I'll run out of things to do, but too close to go back to sleep. I think I'm fucked.

Just to be nice, I just spent four hours this evening preparing peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for work tomorrow. Hopefully they'll like it.

Why did I do it? Believe it or not, I actually like going to work. I like the work itself, but more importantly, I like the people I work with. Besides, I've eaten a lot of the treats other co-workers have bought and brought, so it's my turn. But I guess I just want to make a splash by bringing in something homemade and something other than chocolate.

Hopefully they'll like it. But what if they don't? Or, what if they like it so much that they complain that there isn't enough to go around?

Here Comes The Satellite Radio Channel Lineup Change

It was high time for the two satellite channels to reconcile their lineups once they merged. And it happened tonight. Like, just now.

My online player was looking a little funky when I launched it tonight. When I'd flip to a channel, the usual features (name of song, artist) weren't there, replaced by "Now on Channel 'x'" notes. I didn't think anything of it; so long as I got my channel, and it's playing a song within the genre of what the channel was, I didn't pay any attention to it.

I knew it was going to happen overnight soon, I just forgot it was tonight. I thought it was going to be midnight, and I made a mental note to get on and listen to it before midnight. I got lucky; even though I forgot my mental note, I was on my laptop and using the radio player before 12 a.m. because I needed to blog my previous entry, among other reasons.

So all the stuff I saw and didn't see I thought was the radio player fucking up again. I was surfing porn, went to the bathroom to rub one out, then when I got back, I was logged out of the player. Wait a second ... I didn't log myself out. Boy, either I was masturbating for a long time or it's really buggin' tonight, I thought. So I relogin ... and now all the channels have changed. So I guess some time between 2:15 and 2:45 in the morning Central Saving Time, Sirius XM Satellite Radio did the switchover.

Now to fix the shitty online player interface. ...

Downtown Minneapolis Is Pushing Me Away

Going to the Gophers' game at Target Field on Sunday. Usually Washington Ave. is free, so I can park somewhat close to the ballpark on the street. I used to be able to park on one of the main drags, 1st Ave. on Sundays to get to work. But they've made those meters over there enforceable seven days a week. So I had to park a little farther away from the heart of downtown.

Well, when I parked on Washington Sunday, I made sure I could still park there without paying. But then I saw the sticker on the post (they went from basic meters to these new digital posts) that said that they are now daily. Fuck!!! You kidding me??? There's nobody fucking here and now I can't park on Washington any day without paying?!?!

So now I have to park at a meter just off of Wash, thus pushing me farther away from Target and closer and closer to the bad part of downtown. Great. Pretty soon I'll just use the commuter rail to go in.

Osama Been Laden

Wow. What an historic fucking day.

On the one hand I wanted to catch up with Desperate Housewives and Brothers & Sisters. On the other hand I drank wine and had no intention of watching The Celebrity Apprentice now that Donald Trump's turned into a fucking birther.

So I was able to stay up to watch the end of The Amazing Race: Unfinished Business before I surfed through both DH and TCA4 and decided to turn off my TV and see if I can get some shuteye. And I did till about half past 9 to a quarter to 10, when Grandmother came home from the casino and woke me up to make sure I was home.

I did want to catch the end of TCA4 and the weekend sports shows that are on Sundays after the news, and I was thirsty as hell, so I finally turned on my TV. The last thing I watched was a public television station, in particular a show about urban planning. When I heard some boring interview, I hit the flipback button. The next-to-last thing I watched was TCA4, so I was listening to the NBC affiliate as I was shielding my eyes so that they could adjust to the sudden flood of light.

But instead of Donald Trump doing his narcissistic thing, I heard Chuck Todd of NBC News. Huh? What's going on now? And then I heard "He ... him ... something happened in Afghanistan ... something happened in Pakistan." The hell? So I put on my glasses; my journalistic background told me something big was happening. And then, when I finally looked at my television, I heard Todd tell Meet The Press host David Gregory, "Osama bin Laden has been killed."

Wow. What a fucking way to wake up from a nap. I truly did not believe that this day would ever come. I thought bin Laden would die a free man, albeit on the run and hunkered in caves in the mountainous regions of Pakistan. It just seemed impossible that we could go into treacherous, inscrutable territory and find and capture and/or kill him. Well, God bless technology. And drones. And intelligence. And special operations forces kicking ass. And the fact that it looks like he was taken out in a huge mansion in what is described as an affluent suburb of Pakistan.

This is not the end, of course. Al-Qaida lives on, and bin Laden's death may spur a new wave of attacks by his followers who want to follow his mentor into martyrdom. But as immature as this may sound, I really do think that a fog has been lifted from this nation now. Osama bin Laden, unfortunately, has set the course for the United States this millennium. We cannot look at safety -- shit, we can't even keep our shows on going through airport security -- the same way as before, and that's because of 9/11, an attack that he gave a final go-ahead on. The blood of hundreds, maybe tens of hundreds, of people is on his hands, a mark of courage and pride to him. And he has thousands, maybe tens of thousands, of acolytes who will pick up the mantle he dropped as he was shot in the head.

Nevertheless, a great evil has been wiped from the dust of the earth. Maybe we should never rejoice in the murder of a human being. But if there was ever one we could, it would be Osama bin Laden. I for one will not lose sleep over this.

I am grateful for the men who pulled off the operation. I also give a shout-out to all the women and men who represent our country as a member of U.S. Armed Forces around the world. And finally, to the families and friends of those killed on 9/11, as well as those bin Laden's responsbie for murdering around the globe all these years, I really do hope there's a measure of peace and closure with this assassination.

Fuck Four Dollars A Gallon

I'm having a little war with my car because I'm trying to make a political statement to the world, even though the only person who knows about it is myself.  And anybody who might read this.

So I'm going to my night job when I see that the price of gas, which was at $3.85, suddenly jumped to $3.97.  What the fuck?  I needed gas, but now I'm not going to fill it up.  No way, no how, and especially not at this place right next to work.  I noticed that, probably because it's so close to so many restaurants and the highway, its price is a lot higher than gas stations around home.  So I was going to give my car a sip, then fill up all the way closer to home.

When I did, I was shocked: All the stations there were selling at at $3.99.9.  Four bucks, y'all.  I actually slowed down my car and screamed, "Four dollars?!?!?!"  I was absolutely flabbergasted.  This is unprecedented.  I know there are many states that have already broken this frightening threshold.  But what I like about Minnesota is that oftentimes the trends you see at the coasts are negative, and they never reach the middle portion of the United States.  (For example, Ed Hardy; even though there's now a store at the Mall Of America, it took them a long time to infiltrate us.)  Of course, the price of oil affects all of us, and now even us hardy Minnesotans have to face the music.

But not me.  Not yet.  I spilled fifteen bucks into my car on Friday, and as of Saturday afternoon, the fuel gauge in my car is showing I'm running on empty, again.  I really should get more gas.  But all I see is $4/per.

Until that drive home this afternoon.  I see that on this stretch close to my house, gas is running at $3.90 a gallon.  My God, it's a steal!  But I didn't want to do it just then.  I have this thing about pumping gas on back-to-back days.  The fact that I should have just fueled up all the way the first time is too much truth for me to take, so I think I can get by with skipping a day.  Besides, if I brake real hard at a stoplight, the empty light turns itself off.  I have enough gas.

Well, actually I don't.  But I really, really am going to try doing all the shit I want to do this evening (roller derby, blogging right now at a coffeehouse, then getting a bite to eat) before going back to this stretch of highway to fuel it tonight.  And honestly, if I run out of gas while on my way home, that's fine.  I'll call AAA and get some gallons -- for free, because I'm member.  Besides, I've been in the slash many times, and I really, really, really want to know how much gas I really, really, really have in my car's tank: