A Perfect Day I Ruined

This may have been the most perfect day of the summer, if not the year, if not ever. Seriously. I love cloudy days -- for now at least overcast skies are an aphrodisiac to me -- but even I could appreciate this day: Sunny ever minute, no clouds I could see, about 80 degrees and, most important of all, very low humidity.

I should have been able to enjoy the day. I had to go to "work" at the U., which meant I needed to walk about a mile. It wouldn't've been a chore this day; I would be able to enjoy the generosity of Mother Nature.

Instead, I messed it up. I was late getting out of the house and, in an effort to get to "work" on time, I ran to campus. (It didn't help that the fucker behind me wouldn't let me parallel park. Did you even see me, or were you actually headbanging to the radio?) I accumulated all this sweat on me -- not as bad as actual humid days, but I did sweat nonetheless.

I could've walked leisurely to campus and enjoyed the sun, but I had to run through the open air. It's like The Amazing Race: They say you go to all these fantastic places, but it's more like running past and through them. So, because of my tardiness, I made this day to be the same as any other sultry, uncomfortable summer afternoon.

Oh well, I thought, I'll make it up by walking to the coffeeshop after "work." But I couldn't. I made the mistake of asking Mother if she needed anything at the grocery store close by the coffee house, and she said she did: watermelons. Well, I really couldn't be walking around carrying two watermelons, so I had to take the car out and drive there. Turns out the watermelons weren't on sale anymore, so that was a waste ... just like this morning when she told me to drive to the bank to cash some checks, only for the teller to tell me there was no money.

My story comes full circle here: I'm cranky for waking up early for no reason. I get home with about a half-hour, maybe less, to try and get some rest before the time I originally planned to wake up. But I couldn't. Instead, I just go to my laptop and surf the Internet ... where I get into a bit of a pickle with Mafia Wars. I am so close to getting to the next level, but I don't have enough energy to do enough jobs to get there, and I used all my strength.

I tried waiting around to do maybe just one more fight, against someone with a mob size of, like, 2. I have, like, 37. I win the fight, but for some goddamn reason this opponent clips seven strength from me, and now I have to wait for those seven to refill. But now I really don't have the time, and I have to go now. I'll have more than enough if I go back later tonight, but when you advance to the next level everything automatically refills. It'll only take one job, which means I'm virtually refilling nothing.

By the way, because I ran, I was only five minutes late.

Again, I feel stupid because I made myself sweat on a warm but dry summer day that would not have otherwise made me sweat. I had to take a shower. Felt good, but I wouldn't've had to if I just budgeted my time better.

You Haven't Lived Until You've Seen Your Grandmother Naked

And then you will wish you were struck down dead right then and there.

This was over the weekend. I was in my room, like I am often. My Grandmother probably thought I was sleeping and it was a good time to take a bath. But I decided I couldn't sleep and started getting ready to do what I planned on doing by pissing in the toilet.

So I crossed the dining room to get to the bathroom when I was stopped cold. What did I see trudging into the bathroom was my Grandmother. Naked. Fucking naked.

Well, OK, not completely naked. She didn't see me because she was walking away from me, from her bedroom to the bath. She also clutched a towel as she trundled in, thank God. All I was forced to see was her ass -- her big ass, not totally wrinkled, but as old and as aged as you'd think an 84-year-old ass would be. My God, why did she take off all her clothes before going into the bathroom?

And why did I describe my Grandmother's ass so vividly?

There Are A Million Stories In The Naked City

(Upon the advice of legal counsel, this post has been removed.)

Another Day Where I Ate Too Much

I should be exercising right now. Instead, I'm writing this at a coffeehouse while consuming more food.

Should've seen this coming. I woke up and didn't have anything, thank Buddha, but that's because I knew I was going down to this really nice pub to eat and watch the World Cup eighthfinal match between Brazil and Chile. Washed down a honey mustard chicken standwich (with chips and fruit) with a Pabst Blue Ribbon Tall Boy.

I thought I should take it easy on my stomach then, so I went to Barnes & Noble and got a coffee instead of a mocha. There I get a call from Mother who wants me to order pizza. (They then asked me to go to the grocery store and buy chicken 'cause it's on sale, eight pieces for five bucks!) I managed to limit myself to six slices.

I wanted to wash this down with a Pepsi, then go out and work at this coffeeshop. Then Mother comes in and gives me this Chinese ... soup thing for me to drink. Damn, more shit to consume. So I have that waiting for me at home once I leave here.

I don't know how I haven't thrown up yet.

Happy Fuckin' Father's Day

Been busy. I know it's last week but it's important enough for me to post about this even now.

Maybe I was acting too defensively last Sunday, Father's Day. I'll admit that I wasn't as generous as I could have been. But I'm always keyed up this day because I feel My Fucking Father feels entitled, like this day I owe him something. I do, but he has never, ever made me forget whenever this day rolls around. And I resent that.

I may have fired the first shot when My Father and I both wanted to go through the same tiny space between the TV and the wall that separates the living room from the dining room. I sighed when I got up and saw that Father was going through. I think he heard that and what message that conveyed.

Father seemed frazzled, rushed this evening. Unbeknownst to me, because I don't remember doing this previous Father's Days, we actually went out to dinner. Our next minor squabble occurred, then, as we were about to leave. He was down next to the open front door and asked me if I'm ready to leave. I was already dressed and acting like I was rarin' to go, so I gave threw up my arms, palms up, as if to say, "I don't know, I'm ready, are you?"

The agitation from him, and between us, grew even larger once we got on the road. He was being particularly bossy, such as when he ordered me to turn on the air conditioning. Then, after all this nagging, he told me as we hit the highway to, "Take it easy." I was internalizing all his bitching, so he might not've understood how he was pissing me off, but he was pissing me off.

I knew this was going to blow up once we got to the restaurant -- mostly because I didn't know where the hell we were going. We exited close to the U., at a place close to a restaurant we used to go to, but it couldn't've been this one because that restaurant closed.

We found the place. Unfortunately, we couldn't find parking. And then that's where all the real trouble started: Both my parents were telling me where to go and what to watch out for.

The breaking point between My Fucking Father and I was when I tried to make a right turn and what turned out to be a one-way street. There was all this shouting between all of us right before I had to stop in the face of oncoming traffic, and that's where My Fucking Father just lost it: "What are you doing driving into traffic? Like an idiot?!"

Me driving and being lost gave me the opportunity to finally yell back at him -- "If you don't like how I'm driving, next time you can drive!!!" And so he fell back into his usual whiny and defensive position like a little bitch, saying "OK, OK, OK!!"

And, that was it. We finally found parking and we got in and had dinner. My Fucking Father and I sat across from each other, yet we only looked at each other once: When I took the bill and took out my wallet to pay.

Weirdly enough, he acted like nothing happened after we got back home. He wanted me to look something up on the Internet. Didn't you call me an idiot two hours ago? And now you're acting like nothing happened?? What are you, an idiot???

The Best Commercial On TV Right Now (If It's Still On TV, Because I'm Kind Of Late Posting This): Nike's "Write The Future"

I'm sorry I haven't been posting late at night recently. I've been doing this in the evening and coming back late, and I've been so wiped out I've actually got to bed at a decent hour and waking up around 9 or 10.

I saw this, I believe, on FOX when they broadcast the Champions League Final last month. This spot, directed by Alejandro González Iñárritu, who did Babel, is typically awesome. This ad is set in the last seconds of what looks to be an All-Star soccer game. A few of the greatest players in the world are showcased, and their actions are shown to affect his fans and his own fortunes.

The internal monologue of what that player does on the pitch, good or bad, is depicted, and the ripple effects for each player are visionary, funny and visually stunning. It starts with fans in plazas and bedrooms sighing at a dramatic bicycle-kick save of a sure goal. It continues to England's Wayne Rooney in hiding (after losing the ball) and then getting knighted by the Queen (after tackling the ballhandler). Then Homer Simpson appears.

Seriously, it's a three-minute movie, and the wonder and dazzle in this extended spot packs more excitement than most full-length films. It also illustrates a great point: In soccer (as in all sports), a moment can change everything. If you haven't yet watched it, watch it here:

Bad Driver: 480 DRH

One thing I hate about myself, and it's something I seriously need to work on, is my bias at bad drivers. Specifically, I have noticed for a long time that I get more enraged when I discover that the driver that cuts in front of me is a woman. Either my nascent fear and loathing of my mom or my culturally inculcated misogyny erupts whenever I see a girl dare take my manhood. It pisses me off, but then when I think about how I'm feeling at that moment, I get pissed off even more.

Then I think of My Father. Is the reason I get angrier with women drivers than men drivers because of how I grew up regarding women with my mom as an example, or how I grew up regarding men with My Father as an example? I grew up loving him a lot more than Mother. That might mean that I have grown to give males a certain amount of slack over how they drive, because when I see them driving I think about my sweet, loving, understanding Father driving. But then -- I don't know when exactly -- I grew to feel betrayed and hurt, and then absolutely despising My Fucking Father. And that might translate into having this ingrained fear of all men while out on the road, which means I transfer my anger only to women drivers.

Still, I have to report this, and I have to the state. Because what this bitch did to me is wrong. I've been cut off before, and by people who don't put their blinkers on. But my anger is usually rooted at what looks to be their indifference to my safety. This cunt is different.

I was on 35WN. Around the split with 36 I was going around the bend there while on the left-most lane. The lane to my right had a car whose driver was driving slower than me. Still, my car's pretty old and it can't accelerate, especially while I'm going around a bend. No matter to this woman whom I saw ride my ass as I was taking this curve -- and around afternoon rush, when I had to keep my eye out on any stopping traffic ahead of me.

I was getting past this car next to me, but slowly. And I know what she was going to do: As soon as I got past that car far enough that there was a gap, she was going to shoot through it. And after 35W straightened out, that's exactly what she did. But the little flair she added was that she cut right in front of me without signaling. I mean directly right in front of me. The gap she narrowed while she was behind me was shorter than the gap she created when she cut in front of me, but not by much. And there was space in the traffic around here; she had plenty of asphalt and time to move onto my lane 10, 20, 30 yards ahead of me, and she certainly had the speed, the car, and the lead foot to do so. That she instead almost ran me off the road means that goddamn motherfucker wanted to send a message that I was in her fucking way and that she was pissed off.

Well, lady, now I'm the one who's pissed off. I was so fuckin' lucky to catch up with you when traffic slowed at 96, you with the short straight blonde hair and the way you were bitching into the cellphone you were using while driving like you were insane. And the fact that you got onto the middle lane, the one with the huge semi several yards ahead of us, and it somehow became the fast lane while I was in the left lane, which turned out to be the slow one, doesn't mean you're a master driver, it just means you got really goddamn lucky.

I really hope the police do something with the information I sent them about you. Better yet, I hope you got pulled over. Best yet, I hope one day your reckless driving gets you killed or chased down and run over by a guy you shouldn't've fucked with. Please fucking die.

The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey

#-1: Lynx (Last Week: -2). I didn't know Seimone Augustus came back on the 10th. I thought she returned this week, and that's why the Lynx went 3-0 to top the WMNSS.

Seriously, it's like night and day. They whip the Bastard Detroit Shock in a home-and-home last weekend, then beat the Liberty in New York. Augustus was named Western Conference Player Of The Week for the sweep of Tulsa. This team was so bad that I didn't think one player, even one with as silky a shot as Augustus, was going to make a difference, but thank Buddha I might be wrong.

Unfortunately, the Jynx have suffered another huge setback: With eight seconds left in the win over New York Tuesday, Candice Wiggins ruptured her Achilles' tendon, and she is done for the year. Again, I like to think the team was waiting around for Augustus to lead, but can it weather the absence of their sixth or seventh player? This week will be a very good test if the Lynx are completely unlike the disaster that started this season: at San Antonio Saturday, at Atlanta Thursday.

#-2: Twins (Last Week: -1). I hope this is just a swoon, because their 2-4 week represents their first real bad stretch this season. Capped by an inexplicable sweep at Milwaukee, they are 4-7 in their last 11 games. Nothing has been going right. The pitching has been medicore at best this week, save for Carl Pavano's gem at Philadelphia Sunday. Worse yet, the offense has been impotent, especially with runners in scoring position.

They are now only 1/2 game ahead of Detroit and 2 1/2 games in front of the hard-charging Chicago White Sox, who have won nine in a row. The Twinks try to hold the lead by finishing interleague play at the New York Mets (and former ace [and philanderer and possible rapist] Johan Santana, who'll hurl against them Saturday), then come home for three against closest competitor Detroit for three, then start a series vs. Tampa.

#-3: Timberwolves (Re-Entry!). Does David Kahn know you can draft more than one position each year? Last year all he did was pick Point Guards; this year all he did was hoard Small Forwards.

Kahn's getting his ass kicked on his performance in last night's NBA Draft. Wesley Johnson, thankfully, fell to the Woofie Dogs at 4, even though New Jersey tried to scare them into thinking they were taking Johnson instead of Derrick Favors, their eventual pick. Still, I'm not absolutely sure he's the game-changer this organization needs. Johnson only blew up this year, his junior year, and he still has a tendency to disappear in games, especially if he gets double-teamed. This wasn't a great draft to begin with, but I'm still nonplussed about Johnson.

And then Kahn makes a lot of noise for not a whole lot to show for it. The Wolves had three first-round picks -- can you have too many first-round picks? -- and traded the middle pick, Luke Babbitt, along with Ryan Gomes (who had a tradeable contract and, in my humble opinion, a pretty good game still) to Portland for Martell Webster. Some more hocus-pocus brought us Lazar Hayward, the Marquette player who stepped on the line that cost his team a game in the 2009 NCAA men's basketball tournament, and some international dude we're stashing overseas to age like wine. In other words, we have warm bodies and certain logjams in the 3 and the 4 (between Al Jefferson and Kevin Love). The bottom line: Did last night make the team any better? The answer, from the pundits, is fuck no.

Oh, and I have to say this: KKKKKKKKKKAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHNNNNNNNNN!!!!!!!!!

Stayed at the strip club for almost 90 minutes because one of my All-Time Favorites was working. Spent more than 60 bucks getting dances from her and another chick. Shouldn't be doing that when I have no job, but I can't help myself.

I was dressing fairly skimpy. My fly was open in case one girl decided to be frisky. I wanted people to know because I'm feeling perverted right now. But did the other people in the bar -- including the male customers and bouncers -- notice? Do they care? Do they think I'm a freak? Are they whispering to each other about my unbuttoned pants?

I Hope I'm Not Repeating Myself When Slamming My Father

You know what I hate about My Fucking Father? The way he responds to things I say by asking questions. Who the fuck does that? And why the fuck doesn't he understand it's fucking annoying. Pisses me off.

You know what I hate about me? When I try to argue with My Fucking Father I don't make any goddamn sense. He was talking through asking questions last night and I tried to talk back to him by saying, "I didn't ask any questions." I didn't ask any questions, but why would that be an issue? I said "questions" because My Fucking Father was asking them for no reason. What I should have said was something like, "Why are you asking questions? What did I say that makes you ask a question? I'm just saying something. Stop asking questions, stop being defensive, you sound stupid."

I Think I Saw A Squirrel Get Raped Today

So I was leaving "work" at the U. The University of Minnesota is an urban campus, but there are a lot of tress to make it look as natural an institution of higher learning as possible.

I was walking a path toward my car when I saw a squirrel statue. I'm pretty sure there are no statues of squirrels on campus.

As I cross it, the statue started to move. Of course it was a live squirrel, it was just spacing out and looking. But then, a squirrel on the trunk of a tree close by leaps at and jumps on top of the stone-line squirrel, doggy-style, as if it's fucking her. She (I've decided to ascribe this squirrel the feminine sex) screams and tries to get away, only for the humping squirrel to chase after her.

She then flees into a bush across the pathway I walked on. It's not like your everyday bush -- it has a bunch of long leaves and is quite beautiful. But this is where the squirrel that was being attacked went into for hiding, presumably. Unfortunately, the attacking squirrel and another squirrel dove into the bush after her.

As I was waiting for the walk sign to pop up, I heard an ungodly sound. It definitely sounded like the squirrels were ... I can't believe I'm saying this ... gang-raping this squirrel. She was making this sound I've never heard a squirrely, nor any animal for that matter, emit. It was a high-pitched series of shrieks. Do you know those squeaky toys that make a sound whenever yous squeeze its middle? If you did it quickly and repeatedly for, like, 10 or 15 seconds, it would probably sound like what I heard this afternoon.

Do squirrels rape? I read somewhere once that the only two animals that commit rape are humans and ducks. But that was a long time ago, so I or what I read could be wrong. If those screams from inside the bush, along with some scary shaking of the leaves, were coming from a woman, I'd have to do something about it. As it was, I still think I had to stop this evil action. But I was scared to get hurt, like the raping squirrels would bite my legs and then I would have to get rabies shots.

So I did the best that I could do that I thought off the top of my head: I went up to the bush, took off my hat, and swatted at the top of the leaves of the bush in order to scare off the attackers. It didn't work. There were other people walking past me, and they had to have heard the squirrel's cries. I know I looked like a damn fool or even a crazy man, but I didn't care. I had to do something!

I was not able to stop; the rapists did. I saw one come out and scurry back up the tree. Peeking around the bush, I saw another one, standing outside but stoically looking in, like he's trying to see something or inside -- or preventing what's inside from getting out.

Where is the raped squirrel? I saw three go in the bush but only two leave. Did she escape? Or is she still in there?

The assault stopped, however. So had the piercing, God-awful screaming. It was too late; I was a cowardly bystander to an act of evil. As I crossed the street I looked back at the scene of the crime. The squirrel which climbed up the tree trunk bolted back down and, I think, delved back into the bush.

I'm afraid I didn't go back. I had the right-of-way, and I needed to go home and put away my laptop before Father sees it and starts questioning me.

The squirrel's screams still echo in my head and punish me.

Bad Driver: NLH 153 (I Think)

I was on my way to the bank for Mother on 10W yesterday morning, also known as the drag strip. This car changed lanes to get right in front of me without signaling.

At that point I was at a crossroads. I decided not to let it slide. I decided to chase the fucker.

I don't remeber the last time I gunned my car to 80, 85. But when I finally caught the bastard and tried to get ahead of him, he decided he wanted to go, too. Thank Buddha he had cars in front of him and I was able to dance around the three lanes going north.

At one point I decided to pull in front of him like he did to me, a sort of planting-a-flag-on-the-Moon moment. I let the car in front of this asshole pass. This shit tries to drive up and not allow me to get in, but I get in, and without signaling, just like he did. And he finally backed off.

Got your number, prick. White guy, hair, has a passenger/doofus who's also white and has hair. Got you.

Had A Bad Afternoon

Wanted to go to the library and work, but for some reason my laptop can't link up to the Internet. Waste of time going to the library.

Then I had to decide which movie to watch and when to watch it. I had a house party to go to and I had a building pile of things to do before I got there. Not just the party, but showering, changing into my porno pants, getting money, watering the flowers and changing the hoses. In the end I got everything done, but instead of seeing The A-Team, the movie I resigned myself to watch, my errands pushed me back 15 minutes, so I saw Prince Of Persia instead.

Verdict? Waste of time. I had faint hopes this would be something like Pirates Of The Caribbean, since they're both based on Disney properties that are not books. But it's a mess both visually and plot-wise. The only good things I can take from it: 1) Sir Ben Kingsley; 2) Alfred Molina; 3) much of the plot is based on an invasion of a city that's supposed to echo the Invasion of Iraq and the Bush administration, and whenever you can bash that and them, it can't be awful. Beyond that, a waste of eighteen bucks.

But it's kind of made up for when I went to the house party and managed to show my dick to my favorite stripper there while we were alone in the bathroom.

No Pee-Pee Touch, And No Job Either

I do love my uncle, I really do. I remember absolutely hating him when I was young because he was never nice to me. He was less of an uncle and more of a monster with the way he'd only talk to me by growling. He'd never say hi, he'd just point out something I did wrong. He then is like my parents now.

But we're cool now. And so I do care that my uncle had heart trouble and was admitted to the hospital. Saw him both before and after "work," and I was concerned that they were keeping him in the hospital and making him wait to do tests the next day.

I should've known that this would ruin my plans for Friday: going to drop off my information at the temp agency in order to line up work, possibly as soon as Sunday night, and then celebrating my last weekend of unemployment by going to My Other Favorite Stripclub and getting my cock wanked until I cum.

But that came crashing to a halt, again thanks to My Father, when, during dinner, he told me that I need to get to the hospital at 10 because that's when my uncle will be having "surgery." OK, my uncle, nor the nurse that came in when I was visiting him, said anything about 10 (nor, for that matter, about any surgery -- it's a friggin' "test"). So now I'm at a crossroads. I wanted to pitch a fit, and I don't know how being there for my uncle just before a test is any different than me being there two times that day. But ... it's my uncle. My Father's kid brother. I really didn't have a choice.

I was in a dither the rest of the night. OK, I thought, it is 10. I need to get to the bus by 10:45. If I'm really not needed after 10, and if they're on-time (which they're usually not, I've waited around with Father for his surgeries), maybe I can still do all this? After all, I need to get this job. (And I wanted to get my cock wanked.) Over the hours, though, it just didn't feel right for me to go to the hospital and downtown. Too many moving parts. What if they run late? And I have to wake up early -- what happens if I fall asleep at the club? What happens if I'm cranky? What do I do if I can't get hard?

Further infuriating me is Grandmother. Naturally she wanted to see my uncle, but she wanted to see him immediately after dinner. That threw me off. And then my parents told her visiting hours were passed. This was after 8, and turns out they were right. But this once again felt like my parents, in particular My Fucking Father, telling Grandmother what to do. I just felt at that point that everybody was being a nag.

---

The next morning I still gave myself a chance. I would dress as if I was going downtown and sticking to my plans -- porno pants, no underwear -- and if something happened at the hospital, I'd just go home. If not, time and my lack of money is telling me I need to set this job up right away. And cock-wanking, too.

I also should've known that the hospital can change things. When I got there, there was no angiogram (the test for which uncle was staying overnight for), and there certainly wasn't anything at 10. Now, there was supposed to be a stress test at around noon.

Well, this fucks up my plans, but then again, I'm kind of happy. I should be around to at least see my uncle get ready for this test, and if it has to be smack dab in the middle of what would have been my trip downtown, then I won't be going downtown. I went home and e-mailed my contact at the temp agency to cancel, got some lunch (I estimated that I was at White Castle the moment I expected to get my cock wanked), and went back to see off my uncle for the stress test.

Got more evidence cancelling was the right thing to do: The guys building the deck were done and were disposing of the old deck that afternoon. I had to be there not only to help dump the crap, but also to give those contractors the receipt for the dumpster. I wouldn't've been there if I were downtown.

And yesterday I got even more evidence. I would've started the job at 8, but Father's Day dinner ran late.

Turns out getting a new job and getting my cock wanked just was not in the cards Friday.

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

(Belated) Poor Bastard: Kendrys Morales

This happened on May 29, before the Memorial Weekend, but I had to put this on here because this may be the flukiest injury I've ever seen in baseball.

Kendry Morales plays for the Anaheim Angels of Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim Angels of Los Angeles Angels Of Anaheim Angels Of ...  He celebrating a game-ending grand slam that allowed his team to come from behind and defeat the Seattle Mariners.  And he breaks his leg while jumping onto home plate:



He's gone for the year.

Poor bastard.

My First-Ever Follow: Dump Bachmann

It's finally time to stick my neck out a little bit and ask anybody who reads this blog -- anybody?  Bueller? -- to follow me and read the Dump Bachmann blog.  This idiot, Rep. Michelle Bachmann, is both the stupidest and most extreme right-wingnut teabagger in the country.  And I hate that she represents a district whose southern end is very close to my house, and may in fact include my high school.

I've despised and ridiculed this moron ever since her dumbass constituency brought her to Washington.  But her defense of BP over the oil spill forced me to get off my behind and do something small.  And that something small is to officially follow Dump Bachmann, a sister Blogger blog.  Please read -- it chronicles as much as possible all the imbecilic things she says.  Hopefully this blog can be put to rest come November ... because that would mean Bachmann would've been swept out of office!

The Weekly Minnesota Sport Survey

#-1: Twins (Last Week: -1). A 3-3 week. Scared that they dropped two of three at home to Atlanta, although winning 2 of 3 to Colorado makes up for it somewhat. The glaring stat to come out of this week: They scored one run once (Thursday afternoon, against Ubaldo Jimenez), two runs twice (they won two of them), and three runs once (a loss). They exploded for nine runs against the Rockies Tuesday, but that's been it for offensive firepower. A worry? They're on the road this week for interleague play -- a trio at Philadelphia this weekend, then their annual visit to Milwaukee the middle of the week.

#-2: Lynx (Last Week: -2). Believe it or not, the Los Angeles Sparks are the exact opposite of the Los Angeles Lakers -- they're losers, not winners. And yet they still managed to beat the Jynx, 88-84, at Staples Sunday. Too bad Candace Parker couldn't be gone for the season before this game, otherwise they would've won it. As it stands, they're riding a four-game losing streak and still the worst team in the WNBA. To make up for their sole game this past cutoff week, they play three this week: A home-and-home with the Bastard Detroit Shock (and that's a city you can play back-t0-back games with -- why not just have the team do a home-and-home with a team in Beijing?), then they continue a roadtrip with a game against the New York Liberty (and former Gopher great Janel McCarville) Tuesday night at Madison Square Garden.

Update to my uncle's trip to the hospital: When I returned home I got a call asking for my Grandmother. I was at the computer, so I picked up using the phone next to it, which always has scratchy reception due to its close proximity to both the desktop and the central HVAC.

She called for Grandmother. "What?" I asked through the static. "Grandmother!" she cried.

Hey, lady, I don't need to get yelled at. Grandmother was outside re-planting the flowers she told me to do yesterday because she thought I fucked them up. I didn't want to talk to her again after she yelled at me, so I decided to go back to the phone and tell her she's busy and call in about 10 minutes.

Yap-yap-yap and blah-blah-blah, she sounded like she was talking to herself about seeing if she could call back. I gave up: "OK, you need to talk to her so damn much, I'll go get her." And I went upstairs, grabbed the cordless, went outside and gave it to my Grandmother.

Little did I know that the person I cursed at over the phone wasn't one of her friends who wouldn't hold cursing at him or her against me because he or she can't speak English, but was actually my aunt, the woman married to my uncle who was in the hospital. Whoops.

When I saw her when I visited the hospital yesterday afternoon, I apologized. Glad she let it slide.

A Sign That We're A Fucked-Up Family

Uncle's in the hospital.  Heart attack maybe, enlarged heart possibly, atrial fibriliation definitely.

Thank Buddha I conked asleep at 1 in the morning because I was wide-eyed at around 9.  That's when My Father woke me up and told me not that my uncle was in the hospital, but that I should check up on him because he's sick.  Two things wrong with this: 1) He said it in his typical whiny way, and 2) he gave me no indication that my uncle was actually in the hospital.  I thought this was a waste of time; Uncle's probably at home asleep.  That's why I didn't take it so seriously at first.

I visited his house and left a couple voicemails; only then did his sister-in-law (which would make him my aunt -- wow, today I got another aunt!) who told me, in English worse than even My Father's, that he was in the hospital.  If I bring this up with him he'll tell me he told me he was at the hospital, which he didn't.  That's why I won't bring it up.

Anyway, my uncle's a little scared, but he's better now.  I hope it's nothing too serious.  Pray for him.

Anyhoo, while I was in the parking lot at the hospital to go in, I get a call from My Mother.  She wanted me to go to the bank.  I asked her if it could wait.

"Can you go to the bank and then visit him at the hospital?"

Bitch.  This is why we're so goddamn unsensitive as a family.

By the way, I said, "Sure," then marched right into the hospital.  Went to the bank afterwards -- there was money still there to get, for crissakes.

What Were Those Ducks/Geese Doing There?

I was driving down to do a survey Monday afternoon.  We're bucking it because this is a new, good highway.

So me and all the other cars are jetting down at 65-70 m.p.h.  I was in the second of what is a four-lane, I think.  I pass under a bridge ... and what do I see on the left lane?  There's a mother goose/duck leading her chicks across the lane!  Of a highway!!  With cars driving at them at 65, 70 miles per hour!!!  What the fuck was that mother duck/goose thinking???

I swerved one lane to the right.  There was another car cruising fast up to my left, on the same lane as where the chickees were.  Maybe if I slid over sooner, they wouldn't get hit.  Maybe it was that car that would've hit those poor geese/ducks, I don't know.  All I know is that I winced when I swerved, and that I saw what looked to be feathers flying through the air past where that suicide line of animals was supposed to be.

After my friend kind of crapped out on me and didn't want to hang out today, and after I had gotten done working out at the gym, and after I heard the news that the Big 12 schools decided to stick with the Big 12, I had a choice: Go straight home, or go to this late night place, grab a bite to eat and watch SportsCenter news about the end of college football realignment.

Going home clearly had its advantages: I get home early, and Mother has harped on me constantly for staying out after working out; I can give my car ample time to burn off any impurities in the oil; and I can watch Letterman's monologue. Staying out clearly had its disadvantages, chief among them not being able to watch SportsCenter because someone else would be there and they would have the remote.

In the end, however, I decided I would go and drive through the Italian place to see if there are people there; if there were, home I go. But when I drove onto its parking lot, I see one car. Hmmm. I've seen single cars in the parking lot and nobody inside. I've guessed for some time that neighbors park their cars here and the guys at the restaurant don't mind. In the end, I wanted to hear what ESPN thought about Texas saying no to the Pac-10, and I gave in to my self-destructive nature, and I decided to go in and take the consequences.

And the consequences were ... there was a couple sitting at a table. Fuck. I couldn't just reverse course and leave, so I sat down -- maybe they'll just give me the remote because they're talking or something. But no, they keep it the whole time. Instead of SportsCenter, I ate my burger and fries to Burn Notice.

I have to take away something positive from this situation, so I note that I somewhat have wanted to see this show for some time (only to see the radiant Gabrielle Anwar, a girl who's the crush of one of my friends) and think it's alright. I also have learned that this show, and presumably others on the USA Network, follow the over-the-air networks and prohibit swearing in their shows. Good to know, and I don't disagree. Also, the couple gave me the remote when they left around 11. I thought I could catch the rerun of SportsCenter, but I then remembered that there's Baseball Tonight at 11, and SC comes on at midnight. I wasn't going to be staying that long to watch college football realignment analysis, so I left a quarter after 11. The customer giving me the remote was really nice, though.

Still, this was a waste, for so many reasons:

• I didn't get to watch SportsCenter.
• I ate food when I wasn't hungry.
• I spent money I really shouldn't have spent.
• I stayed out later than I should; coming home at 10:30 would've helped in parental relations.
• I had to drive my car an extra five miles to burn out all the impurities in the oil in my car.
• I missed Letterman.
• And I undid all the calories I burned off at the gym by packing it on eating my burger and fries and then some.

A grave miscalculation tonight.

A (Muted) Triumphant Moment For Me

I started the afternoon proud. Why? I think I successfully replaced the right turn signal bulb in my car! I looked it up in the Internet, I was able to get to it with a minimal amount of tools (even though I had to borrow a ratchet from the guys working on the deck because I don't think My Father had the right size, even though he has a pail-full of bolt sizes), it was fairly easy (especially changing the bulb), and I think I put it altogether. And by myself, Mommy! If it doesn't fall apart while driving, or if the rain doesn't seep into places it didn't before I started fucking with it, I think I did it the right way!

I was on a high when my parents came home. Instead of feeling good, however, Mother brought me down. I kept the garage door leading inside open because I needed to shuttle between my car and where the tools were, and later I wanted to take a break and go upstairs to watch the Germany-Australia. After coming up from putting her stuff down, she saw the door ajar, went upstairs, and yelled at me. According to her, mice go through there all the time. They found two last night.

Whatever, I thought. I didn't want her to yell at me, especially after I felt so productive and like a man. Couldn't she understand? I huffed out a, "OK, I'll keep the door shut from now on," but I didn't mean it, and I said it in a tone that probably told her I wouldn't mean it. But then, I remembered.

Father told me something about rats and the garage a couple days ago. I think he told me to keep that door shut, the door I kept ajar, the one connecting the garage to the inside of the house. At the time, however, I dismissed him because I thought he was talking about a different door, namely the one that leads from the garage to the backyard. That one is next to the refrigerator, bolted shut, and has our snowplow shoved up against it. And when Father told me this I thought, "But we don't use that door, what are you talking about?" So I ignored him.

Whoops.

I am humbled that Mother didn't hold it against me; she just talked to me at dinner like nothing happened. And now I feel bad for passive-aggressively undercutting her.

Of course, later in the night Father was nagging at me for not eating the bananas on the table. What the fuck do you want? Can't you tell I was a man for changing my right turn signal bulb today?

And now I'm fed up. I drove everywhere today because I just said, "Fuck it," and my car seemed to be holding up ... until I drove it from the coffeehouse to the Italian place tonight. Started driving and in mere yards, boom!, there goes the low oil level light. Went off a few seconds later, and I didn't see it again, but I'm convinced something's wrong. The engine could be devouring oil, or there could be a leak, or it could be the pump, or it could be the sensor, but something's wrong, and I hope I have the balls to confront it by taking it to a car shop.

Went to the strip club after working out. The stripper-turned-waitress who stole my money and told me to fuck off several months ago is there waitressing again. I hadn't seen her in so long I thought she heeded the advice of the bar's owner and found another job. (By the way, reports that my favorite strip joint is closing may be exaggerated. Stay tuned.) But she was there, and not only was she civil to me, she was joking around, saying hi and how am I doing. What the fuck??? You tell me to fuck off after you refuse to show me your tits and then you act like nothing happened?! What the fuck's a matter with you?!?! Whatever -- told her goodbye when I left.

I hate everything right now -- my car, the strip club, this stripper-turned-waitress that can't decide whether to tell me to fuck off or be nice to me. I hate my long hair, I hate the car needs a new turn bulb, I hate that I need to buy a new laptop mouse, I hate all of it. I'm sick of it, man, I really am.

My Car Really Is Breaking Down

Went to the Megamall today. While driving up to the coffeeshop, the oil level light came on not once, not twice, but three times. The first two times it turned itself off, but the third time, while I was on a side street, stayed on.

That scares the shit out of me. I had to pull over to the nearest gas station, by oil, and immediately put it in (well, only 200 mL, about a fifth of the tank). And when I started to drive it turned on fucking again. Finally, after reaching my desination, enjoying my coffee for about an hour and putting in another 100 mL of oil, I drove home free of the oppressive yellow light of the low oil level warning light.

This is it. This is the third time in a week where I put oil in the car because of the light. It's been coming on more frequently, for longer periods of time, and with less time between ignition and the start of driving. There's something wrong with the car, and I have to bring it in to see exactly what the fuck it is. Is it natural to eat up all that oil? Is there a leak? Or is it the sensor?

I hope I find this out before it's too late. I also hope I haven't fucked up my car all this time. And I hope I don't get gouged for having this problem fixed.

I need a job.

The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey

#-1: Twins (Last Week: -2). Once again, they are falling into a predictable pattern of winning the first two games and losing the last game of a three-game series. Losing those games, at Oakland and to Kansas City tonight (Thursday night) by a single run salves partially. What doesn't are the injuries up the infield middle, Hudson and Hardy. The good news is this happening while the second-place Tigers are backsliding; their loss today (Thursday afternoon) to the White Sox puts them 4 1/2 games behind the Twinks, I think.

They start what I think is still an intriguing thing: The interleague portion of their schedule. They host Atlanta this weekend and Colorado during the week. Ooh, wanna see if Ubaldo Jimenez is throwing.

#-2: Lynx (Last Week: -1). Oh my God these people are so fucking bad. A complete 0-3 week, the most embarrassing of which is a 38-point -- re-read that, a 38-point -- shit-kicking at home against Indiana. They finally got Seimone Augustus back after about a year tonight (Thursday night) but lost at Phoenix by 11. Oh, and the Bastard Detroit Shock beat them in Tulsa by 13. Although it seemed like it happened when the regular season began, right now they have become the worst team in the WNBA. Christ. They have four first-round picks they drafted themselves, plus two second-rounders and a third-rounder, and yet they still suck donkey dick???

They have only one game this week, Sunday afternoon against the Los Angeles Sparks, the team that just leapfrogged the Jynx out of the Western Conference cellar.

#-Infinity: Gopher baseball (Last Week: 0). They had it. They had their chance. They caught a bolt of lightning and they couldn't hold on. The 4-seed Gophs went into Fullerton, Calif. and upset 1-seed and hosts Cal State-Fullerton in the first game of the regional, then beat New Mexico (who themselves upset 2-seed Stanford) to stay undefeated. Until they saw the Titans again, and they weren't able to match their opening-night feat, getting eliminated by consecutive scores of 7-2 and 9-5.

And so a late-season surge that had some people thinking they could make some noise in the postseason ends with yet another humbling of the Big Ten in a sport they are very much an also-ran in. I don't want to take away from their season; after all, they were the best team in the conference. But if you haven't been in a super-regional ever since they started super-regionals, let alone gotten into a College World Series since 1977, what's it all for? And why do you even bother fielding a baseball program then?

The Governor Of Arizona Ain't Nothin' But A Bigot

Jan Brewer scares me. First she scares me physically; she's either had work done or will get work done in the future. All in preparation for higher office and larger spotlights. Kind of reminds me of Elizabeth Dole -- conservative (though not abhorrently so), trusted wife of a major player Senator, had her face redone when she became a Senator herself.

And of course her politics scare me. OK, illegal immigration is a problem. OK, as a Minnesotan I don't have to live the problems illegal immigration breeds in my state. OK, the federal government isn't doing anything to help solve this issue (although President W tried -- well, the people he delegated his work to tried -- to forge a compromise and even he got blindsided by his wingnut buddies in Congress who didn't want amnesty for illegals at all). But let's call a spade a spade here: This SB 1070 bill is a racist bill. Shit, if it's enforced the way it's supposed to be enforced, you're demanding any person who looks Latino to show their papers or else be imprisoned and possibly deported.

There is supposed to be a safeguard to this bill: You can't use race as a basis for reasonable suspicion to check a person out for citizenship status. Well, that helps a lot. Tell that to the African-Americans that lived through the segregated South. Who cares if you say you can't racially profile in the bill? The bill is racial profiling, and its passage sends the clear message that the state says it's OK. Messages mean a lot, and people will believe they're allowed to do whatever the government says they are allowed.

Furthermore, what makes me think part of this is politically motivated is her subsequent move to have someone besides the state attorney general defend the constitutionality of the bill in the event of any challenges in court. The bill says the governor is allowed to appoint anyone to defend its merits. The AG, who's a Democrat, says only he can do that. I don't know if spelling out in a bill that does an end-run around the state attorney general is allowed, but Gov. Brewer, a right-wingnut Republican, probably put that language in to defend its existence against any harpooning by right-minded, compassionate, sane Democrats. Don't know how this will shake out, but this is a sneaky, shady move on Brewer's part.

Still, I believe that in her heart, this comes from a place of sincerity -- that is, she really does hate illegals and doesn't just want to profit from the political issue. In fact, this is just the first of what is literally a white-washing of Arizona. Last month Brewer continued her assault on the minorities of the state she is supposed to protect by signing into law a bill outlawing ethnic studies courses. The state schools chief apparently had something up his butt over a Mexican-American studies program in Tucson taught to kids from elementary to high school. The district says it does not teach Latinos to hate whites, but apparently Brewer thinks it does.

Yeah, which means that without this curriculum we'll all be forced to go back to what they've been taught for years before -- that Latinos are inferior under whites. The real racial balance going on is in Tucson, where kids for far too long have not learned about their heritage and the history of their integration into the U.S., both good and bad.

And hell, a lot of it is innocuous. There are lessons on Latinos authors and Latinos in the Vietnam War. Does that sound like "Let's get whitey?" No. But doing away with it sounds a hell of a lot like "Let's get the brown-skinned folk." And if Brewer thinks it doesn't, the leg she thinks she stands on she sawed off after she signed into law that goddamn SB 1070.

I was out there one time because Sun Country had a sale. Although I went to the Heard Museum, a great museum for Native American art, I saw very few minorities. In fact, I only remember seeing black guys on the court playing in a Suns game. I mean, I like white women -- and I love pulling my dick out for them to see -- but you're telling me you're so close to the Mexican border and yet there are no Hispanics, nor Asians, nor African-Americans, and there are very few visible Natives, too? Arizona is supposed to be safe for white people, right? Well, that's what this bigot Jan Brewer wants.

And sad to say, that's what the white people of Arizona want, too.

I Didn't Mean To Be Rude Today, But I Was, Repeatedly

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

My Forlorn Bag Of Donated Grocs

We have too much food. Much of it goes to waste. Much of it is bought by my Grandmother.

The Friday of Memorial Weekend I took the step of giving it away. My first target was something I actually bought: two loaves of bread that were on sale. I was told by Mother that that was two too much. That was the catalyst for me looking at websites that take food.

I found a place closer to downtown that I can use sidestreets to get to. I first donated one loaf of bread because I thought we could consume the other. When it became clear that just wasn't going to happen, one day I looked to see Grandmother spacing out in her bed watching her videos, quickly grabbed a bag and took the remaining loaf from the fridge.

Then I looked around. There's a lot more stuff I can take away. She bought a lot of stuff, I tell you. So I decided to also donate a box of Pop-Tarts and a bag of Doritos, and I took off.

I was really busy that week. I forgot that this food shelf was only open until 3; I realized such when I got there and it was closed. I had to take my parents to the airport afterward, and they'd get mad (or at least ask questions) if they saw the bag of groceries in my trunk, so I had to get rid of it. I decided to just lay the bag on the front step, hoping that somebody from the food shelf will just pick it up the next day.

I had been thinking about that bag all weekend. I imagined it sitting all alone, with no one to embrace it and give it a good home. I wanted to take it back away from the unrelenting humidity of the weekend. And then it was going to rain one of those days, and I feared the bag was going to rip or rot, and the food was going to spill all over the street. And I beat myself up that I just laid the bag out front without pushing it well within the roof of the front door; instead it was exposed to the sky and any precipitation that fell that weekend. But I was so busy that holiday, I just couldn't.

And yet the bag haunted me. Finally I made an excuse that my parents' minivan needed a car wash, which just so happens to be on the way to the food shelf. Memorial Day I stopped by to see if the groceries were OK.

It was gone.

Guess one of the neighbors or some stranger took it a few hours after I left it. Or maybe a guy from the food shelf did drop by sometime over the weekend and took the food inside.

Bye-bye, bag of donated groceries.

This May Not Qualify As Bad Customer Service, But I Didn't Hear What I Wanted To Hear, So That's How I'm Going To Think It

So I finally get around to calling the company that helped us found our Minnesota limited-liability company. I believe that they helped keep some of our original documents for safe keeping; Father believes we (or, in his normal accusatory way, I) have it, and he wants me to find it, even though he moved all my fucking stuff into my sister's room and therefore I think he should find it. Anyway, I called him for help.

After several days of back-and-forth and just not calling back, this guy "Bob" finally reaches me. Admittedly, I did a piss-poor job of telling me what exactly I needed. But after telling him my side of my argument against My Father, he quickly shut me down: "No, we don't do that."

Shit, so it's somewhere in the house. Meanwhile, Bob offered an olive branch, volunteering to send me any copies of our LLC they have. He said he could mail or fax them. I asked if I could just drop by and pick them up.

"No," Bob said, "We just find them and ship them out."

Well. Apparently there's a small window of time our LLC forms are fresh until they're spoiled. Great, there's the possibility that Father will find these forms and I'll have to explain them, causing yet another goddamn argument. Thank you, Bob.

Never open an LLC.

Is My Car Breaking Down Again?

I remember there was a period of about a year several years ago where I had the brake pads replaced and then my radio antenna replaced and then my transmission broke. I really, really thought I needed to junk the car. But it stabilized after I got a new tranny, and it has been working great ever since.

Till recently. Small things, I must admit. The radio antenna doesn't retract; instead it grinds whenever I start the car and whenever I turn the radio on or off. Then I saw the right turn signal click a hell of a lot faster last week; the manual -- and thank Buddha it said something about it -- said this is a sign that the turn signal bulb burned out. But I checked both the front and rear; I can't tell which bulb needs to be replaced.

And today I saw the goddamn oil level light come on. I swear to God I checked my oil on Saturday and put one-tenth of a quart because it was only about that low. And now I have to put more in? Is it just because the car is old, or does the fact the indicator light lit up two days after I added fresh oil mean something more serious?

Fucking swear this is a bad omen. Goddamn, I need this car!!!

I wanted to see the title sequence for the College Rugby Sevens Championship on NBC Sports. This is the first time college rugby is being broadcast on a major network, and for some reason I wanted to see the title sequence.

I had things I wanted to do yesterday, but then I saw that they were going to broadcast again today, so I stayed out. And I could've stayed home today, especially because I can breathe with Grandmother going out to gamble. But I was bored and wanted to treat myself after pruning the lilac bushes, so I thought I'd walk to the coffee shop after I finished.

Except that once I began pruning, I couldn't stop. I looked at the clock on the cellphone; it was 1:30, but I thought I could stay a little longer, then it was 1:45 and I gave myself a couple more branches to cut, and then I finally quit at 1:53.

I still can't believe it took me 20 minutes to walk down there; I thought it was only 15. That, combined with the fact that I left the house at 7 after 2, meant that I was at the coffeehouse for less than 10 minutes. I couldn't fuckin' relax. Shit, I should've just stayed home.

I began to run home, and I began to run some more because it started to rain. Luckily I kept my own promise to see the sequence in time; although I was sweating like a motherfucker, I got home at about 5 to 3, where I saw my parents' minivan.

Please don't bother me, please don't bother me, I thought. I knew it'd just be my luck that My Fucking Father would bother me just when the title sequence started. And I'll be goddamned that just before the title sequence began, I heard My Fucking Father walk up to my door and knock.

I refused to answer him immediately. "Gimme a second!" I demanded, and I made up an excuse 10 seconds later: "I'm putting my clothes on!" He waited so long, he walked away from my door.

After I said what I said, the title sequence began. But because I had coming out and and asking My Fucking Father what the fuck he wants, I totally forgot what the sequence looked like. Is there any place I can see it?

Why The Fuck Are You Bothering Me?

I wanted to go out to the strip club tonight because 1) I wanted to see the Stanley Cup Final game, which was only on cable, and 2) I'm feeling horny and I wanted to see some tits in my face.

So I go down to my favorite stripclub and am minding my own damn business when this guy comes up from behind and asks me about my ethnicity. He's a fat guy, not out of place in a neighborhood bar like this, but he has an accent. I was raised to be polite, but I wanted to be terse in an effort to get him off of me, so I tell him. Didn't work; he says something unimportant, and then he says -- not asks, says -- he's going to pull up a chair and start talking to me. Great.

Again, I'm still trying to be nice, but the shit he's asking me -- and he's pulling along the conversation -- was all about my race -- how he admires Chinese people, he's shocked that I'm from here, etc. I try to be terse without being rude in an outright way, but eventually I cave and I give him more information about myself to sate his curiosity, which is becoming more and more intrusive and strange.

Then, probably to be nice but maybe in a way to get him off my back, I reflect the attention back onto him -- what's his race, were did he come from, etc. That's when he really gets strange. He has a heavy accent which I thought was Russian but actually is Slavic (he's lived in Bulgaria, the Czech Republic and Russia). He actually has the balls to insist that he doesn't have an accent. And he gets really pissed off when people say that he does. He's now into cuckoo territory. Around this time is when a dancer finished her shift onstage, and I glom onto her for a lapdance just so I can get the fuck away from this guy.

I think he gets the message that our conversation has run its course. He didn't get this message. I got done with my girl and go back to looking back at the hockey game when this motherfucker comes back and resumes talking to me. I still don't have the stones to tell him to leave me alone. He kind of senses that; he invites himself to sit next to me fuckin' again, but he gives me a chance to tell him to buzz off. I can't; instead, I say that I'll give him as much attention as I could but it'll divided. He leaves ... and the he reappears right next to me. Dude, did we miscommunicate or something?

This is where he stopped being merely obnoxious and became downright scary. He started going off on women, how they're bitches and easily controlled and stuff. This is where another stripper came up to us and wanted to join in on the conversation/hustle for a dance. I try to get her fully integrated into the conversation:

(To this ass) "Wanna clue her in as to what we're talking about?"

"Why? She's a woman!"

I'm absolutely stunned that this chick didn't either walk away or throw something in his face, because he kept up the weird misogyny. He had ranted all night about how people are defined by their culture. I tried to say, while I wasn't looking at twat, that it's dangerous to assign a single person all the characteristics of his ethnicity because, of course, that's stereotyping. But he went on and on about how I looked like Confucius, how it's shocking that a guy "like me" would be seen in a place like this, and, sadly, that Russian women are ugly and crazy. I'm glad he stopped fixating on me, but that meant he started trashing females.

This is when I told him I'm getting a dance from this girl and then taking off. I had it. I didn't even want to get a lapdance from this chick, but I fucking needed to get away from this prick. (By the way, as long as I was giving away twenty bucks, I snuck in a nipple pinch, although she wasn't a bad conversationalist like that other douche.)

I still wasn't done with him. As I was leaving that son-of-a-bitch was outside having a cigarette. I give him a half-ass wave; he responds by saying even more gibberish: "You even walk like Confucius!" You know how he walks? I thought he had a limp.

At this point I'm just freaked out. I swear he's stalking me; he doesn't smoke but wanted to just to perch himself outside and see me walk away, get into my car, see my license plate number, and see in which direction I was headed so he can triangulate where I live. So I hid my car. It helped that a huge truck was parked between me and him, but I still felt I needed to fuckin' wait him out. I called my friend while I was in my car and hoped we could chit-chat for half an hour. Instead I caught him at work and we only talked for three minutes.

This is ridiculous; am I really afraid of this douchebag? I need to be a man and leave. So after I hang up the phone I start the car and drive off. And I'll be goddamned if he still wasn't there?!?!?! This asshole now knows everything about me! He knows I'm coming back tonight to see my favorite stripper for now and he's going to either talk my ear off about how Chinese I am and/or kill me.

Fuck my life.

The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey

#0: Gopher baseball (Last Week: -1). Quite a triumphant week for the College Nine. They swept their way through the Big Ten Baseball Tournament last week in grand style, needing only three games to beat Indiana, Michigan (in 10 innings) and Iowa to claim the conference tourney title and the automatic bid (and only bid from the conference) into the NCAA Tournament.

They are now in Fullerton, Calif. to begin tourney play against pod top-seed and host Cal State-Fullerton. These guys are hot, winning 15 of their last 19. Baseball America calls them a deep sleeper. And the magazine's John Manuel calls the 4-seed Gophers his out-of-nowhere team to reach Omaha for the College World Series. That'd be something to see. Now watch them crash and burn in two games. (Well, actually, as I type this, Minnesota has a 3-0 lead on Fullerton in the top of the third inning. This team is good and they're in a groove now, but I had no thought they could beat the Titans. If they do, they'll be the only 4-seed to win today.)

#-1: Lynx (Last Week: -3). They actually won a game! They actually won a game!! And they beat the defending champions, too!!! And by ten damn points!!!! Is this a fucking dream or something??? On Tuesday the Jynx beat the Phoenix Mercury 92-82, snapping a five-game losing streak. I'm not sure if they hit on a winning formula or something, but maybe, just maybe, this is the start of something good? No? No, probably not.

This comes after another home game, a 15-point loss to Chicago at Target Center on Saturday. Guess who was at that game? I didn't want to beat the Twins traffic escaping downtown, and I had less than an hour to transfer between the Twinks and this club. I thought the not-too-long, not-too-short transition meant I should go to this game. I recounted how I felt during that game. They were playing so bad, I don't know they could win another game. The Lynx have three games this week: at Tulsa tomorrow (Friday), home to Indiana Sunday, and at Phoenix Thursday night.

#-2: Twins (Last Week: -2). They actually went 4-3 for the week, but since the sweep of Texas happened the first part of the cutoff week and the three losses to Seattle ended the week, it seems worse, and besides, we need some variety, so I'll put the Twinkies at the bottom this week. They scored only one run in their three losses to the Mariners; offense is now suddenly a problem, even though they're holding onto a lead against the Bastard Philadelphia Athletics as I type. After their weekend trio versus the A's, they have a weeknight set at home versus Kansas City.

I shouldn't sound like a stalker, but there are two strippers who used to call me to give me their schedules and let me know if they're entertaining at any house parties. They haven't called in, like, weeks, and now I'm frustrated. Do they not like me anymore? Do they not think I'll get laps from them? I will -- but do they not believe me?

Or, is it that they don't like me because they found out I like to pull my dick out? I did it in front of one of them, but she seemed cool. The other I'm more concerned about because we have a great vibe together. I'd like to show her my manhood someday, but maybe she's trying to distance herself from me.

I've thought about this for awhile, but what triggered it is the missed call and voicemail I got an hour ago. I was hoping it was one of the two stripper leaving me her schedule. Instead it was something that has to do with what Father is trying to find for his real estate holdings.

Maybe It's The Mozzarella Sticks And Chocolate Milkshake Talking

Went to the dentist to finish the cleaning that should've been done the last time. Had the same girl, but she was not as cloying as she was. In fact, she was kind of nice. Maybe she was mean to me last time because I no-showed my prior appointment.

That spackled this fluoride varnish on my teeth. I was told not to eat anything crunchy till the morn. Told her that I was going to Buffalo Wild Wings, and she seemed to not have a problem with it. So I ate to my heart's content.

Saw Jim Joyce's Boner at BWWW, so I decided to go to my late-night eating spot and watch SportsCenter Zapruder the blown call. There I thought about getting soup and a Coke, but then I remembered I shouldn't drink Coke because of the acid, so I decided on a milkshake, but soup and a shake don't mix, so I went with the mozzarella sticks instead of soup.

Tummy now feels funny. Feel like I should shit, but can't. Went outside to prune the lilac bushes and I still feel fat. Oh well -- probably going to Taco Bell and ordering that super-cheap meal deal (including the cruncy chips -- bye-bye, fluoride varnish!) will get the shit flowing through my colon.

My Fucking Father, Back To Being An Asshole

Not one fucking day after he comes home and My Fucking Father turns into My Fucking Father. He seemed fine when I called him at work today. But while I was setting the dinner table ready, the first goddamn thing he does is yell at me for not watering the lawn. Except that the sprinkler is on. He's yelling at me because I didn't water until now -- that I'm just watering just to put on a show for him. He then "instructed" me to water during the daytime. When the fuck did you care when we watered? I do not fucking believe he ever gave a shit about the time we watered the lawn until we hat batshit crazy today.

I was not going to have any of it. That moody son-of-a-bitch put me in a bad mood real quick. After being nice to him for so long and now he has to be rude and whiny like that the first day back from vacation? Fuck him.

God, I am in such an antagonistic mood right now. I swear that he's gonna come home early tomorrow just to see if I'm awake. Buddha give me strength that I'm feeling the same exact way I'm feeling now: The ability, the necessity, to stand up and start yelling back, and even kick a little paternal ass if he wants to challenge me tomorrow morning.

Today was the second time I almost ran over another car. I spaced out while driving on the highway. I was imagining I was a sportscaster and I was making a call on a inside-the-park home run/play at the plate. And when I was shouting in the car "SAFE!" I just jerked my car one lane to the left. And that's why I saw the car I cut in front of slowing receding from my rearview mirror, seemingly in an effort to get the fuck away from me. I don't blame him.

OK, what the fuck is happening to me? What the hell is making me think I don't have to look over my shoulder when changing lanes? If I don't focus while driving, I'm going to get into an accident. Pray it doesn't happen.

Person Who Should Be Fired: Vince From Holiday

One of my pet peeves is when I put my hand out to receive something and the person on the other side of the counter just throws it on the counter. I find it annoying, and I'm trying to shake the feeling that the person is disrespecting me. I've been on the other side and I've done it many times; that's why I try not to do it anymore.

But when I got this douche named Vince who doesn't even say hi to me, throws my license down when I reach for it, then tosses the receipt and the pen in which to sign it my way, I think I have a good idea of what I mean to him, which is not much. It doesn't help that he has a stupid fuckin' mohawk on his head. He likes like ass.

And I'm probably going to see more of him. This is the only gas station that allows after-pay, and I have a bunch of coupons I still need to go through. I'm going to have to run into this buttfuck again. Cripes.