Expenses Without Receipt

I had to stop the last time on the 10th because for some damn reason I wrote down on my day planner that I went to Pizza Luce on consecutive days, and even though that could happen, I doubt it.  I decided that I will leave my previous EWR blog as is because I've decided I went Sunday for two reasons: 1) It looked like I wrote down more specific details about what I bought at Pizza Luce for Sunday, leading me to believe I had the good sense to go home and write them down immediately after eating there; and 2) the 11th was the date the Los Angeles Kings won the Stanley Cup, so I don't think I went, nor would have gone, to Pizza Luce to celebrate.

Instead, I think I went to my first entry for this EWR:

• On Monday the 11th, I went to my second free screening of That's My Boy, your run-of-the-mill Adam Sandler flick.  (Verdict: I was wrong in thinking it'd be a hit.  Sandler still remains a moron with a heart of gold, but even though it wasn't, um, really good, I didn't think it'd flop like it has.)  But at least I ate some popcorn and pop for: $8.
• I think -- I think -- that instead of Pizza Luce, I was driving from the movie, heard the Kings clinch the Cup on satellite radio, then went to ... Caffetto, where the girl gave me an iced mocha with cold press instead of espresso because she was cleaning the espresso machine.  With tip: $4.75.
• I try not to make only one cash transaction a day because I'm weird like that.  But on Wednesday the 13th I wrote down that while I was filling up my gas tank I looked down at the ground and saw two nickels.  In The New America, you need to get your money where you can.  An infusion of: 10 cents.
• Never mind -- I did remember something else I spent money on on Wednesday: The Twins game.  Ticket, hot dog, souvenir pop and scorecard came out to ... fuck me, I'm guessing: $20.
• In filling out the replies to my health insurance application which the state needed, I went to a library in Dakota County and not only made a copy of my pay stubs but produced a letter that I printed out.  A total of: 30 cents.
• I then had to go to the post office at MSP to mail this application or else I would lose my health insurance.  Oh, by the way: Thank Buddha for Obamacare!  Cost of postage: 65 cents.
• And, well, shit, the only thing got on Friday the 15th was the monthly burlesque show I go to.  Did I not do anything else that Friday?  Whatever; cover, coffee, tipping the onstage babes and, for the first time, trying one of the games in the back: $13.50.

This will need updating, but I have to leave My Favorite Coffeeshop (Late-Night Version).  Consider this updated through the 15th.

Wishing On 11:11 Is Just Bullshit

I tried this late last summer, when I heard parents' plans for both The Store and Grandmother.  So whenever that rolled around (and when you seek to make a wish at 11:11, you notice when it's 11:11, often, so I did it a lot), I would utter under my breath a litany of wishes to keep The Store open and to keep Grandmother at home.  I threw in my hopes for Grandmother's help from her, um, absent-mindedness, and if I had extra seconds I wished to get laid and to get a good job, respectively.

Well, The Store's just about gone and Grandmother's been packed away to just across the river.  So I just wanted to let y'all know that if you make a wish on 11:11, it ain't gonna fuckin' work.

A Double Shot Of, "I Didn't Get Back To You?"

Well, my day's shit.  I just got fucked two ways today.

First, I went down to this research center because no one returned my calls inquiring about some studies I was eligible for.  After a few minutes, the lady which I think I left a message with came out and said that, even though I am healthy, I am not eligible for the "Healthy Research Participants" studies because ... um, I have a pre-existing medical condition, let's put it that way.  So that's one potential work avenue closed to me.

Then I called my contact for this production company that's doing Saturday night's Twins game.  I usually work for them when they're in town.  But the contact that I thought would be here is not, and the person who is hiring for the game went with someone else.  He didn't follow the protocol of calling this list where my number's at, he said, but I don't know if there is such a list.  All I know is that I was a rookie once, and the only reason I'm working for these guys is a friend of mine from college decided to break protocol and hiring his own people.  And now, sadly, someone's doing it to me.  I feel like I'm getting pushed out.  At any rate, that's another potential work avenue closed to me.

The worst thing about this is I had to contact them in order to find out my work status with them.  The latter thought he texted me, which is alright.  The former just flat-out didn't get back to me, which I don't care for.

Now what the fuck do I do?

Printer Fail

Are printers supposed to be so high-maintenance and temperamental?

Last night Father urgently needed me to type out a letter for him that needed to be sent the next day, which was this morning.  I wrote some stuff out, he okayed it, but even before I banged out the letter, I remembered that the magenta ink pack needed to be replaced.  So, even though it was past 9 o'clock and Wednesday night was a furnace outside (heat temperature around 95, felt like 102 with the humidity), I went out to get new ink.

I used my parents' minivan.  I asked for their permission, but why couldn't I use my car?  My only explanation is that Father and I used it around 6:30 that evening to go to a FedEx Kinko's.  The package that I didn't answer and sign for on Tuesday, along with more packages that came (which I did answer and sign for) Wednesday morning, contained stuff that he wanted sent to Las Vegas.  So he hurriedly repackaged them while I looked for the day's drop-dead times for pick-up, and then we went to send them.  That meant that the minivan's engine was hotter than mine, which meant that their car could more easily burn the contaminants in the oil, as opposed to mine, where the short trip, combined with the relatively cool engine, meant that a lot of impurities would remain in my car's engine.

Or, maybe I asked because I didn't want to "hurt" my car by taking it out for a short drive.  Because I'm a dick.

Anyway, after I came home from Target, I thought things would all be hunky-dory and I'd be able to print out this letter for him.  But after I change the magenta cartridge and hit print again, I saw that now the yellow ink cartridge had to be replaced.  Are you fucking kidding me?  What could have prompted that was the fact that there was a print job that was still in the printer queue that fired off as soon as I changed the magenta one.  That job was mine, namely coupons for the Command adhesive hangers by 3M that I need to buy to hang up my hat rack.  This printer prints in color and the coupons were colored, so I guess there wasn't a whole lot of yellow left in the old cartridge and it was used up by printing out these coupons.

I asked Father if he somehow had a yellow cartridge.  He said no, but the letter can wait till tomorrow, or even the next day.  I thought it had to go out this morning, Father!

Whatever.  I had time to buy a yellow cartridge (and just to save myself another trip I bought a triple cartridge containing yellow, magenta and cyan packs) today, and I would get things all fixed after I got home from "work" (actually going to the North Stars Alumni Reunion in Roseville, followed by going down to Hooters Mall of America to watch the NBA Draft [aside: my waitress was a trainee with a barebelly shirt, massive tits and cleavage I so wanted to stick my penis into!], then catching a concert by a band I recommend, Cory Chisel and the Wandering Suns [aside: I wanted to buy a CD there, but it was $10 and all I had was a $50 I resolved earlier this evening to deposit and not break because ... I didn't want to "ruin" a good $50 bill.  Yes, I'm stupid weird).

So I get home, replace the yellow, and then I print.  In fact I had another letter Father wanted me to work on almost two months ago to the motherfuckin' day, and since I felt fully fortified I gave myself permission to be a rebel and print out both.  But after turning to the printer to see how it went, I saw ... virtually nothing.  One, maybe two sentences -- actually more like half-sentences -- were stranded amid white space I anticipated would be filled in with words I typed.  Fuck.

This means I need to give the printer a head cleaning.  Actually, I just push a button -- the printer head-cleans itself.  Then I printed out a nozzle check, where it prints wavy lines of each of the four colors it has.  All of a sudden the black doesn't show up.  I tried one, two, three more times, but each time there were very little, if any, black lines on the test.  I tried printing out the letter one more time, but still, barely two lines were even legible.

So now what?  Get a black cartridge?  I might need to just take my flash drive, load those pages onto it, take it to the fucking library and print it out there.  At least theirs works.  All this for a fucking letter. ...

The Time Of The Year Where NPR Whores Itself

Pledge drive is almost over, thank God.  I find it almost unlistenable these times of the year.

I don't know when I took to National and Minnesota Public Radios.  I know it was after college, because I was talking to one of the people I considered a friend while I was in college, a fellow journalism student, who wretched at his assignment of listening to NPR, and I remember sympathizing with him.  So I guess it's old age that prompted me to turn away from the local Top 40 station after it ran, like, the same goddamn Christina Aguilera song the third time in three hours and listen in on an important story going on in some other part of the world.

But, of course, the difference between public radio and private radio is the way they make their money.  Private radio, like that Top 40 station, advertise.  But public radio doesn't advertise; they solicit donations from "members."  So in a tradeoff for commercial-free news and entertainment, several times a year they do these pledge drives, where they openly solicit cash.  Sometimes donations will be matched by N/MPR's corporate sponsors, and sometimes they offer little gifts as incentive.

I never have donated.  I should, but the asshole in me thinks that once I sign up, they're just going to hound me every pledge drive to donate a little more.  If they promise not to do that, I can give, oh, a dollar a month.  But I think that's something they just won't do.  And if they're not going to leave me alone, I will turn away once they go into their pledge spiel.

And it's kind of weird to see that the people soliciting fronting these drives are the very reporters who deliver the news I hear every day.  It really is jarring to hear, say, Tom Crann or Cathy Wurzer go from talking about the massacre going on in Syria or the debate over Obamacare one segment during the hour to shilling tote bags and thanking new and sustaining contributors over the air.  In fact, I will say it's unbecoming.  It's downright unprofessional for these reporters who put on a dignified air for, say, 340 days of the year, and then once it comes to pledge time, they get all happy and folksy, like they want to put their arms around you and buy you a beer, just so they can get some money from you.  Not only is it strange, it feels incredulous.

Now, I understand that this is the only way National and Minnesota Public Radios are going to survive.  I really do appreciate the unbiased reporting work they do.  But beyond the fact that I don't have money to spare, I find it a little weird to hear people totally change their attitude on-air.  Hopefully, since the fiscal end of the year for MPR is ending on the 30th (I think), this will all be over ... until the next pledge drive, some two or three months from now.

These are just some thoughts about something I noticed.

A Waste Of A Drive To WBL

I was up by 10.  I got on the Internet by 10:15 I think, and, of course, by 10:30 I was beating off to porn.  Is it an addiction or a hobby?

I hear a knock on the door.  Probably one of those door-to-door salesmen letting me know there's a new contractor in the area and hey, would you like a free consultation?  If it were important he or she would knock again, but he or she didn't.

After spilling my seed and doing a very little bit of cleaning, I went out the door in order to catch the noon showing Men In Black 3.  (Verdict: Not bad.  Surprisingly touching and wistful.  Jemaine Clement is a forgettable bad guy, but Josh Brolin is a perfect facsimile as a young Tommy Lee Jones, who obviously was paid a lot of money only to appear in half the movie.  Reportedly the script was being made on the fly, but besides a couple leaps in logic, I liked it.  There were a ton of writers on Casablanca, too.)  I see a piece of paper taped on the screen door.  Shit -- the guy who was knocking was Federal Express; he needed someone to sign for a package.

So, now what?  I could just leave it up and tell my parents that I left before FedEx arrived.  But I felt guilty for missing it just because I was furtively masturbating in my room.  So, even though they could have come back with the package the next day (do they do that?  I don't know), I decided to pick up the package ... which is in suburban St. Paul, just down 694.

It was almost 20 miles each way, and I heard once that the average person drives about 40 miles a day, and after driving almost 64 miles round-trip for three weeks I was looking forward to not drive so damn far.  But yesterday I found myself just driving over and over until I drove 60 miles, so deciding to pick up a package I could've gotten just by answering the front door is something I really regret.

The only thing I could do is make a day of it.  I tried finding the address of this stripper who does naughty massages on the side, but failed.  I went to the local comics shop to look at some porn, but they're at least a month old, leading me to believe they've stopped shipments and might, might, shut down; at least I know that now.  And last week's Rolling Stone had a main cover story about Electronic Dance Music, or EDM.  I read that until 4, which, according to the ticket, is the earliest I could pick it up.  I tried picking it up at a quarter to 3 once I got in the area, but I had to wait till 4.

By the way, the package, a big but light one, seems to be a gift from Father to Mother.  Aw.

This waste of gas might continue.  I wanted to use public transportation to go down to the Mall of America to see the Euro semifinal between Spain and Portugal tomorrow.  But it's supposed to be the hottest day of the year -- air temperature of at least 95, humidity making it feel like at least 100 -- and I'm worried if that means more aggression as people are being transported together in the heat.  Then again, I could encounter road rage if I just drive all the way down there.  I'm fucked.

Expenses Without Receipts

I haven't done this shit since the turn of the month.  Fuckin' A:

• OK, Friday the 1st ... so according to my Franklin Quest, I started off my afternoon going to this place called Saba Flowers in order to order two sets of bouquets to rest on the graves of my junior prom date and my Grandmother.  Total cost: $8.57.
• Exercise in the evening -- cover: $3.
• Then, My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Edition).  Tips only: $8.
• Saturday was the first day of six volunteering for the web series.  I bugged out early to attend the Minnesota RollerGirls/Surly fan tour.  I tipped a lot because volunteers were pouring the beers: $5.
• Stripclub, tips only: $8.
• Then My Favorite Late-Night Italian Place, with tip: $9.50.
• Sunday I also bugged out of the shoot early so I catch some part of this locally-made picture I was an extra in.  It was a scintillating thing to see myself on the screen.  Too bad it was in a disastrous, poorly written, poorly acted, dumb plot.  It was a part of the local LGBT film fest, and it won.  Wonder how bad the others were.  Anyway, I paid a ticket, popcorn and pop to see it: $16.75.
• I snuck in a trip to see Grandmother (shhh, don't tell my folks), then remembered it was Grand Ole Day in St. Paul, where her nursing home is.  Stepped into a well-known ice cream place I've never been to, the Grand Ole Creamery.  Great ice cream, though a little expensive, especially if you get their homemade cone.  With tip: $6.25.
• Stripclub.  Tips as well as coffee and a dance from a, ahem, mature woman named Angelique: $26.
• Finished up my night at Caffetto.  Iced mocha with tip: $4.50.
• Tuesday the 5th started three consecutive days of going to St. Louis Park to be part of a taste test that eventually would give me $100.  Little did I know that after the three days, which consists of drinking four mini-shots of whisky each day, that I would not get cash but instead a gift card.  Hmmm, I've gotten more gift cards when I do experiments at the U.  Is this a trend?  Anyway, between work in Apple Valley and the time the drinking started, I decided the car needed washing.  There was a lot of gravel on both floormats, I tell ya.  Had to charge for the wash, but the tip was straight cash, homey: $1.
• Then, to make sure my lone cash transaction had a friend, I decided to store some new pennies, dimes and quarters.  It added up to: 99 cents.
• Wednesday, after the taste test, I went to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Version) again.  Tips and coffee: $6.
• On Friday the 8th I exercised: $3.
• Then Stripclub (tips only): $8.
• Saturday the 9th ... did I get a receipt for Jamba Juice?  In case I didn't, tip only: $3.75.
• Then, Late-Night Italian (with tip): $6.25.
• Sunday the 10th ... after the shoot I decided I needed to exercise, so cover for the gym: $3.
• I then tried to veg out at the Stripclub, but this was the night the waitress fucking flipped out at me.  It is also the last time I have stepped into the place.  Tips, plus making up for past coffee slights: $9.
• Then I went to Pizza Luce, mainly to buy an MNRG ticket.  Did I use my free pizza coupon/pick?  Anyway, I have the total for the ticket, the pepperoni pizza and the Summit Saga (with tips) already written down on my day planner: $18.66.

Things are getting a little hazy here, so I'll stop.  Caught up as of the 10th.

So Far, It's Not Working Out

I signed that contract under protest.  Why?  Because both of my fucking parents still aren't listening to a goddamn word I say.  One of the provisions was that I can't get mad whenever they say something.

"But what happens if you get mad at me?" I told Mother.

"We never get mad at you," Mother said.  What fucking bullshit.  Either she's too stupid to be living, or that bitch is a goddamn liar.

Case in point: Sunday.  I busied myself; when I told them earlier in the weekend that I had "work," what I really meant was that I was going to go out and see the Italy-England Euro 2012 soccer match.  (Hell of a game, BTW, too bad England is still damned with those penalty kicks.)  I come back to see a pile of branches in the front lawn.  Apparently Father took the afternoon to cut off parts of the tree in the front yard.  I remember him telling me a couple years ago.  I didn't do it because 1) it's a large tree, 2) it was a large saw, and 3) there's no telling what damage I could do if I decided to cut branches willy-nilly.  I have a bad feeling what Father did is going to kill the tree.

So, because it was there, naturally I had to go help throw the leaves into the minivan.  I thought My Fucking Father told me I couldn't dump yard waste anymore?  Anyway, it only took the first branch I laid hands on before My Fucking Father whined something under his breath, something in Chinese, something I was lucky not to understand, but still it bothers me because the asshole was judging me, again.  Later he brusquely and rudely took a tree stalk from me just as I started grabbing it.  A stronger grip and my fingers would be full of splinters, you fuck.

---

Before I left for "work" that day I put my laundry in the washer and dryer.  My Fucking Father always steps into my room and takes my dirty laundry down, whether or not I need it to, and I don't, I could go two even three weeks without doing it, but he comes in every fucking week, so I decide to preempt him this time.

But the fucking dryer doesn't dry, so after dinner I go down and see that my clothes aren't dry.  So I give it another spin.  If anything, I left it in there too long.  I was going to go down there to retrieve my load after My Fucking Father would stop ... doing what he was doing down there.  But around midnight I hear him stomp upstairs and throw the hamper I left downstairs just outside my door.  While he was trundling about upstairs I opened the door and said thanks, but he didn't hear me, because he's an asshole.

I signed the contract and it is he who isn't holding up the spirit of it.  He's angling to get me thrown out, I can feel it.

The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey

#-1: Twins (Last Week: -1).  A 2-3 screening week.  Dropped the midweek series at Pittsburgh.  The Pirates have been better this year, but in seasons past the Twins would have had a good shot of sweeping, even on the road, so the series loss owes a lot to the bad state the club is in right now.

The first game of their series against Cincinnati was highlighted by the continuing lights-out relief pitching by Glen Perkins.  I remember seeing him when he was hurling for the U.  Quite possibly the best Gopher baseball game I've ever seen was him going the distance in beating Iowa 2-1.  He struck out 13, the last of which was a called third strike on a change-up (?) with the Hawkeyes in scoring position.

I know that he was groomed to be a starter when he was drafted by the Minnesota Nine, but after a few seasons, and for some unknown reason, he was told he was going to be converted to a reliever.  Perkins didn't like that, so much so that he was very pissed at the organization.  I read one reporter almost guaranteeing that Perkins would be moved.  But, for some reason, Perkins stayed.  And apparently he cooled down and accepted his new role.  And probably like the front office believed, Perkins blossomed in his new role.

For the past few seasons Perkins was the set-up man, holding down the fort for Joe Nathan and now Matt Capps.  But since Capps started to get shaky, Perkins has shown that he has the gas to slam the door shut.  And now that Capps is on ice for a while, he has the potential to show that he could be the team's closer, which would allow the squad to trade Capps to a contender around the trade deadline.  The reason the Twins may be reluctant is what I saw when I went to their loss to Philadelphia a couple weeks ago: He committed an error trying to catch the ball while covering first.  His attitude became totally negative, and he allowed it to affect him to the point where he started throwing wild and put runners on base.  But then he got back-to-back strikeouts and all was well -- at least for now.  And he helped the Twinks hold on for a 5-4 victory over the Reds Friday.  Why not make Glen Perkins the closer?  He could be the best pitcher on the roster.

On the other end of pitching performances was a play committed by Nick Blackburn in Saturday's 6-0 Redwash.  There was a runner on third.  The batter, pitcher Johnny Cueto (?), bunted.  Blackburn picked it up and lazily threw underhanded to get him at first.  The runner on third hesitated about halfway to home, but once he saw that Blackburn didn't even look him back, he ran for home.  Manager Ron Gardenhire apparently was livid at allowing the run.

I don't know who's at fault here.  It could be Joe Mauer, who was playing at first, for not shouting at Blackburn, "Runner!  Runner!"  It could be the fault of Catcher Ryan Doumit, who didn't make the defensive calls in case a bunt was put down.  But I have to blame it on Blackburn, a man who's doing all he can to lose his job in Major League Baseball.  It was the throw, man.  At the very least, the very least, zip the ball to first so that Mauer has a chance to make a play at the plate.  But tossing it underhand like you're throwing it to your nephew?  Come on!

The last interleague game is Sunday afternoon in Cincinnati.  They then immediately come home and face American League clubs, starting with the White Sox Monday.  Kansas City comes in for the weekend, and the series will include a doubleheader Saturday, necessitated because of a rainout of a game I was about to work.  In a coincidence, I should be working the makeup game as well.

Gatorade Hijinks

My main fitness center is closed most hours on the weekend.  In fact, they are closed for the next two Saturdays, which would have been perfect days for me to exercise and battle my weight, which I need to do.  I was lucky that I sought out other community centers around where I live that I could work out for cheap.  So my main plan this weekend is to check out two other places, one Friday evening and one Saturday.

Meanwhile, I am starting to get into using Gatorade while I'm there.  In fact, I've been sucked in with the company's 1-2-3 rehydration protocol/drink series/marketing ploy.  Whenever I can, I plan ahead and buy all three products, and when I can't, I have stopped in a gas station a couple times and gotten the 3/"Recover" drink.  And so, even though I started off to this community center around 8 when it closes at 10, I stopped by Target to get two each of the "Prime," "Perform" and "Recover" bottles -- all for $8.50, BTW.

After I got to the center, two things involving the Gatorade I bought and put into the trunk broke my stride:

1. Once I started changing I forgot to bring in the "2" drink with me to drink while exercising.  I had changed everything but my shirt, and I didn't want to change back, so I did something I'm sure rec centers frowned upon: I wore my "indoor" sneakers outside so I could retrieve the drink from my trunk.  I don't think I've ever worn my exercise tennis outdoors, mostly because they say that just wearing your everyday sneakers while working out makes the fitness center dirty and may contaminate the room, or something.  And I felt bad for "soiling" my indoor tennis shoes.  The only time I have ever worn these shows away from an exercise area was when I was trying them on at Payless.  And all because I forgot my Gatorade in the car.
2. After I got done I went back to the trunk to take out one of the "3"/Recover shakes to drink.  But I couldn't find it in the back.  And I checked all around the trunk (even though it was dark) and it wasn't loose anywhere in my trunk.  So I remembered: Those "Recover" shakes were the first drinks the checkout girl scanned, and it's possible that she put them in a separate bag.  I swear that she only gave me one once we were done.  So unless I was really careless and I, for example, did not pick up this second bag when I walked away from the checkout girl and put them down on another checkout lane so I could put my money away, she probably forgot to give it to me.  At least the Target ladies who helped me when I called them a quarter after 10 (when the receipt said I checked out at 8:03) were very helpful; I just have to come back tomorrow and show them my receipt.  But too bad I couldn't complete my regimen by "properly" finishing my workout by replenishing the nutrients I lost while exercising, so Gatorade says.

The First Day Of My Uncertain Future

Last blog post I talked about what I will do now that I have nowhere to go during the day after I lost my job.  The saving grace I had at least for today was that My Father was going to get a colonoscopy very early in the morning, so at least I would avoid them when they realized I wasn't waking up in the morning.

Things seemed OK when I woken up by the commotion by my folks at 7:30, then, after going back to sleep, waking up again naturally before 9 (still have the day schedule wired into my body; have to do something about that ... wait a second, I have to wake up before 9:30 from now on, fuck).  Father left me a voicemail telling me to call him, and when I did, he reminded me of something he told me when I called him yesterday: There's a package that FedEx tried to leave yesterday, and so they wanted me to be home before I told him I would "leave for work" at 10 or 11 today to receive it.  Cool; my plan is to wait until then for any package, then leave before my parents come home whenever they come home.

So it's my surprise that at 9:30, nine-fucking-thirty, I hear the front door open.  I guess that after the colonoscopy the 'Rents decided to come back home.  Either that or that was their plan all along because The Store is now and forever closed.

Either way I felt the anxiety bubble up inside me.  I don't know what to do or how to act now that my parental units are home at 9:30 on a goddamn weekday morning.  At least they didn't act like dicks; Mother made breakfast pho for me, and Father asked me to go through with e-mailing again some curator at one of the local art museums because he has a great-looking piece that he wants to donate.

I left at around 11 with little guff.  So far, so good.  But what about tomorrow, when I don't even have the flimsy excuse of work on the weekend?

Lost My Job Today

I have been cut loose from the scoring project about 90 minutes ago.  It was scheduled to go till tomorrow, but I've been through this song-and-dance before and am acutely aware that the ax could fall at any time.  And so it did today.  Not even seven more hours of income for tomorrow.

It's obvious why: We as a collective worked so fast that we worked ourselves out of work.  I'm pretty sure that I wasn't one of those people; I had so many bad tapes that I had to rewind and listen two, three, four times to make sure I caught what the kid was saying.  So I blame everyone around me for being so enthusiastic we lost our jobs a day early.  I don't want to sound like a union guy -- I'm not a teabagger union-buster like Scott Walker -- but it's obvious that the best way to tackle an assignment like this while maximizing our wages is to excel, but not that much.  We had to pull the reigns on ourselves so that we had more tapes to listen to for tomorrow, while keeping up a pace that is just above and beyond what is expected of us.  Instead we put our foot down on the accelerator and drove ourselves off a cliff.

The feelings of rejection and abandonment overwhelm me right now.  Right now, I am completely unemployed -- nothing now, nothing lined up later.  Therefore, I have no idea what the fuck I'm going to do.  I think I'll be OK for now.  But later?

Add to all of this the fact that not going to work means I have no real reason to leave the house.  So does that mean I'll see my parents more often?  I think they still go to The Store, but the last time I saw them out was two weeks ago.  It most certainly could have changed, especially since My Father is now on a painting jag.

The problem starts as soon as tomorrow morning.  I don't have to get up at 7.  Will they raise a stink?  And what the fuck do I do?  Will I stand my ground or just, you know, go out because I have to?  Remember the contract I spoke to y'all about, the one I had to sign or else I had to leave home?  They might invoke the stipulation that if I don't have a job, I have to be up by 9:30 and do something.  Goddamn, what if they catch me?  I can't get up at 9:30 every fucking morning!!!

And what about the next day, and the next day, and the next day?  Goddamn, all of life is just one big pain-in-the-ass. ...

Laptop Battery Really Is Shot Now, And I Can't Stands No More

I may or may not have blogged about the dead battery on the laptop on which I am writing this.  I assume that it's a battery because I have read that an overheated keyboard is a sign that the energy going through the machine is coming from the house plug and not being bypassed through the battery.

Another symptom is that whenever I'm on the Internet and it chugs through a procotol, such as loading a page, at some point during my Internet session I hear the laptop start to whir loudly, as if it's overexerting itself just so the porn site that I surfed to will load properly.

I thought I could put it off because I'll just plug my computer in somewhere, so no worries.  But the whirring continued.  It started to come on easier, with less cached megabytes being chugged through while I surfed before the guts of my lap would fire up and make a hell of a lot of noise.

Finally, however, I think I reached my breaking point recently.  For the past two or three days this laptop battery has started to make those loud blowing noises more frequently.  It seems to happen for the slightest computer moves, like toggling between Internet pages or even hitting "Send."

This whirring sound is really pissing me off.  I don't think I can hold out too much longer.  I will wait till my credit card billing cycle ends, and then buy a fucking battery so (hopefully) this goddamn baby will shut the fuck up.

Maybe The Store Is Still Open? Wait, Maybe It Is Closed After All

I have been dreading the first day I don't have a job and I wake up and see them at home because they don't have to go to The Store anymore.  The house will suddenly feel too crowded.  I might be able to adjust, but there's a good chance I will be so sick of seeing them home day after day after knowing they're out working day after day that I'll be forced to do something drastic, like go back to school or leave home.

That, of course, is contingent on whether -- but let's be honest, how long -- The Store is open.  And because I can't bare to ask the 'Rents straight-up if and when they're shuttin' the ol' lady down for good, I have to just look for signs.  Honestly, I have no idea if The Store is already closed.  But I don't think so -- at least as of, like, a week or so ago.

Obviously The Store was closed while they were in Vegas.  But last Sunday Father wanted my blanket because he wanted it have it drycleaned.  I thought he was going to do it the week before, but he got busy.  Maybe with The Store?  Another sign: Last week (maybe the week before?  Maybe the week before that?  Sheesh, that might be a long time ...) Mother asked if I could make a pick-up at a distributor.  The Store wouldn't be closed if I had to do something like that.  (Unfortunately I couldn't do it because of work.)

On the other hand, Father has been doing a lot of repainting the home the past couple weeks, and he could only do that if he wasn't at The Store.  And just tonight, I see that the house phone we've used for years (which, if I recall correctly, was one Grandmother bought on a whim) has been replaced by one that, if I'm right, was used at The Store.  If it's not being used there. ...

Damn.  I already am going through the shock of The Store dying.  Now I have to bear the brunt of the other shoe dropping: My folks actually being home for good.

The Following, Following, Following Week At The Same Party

Went back to the house party hosted by *e** for the fourth straight and final time.  I got no extras; ***e*, my ATF who wanked me so well the week before, wasn't there.  I had a feeling she wouldn't; she would usually call me when she's doing a house party.  Nevertheless that didn't stop me from going, and nevertheless I learned something interesting.

There's a girl at My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Version, although I should tell you that I passed it up last week because I wanted to avoid the waitress who thinks I'm a coffee welch), ******e, who was there when I was there for the first time.  People who go to my place usually don't work at parties.  But she does, and later, while I was feeling up her pierced breasts and admiring her tattoos while she was grinding on my lap, she told me why: She was adopted by *e**'s family.  Interesting.

Unfortunately, she didn't touch my dick.  That's not a bad thing; she's a good girl.  In fact, after learning about her personal life I feel kind of bad for reaching down for a feel of her vagina.  Now, I could've just gotten back to *e**, but I had a self-imposed limit of one dance that night, and I think *e** was busy when I decided to make up my mind and say to ******e that I wanted to get a lapper from her after the LD area was cleared out.

On that quiet, blueballsy note, I decided four was enough.  Besides, I think the beginning of Dancing With The Stars was the following Monday, and I either wanted to see it with Grandmother at the home or watch it at home by myself.  I have gone once since (where ***e* was there and she took me once), but that's been it.  How the host bullies her kid is a major reason why I haven't really gone back.

Addendum To: Is This It?

I was always told that with these projects, you are mandated to come every day until it's completed.  You can call in sick, of course, but reasons such as job interviews have to be cleared before you even start the project (provided they will let you even start on the project once you told them you'll be gone).

So what to make of the fact that a person on my "team" hadn't shown up for a week?  We are supposed to sign ourselves in and out every day, and I noticed that this person was absent the last two or three days of last week.  Was she sick, or was it something else?  Was it excused?

And then I saw that another member of my "team," a normal-shaped girl who nonetheless was very attractive to me (and who notably always wore Twins gear) didn't sign in yesterday.  Today, her name and the boxes for her to sign in and out were crossed through.  Could she do that?

Then there was an announcement by the scoring director, where she touched on people leaving.  She said one of them had found a job with benefits; is that Hot Twins Chick?  Some more had already left, she added, and apparently tomorrow a lot more people are going to another project the company is starting on.  That reminded me of the first assignment I had for these guys last year.  Near the end of the project several of them left to go start another test scoring mission in the building where I go to now.

So, in a sense, you can leave a project.  Now, can you leave without an excuse and come back?  I guess it'd still be no, although I assume that Hot Twins Chick and the others who apparently quit in the middle of the project had no intentions of ever working for this company again and don't get what it thinks of them.  But the bottom line is we are finishing with a hell of a lot less people than we started, and some of them have gone on to, I guess, greener pastures.  Meanwhile, a project at the other test scoring company starts tomorrow.  Maybe I should have just made up an excuse and gone over there so I could get more work that extends beyond Friday.

Man, sometimes I'm a damn fool.

Is This It?

This is my last week scoring for this current project.  I have been concerned for some time that neither of the companies I work for have given me any indication there is more down the line, which is not good considering that the web shoot I have been helping out for the past three weekends just ended Sunday.  I have weekends free and now it looks like I have my week free as well?

I have semi-stalked the recruiting coordinator of the company I currently am not working for.  Left her a message last week saying I would be free starting next Monday.  Didn't hear from her, so I gave her another call during my morning break.  She said that there was one that begins on Wednesday -- Dorf on golf! -- and there might, might, be a little project that starts on the 9th.  But that's it.

Desperate, before leaving for the day I let the secretary I'm working for now know that I'm willing and available for anything the company has for the rest of the season.  She says that although she'll put me on a waitlist, the last few remaining projects coming down the pike have been staffed.  Which means that, at least this year, there's a high probability that I am done with this job as of Friday, maybe even sooner.

For reference I looked through last year's Franklin Quest.  This time last year I was in the middle of a project from the other company I work for.  There may have been a few days off here and there, but it appears that I was able to attach myself from project to project between the 16th of June 2011 all the way to the first week in August.  Wow, from the first week in August to getting wiped out in mid-June?  Unbelievable.

I love this job.  I really do.  I frequently say it's the first one where I've never really fallen asleep on.  But the part-time status of this, where I work almost five months one year and about three months the next, is not the basis for a career.

Which means I have to look for other work.  But I don't want to look for other work.  Because first, it'll probably suck compared to test scoring.  More importantly, I know I have to look for something more full-time, and more, you know, an actual job that doesn't take most of the year off.  That raises the possibility that if I find something permanent and next April comes around, I won't be able to test score.  I don't want to do that, but I can't afford to not work either, especially with my parents (I guess, I don't know) being at home a lot more often.

Man, I wish this job was permanent.  Or at least paid well enough that I could live off of it.

Now What Am I Going To Do With My Weekends?

Today (Sunday) I finished up the last of three weekends of helping out with a web series.  It was unpaid and I didn't really do a whole more than eat food.  But even though I initially dreaded the drive, in the end I liked it.  First of all I was scared that it would be an hour, but because it was the weekend I covered it in half the time.  And even though I didn't think signing up for this through initially, I grew to like the job.  The people I worked with are great, the shoot was fun, and I learned a lot, much more so because I never was an unpaid Production Assistant at all when I was in college.

It also seems to happen this way to me: I agree to do something, immediately regret, tell myself I have to keep my promise, do it, grow to like it, and flip totally the other way and get overly sentimental about no longer being able to do it.  That's what happened now, but I kind of knew why I would miss it when I signed up.  I did this because it would get me out of the house for three straight weekends.  That's three weekends of being able to tell my parents I am "busy," of being able to avoid any orders to clean my room or do chores around the house, of evading my parents becoming pissed at me for no good reason.  I don't know how productive I was at the shoot, but it did make me feel good that I was doing something, and that's better than staying home and awaiting my parents' wrath (although I will admit that neither is better than just staying home).

That is gone now.  Sure, I can make an excuse that I have things to do next weekend, and the one thereafter, and after that.  But I would quickly get bored with that, and I would eventually have to cave and just stay home, either because I'm too tired to keep up with the lies or I just want to fucking stay in and not do anything, and I will take the consequences.  Except that maybe I only think I can take them.

I'm going to miss the shoot.  'Cause I have nothing else to do.

The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey

#-1: Twins (Last Week: -1).  Well, it seems like starting pitching, which seemed to have rebounded from its awful first weeks, is back in the doldrums.  Scott Diamond and Liam Hendriks, two of the AAA youngsters that have managed to stanch the bleeding, turned in mediocre performances during a 2-5 screening week.  They had lost four in a row before Denard Span hit a game-winning (I still refuse to say walk-off because it sounds so juvenile) single in the 15th inning of Sunday afternoon's 5-4 victory over The Bastard Seattle Pilots.

The beginning of the streak started on Wednesday, and for that you can blame me -- well, me or P.J. Walters.  I decided to scalp a ticket for that game against Philadelphia because I am still intrigued by interleague play and because after a shitty season I can probably get tickets for less than face value.  I actually couldn't; the scalpers were still trying to sell above face, the bastards, so I had to go up to the ticket window and buy a (legitimate) $8 student SRO ticket.  And I know that it's SRO only because after I tried sneaking into a seat at the very end of the third base line, the usher asked for my ticket.  On the one hand I'm glad Target Field is enforcing seats; on the other hand -- fucking come on, it's the Twinks!

Anyway, Walters, who has been a wunderkind since being called up, proceeded to give up hits to the first four batters in the Phillies lineup, the last of which brought in two.  Manager Ron Gardenhire promptly walked up to the mound and voice his concern that he wasn't even touching 90 on the club gun.  Walters finally admitted that his shoulder felt sore and tight, and without registering an official third-inning, Gardy pulled him in favor of Jeff Manship, who immediately brought the book on Walters to a close by giving up a three-run home run to eight-hitter Michael Martinez and getting through the top of the first with a 6-0 Twinks deficit.  Walters would later say that he started feeling something in his shoulder during warm-ups but tried to tough it out because he didn't want to burden the bullpen.  What putting on such a brave face often does, of course, is burden the bullpen anyway.

And yet the damndest thing, the squad almost came back to win anyway.  They chip-chip-chipped away at Fightins' starter Cole Hamels, getting to within two with two runners on and nobody out in the bottom of the seventh.  But the middle of the order (Josh Willingham, Justin Morneau, Ryan Doumit) went strikeout-RBI groundout-strikeout to squash the threat.  (Morneau and Doumit combined to go 0-for-7 Wednesday night.  Morneau grounded out that run, but Doumit fuckin' struck out three times in all.  And he's your DH??)  They weren't really close to scratching another run after that and they lost 9-8.  It was the Twins of old, always able to come back no matter the hole.  This time, however, Walters' pud-out made the deficit too big to overcome.

Anyway, they go on the road to finish their 2012 interleague schedule.  First they go to PNC Park, home to what some argue is The Best Ballpark In America ... Too Bad The Team That Plays In It's Shit, the Pittsburgh Pirates.  They then visit Cincinnati and play their final National League team (unless they reach the World Series ... ha-ha-ha), the Reds.

Addendum To Streetlamp Turned Off = Small Government, No Safety?

I forgot to add a big reason why I hate the lamppost near our house is now usually turned off.  I was not conscious of the fact that I use it to see where the house is.  I have always known, if not aware, that the house right before the light was ours.  Now that that streetlamp is dark when I get to my house, it takes me a few seconds before I realize I have to figure out which house is ours on my own.  That has made me hesitate several times, suddenly braking when I thought I was about to pass the house, only to speed up after I see that it's just one of the houses before, then braking again when I'm actually at our house.

Now I know how important that is -- not just for my safety, but for my orientation.

Streetlamp Turned Off = Small Government, No Safety?

I started noticing it in 2011, although it seems to have exacerbated in the past 2-3 months.  There is a huge street lamp at a T-intersection.  Seen it all my life.  It's so much a part of my ambient surroundings that I think it took me a while to notice that it wasn't on at night.  In fact, when I come home late, that light is off.

Coming up the driveway my path is usually lit ... but that was before ... I don't know, local budget cuts?  If that's the case, I think they could leave it on for a little while longer throughout the evening.  Otherwise my city is going to both cause traffic accidents and, I'm afraid, invite more people to assault the unsuspecting if and when a light went dark.

I just don't like this.  At all.

Worst Commute Ever, Even Worse Timing

OK, this is starting to kill me.  As big a metropolitan area the Twin Cities is, never in my wildest dreams did I think that it would take an hour during the middle of rush hour (both of them) to go from two distant points in the MSP.  And even after I made a dry run from home to this new workplace, the extra layers of traffic I have to face while getting there has made this commute damn near unbearable.

As I alluded to before, there are three main choke points as I go south for work: Getting onto 694 West; the 94/35W junction; and 35W to Crosstown East.  I went through those areas before the project began to make sure I built enough time in the morning to endure them.  That's why I leave about an hour before.

But these traffic jams and commute times invariably mutate, and with it I get misled.  Friday, for some reason, all three of those areas weren't as bad as they were when I started the project.  I actually got to work 15 minutes earlier than planned.  So maybe I don't have to leave so early.  Therefore, to give myself as much sleep time as possible, on Monday I began setting my alarms for 7:05, five minutes later than before.

Big mistake.  I don't know why or how the fuck it happened, but on Monday the traffic jam getting to 35W metastasized like runaway cancer.  I was stuck in that area for about 20 minutes, and so once I got free I had gunned my car up to 80 in order to make it on time.  I was lucky that the Crosstown East choke point wasn't so bad that day.  I wound up being about five minutes late, but rounding to the nearest quarter-hour I say I was on time.  My supervisor hasn't given me shit about it yet.

On Tuesday it was even worse.  Not only was 35W bad, but getting to 694 West proved to be a damn challenge, too.  How in the hell did it take me 15 minutes to get to the on-ramp?  I flew that morning, and I was once again fortunate that I wasn't too late.

But now this morning was different.  I thought I would finally be too late to get to work on time after I decided I had to fill up my empty tank in the morning.  And the 694W traffic was bad.  But it wasn't as bad as the previous two days.  Much more surprising: The 35W traffic was as light as it had been all week.  Plus there was no Crosstown East traffic.  Therefore, I went from thinking I'd be 10 minutes late to being just on time (even though I decided to take my time and go to the break room to store the lunch Mother made for me and get a cup of water; that made me as late for work as I was on Monday).  Best of all, coming home from the Twinks game tonight (they lost, by the way, even though they almost came all the way back from a huge hole in the 1st when starting pitcher P.J. Walters gave up hits to the first four Philadelphia batters and then left the game without recording an out) I saw that gas prices indeed spiked by about 20 cents a gallon.  That totally justified me getting gas this morning.  In fact, even if I were late I would think filling up was worth it.

---

Compounding the issue of being afraid of coming to work late was the issue of me losing my badge.  I need it to get in; it has a keycard that opens up the secure doors outside.  Without it -- and I realized I didn't have it beginning of work Monday -- I would have to wait for someone else to get me in.

And that really sucks if you're running late to work.  Imagine that you're cruising down the highway with little or no time to spare.  You park, get out, get your things ... and you realize that all that rushing is moot if you have to sit on your ass outside as either a receptionist or a co-worker also running late happens to see you at the front door.

I was lucky all three days this week that I didn't have to wait more than half a minute before getting in, although the co-worker today gave me a little shit -- "I'm not supposed to let you in," she said before letting me in.  Whatever, thanks for making me not late to work.

I still didn't want to ask for a new one, but I went through my whole trunk Tuesday after work and couldn't find it.  Not wanting to lose work because of this, I finally relented and this morning told the secretary I lost my badge.  She gave me a new one that afternoon.  Now my old one will pop up.

My Deepest Regrets And Apologies: Only The Second (?) Day I Have Unintentionally Missed Blogging

Earlier in the day today (Tuesday) I thought to myself, Self, did I blog yet today?  Shit, I didn't!  And I vowed that since I was coming home this evening to watch Game 1 of the NBA Finals, I was going to do that then.  (I usually try and blog late at night before I go to bed to make sure I have that day's entry in, but I whipped up my NBA Finals preview column instead.)  I even had a subject all ready in my head: How my work commute is absolutely fucking killing me, and how my missing badge is only adding to my stress.  But after I got home I forgot.  That, unfortunately, is usually the case.

Well, at least I have something else to write about.  But it's too late.  Man, I'm sorry.  I broke a promise to myself to always blog whenever I am not on vacation.  I have missed days because of that, but this is, I think, only the second time I was at home and had both the opportunity and the will to blog something that day and failed to do it because of plain old forgetfulness.  I'm sorry.  Please forgive me, because I will forever be ashamed of myself.  (Trust me, that sounds far-fetched, but I will -- always.)

Addendum To Waitress/Stripper Mad At Me???

I just reread my last blog post, the one about a waitress at My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Version) being pissed at me for not paying for my coffee.  I was afraid that I was crashing so bad that the end of the post would be unreadable.  Well, it wasn't as bad as I feared, but I still didn't say what I wanted to say.  In particular the last five paragraphs, beginning with "But I need this place," kind of got a little screwy.

So this is what I want to say, although I may be repeating myself a bit.  To make up for previous slights, I gave this peacemaker five bucks for coffees given previous.  Later I saw this passive-aggressive waitress at the bar.  We weren't close enough to talk to each other, but we could have made eye contact, so I made certain that I didn't.  And because I wanted to avoid any other weird social situations going down, I left through the side door.

I appreciate what this "peacemaking" stripper did, but it resolves nothing.  What would resolve it is if the waitress and I aired this out.  We didn't do that; instead we have this proxy telling both of us the other is cool with it.  That don't change shit.

And now I have to worry about coming back.  She is the main waitress, so at some point I will be seeing her again.  So what do I do?  Avoid her and act like nothing happened?  Be demonstrative and make a point of paying for my coffee?

I know what I'll do.  I just won't go back to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Edition), at least not for awhile.  Maybe, oh, for a month.  Let's just see what not seeing each other will do.  Because I now can't go from the free screening of That's My Boy (which I'm seeing for the second time, the first time from the beginning) to there to see the end of Game 6 of the Stanley Cup Finals.  It'll be too fucking strange.  So I'll just run away and stay away, possible for the rest of this year, maybe forever.  And all because a babe who has always given me free coffee complained passive-aggressively to someone else about me getting free coffee from her.  I fucking can't win.

Waitress/Stripper Mad At Me???

So I went to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Version) tonight just to stay away from home.  The pickins this night were slim, so I thought I would drink my coffee and drop a couple bucks to see some titties before I go back out into the night (and get a ticket to Saturday's roller derby friendly before going home).

There is a girl there -- actually she's a mature woman who nonetheless has huge tits and a forward personality, so I like her -- that gave me my coffee, even though I don't ever remember her as a stripper who also helps out as a waitress on the side.  While I was getting boobies waved in my face, she told me she wanted to talk to me in private.  Oh, what could that mean?!  Could she finally be inviting me to one of her house parties?  Or could it be bad, like she's leaving the bar or even the life itself?

What it actually is something worse, because it's something neither bad nor good, at least not now -- it's unresolved.  See, when I was able to pry away from the stage, she told me that the waitress who was working tonight -- one who still dances on the side and has this move where she intertwines her nipples like she's making a knot (pretty freaky for an older dancer, you know?) -- complained about me.  I always get coffee, but lately, whenever she brings me a cup of coffee, I'm not around to give her the money for the coffee.  She now thinks I'm stiffing her out of the money for the drink.

That's fucking insane.  The bar and have got a pretty good vibe going.  So much so that oftentimes (thought not all the time) when the waitress gives me the coffee and I whip out my wallet, she goes, "Don't worry about it."  And then it happened enough times that I have assumed that they're just giving me the coffee that takes, like, two cents to make.  I figured that if any of them wanted me to pay for it, she would tell me.  That they didn't made me think I was a true regular, someone who has proven he's been good to the girls there and therefore can drink a cheap cup of coffee for free.

But apparently this waitress doesn't think so.  I guess she thinks that I always have to pay regardless, even though I swear that she was one of those waitresses who told me on occasion that the coffee she gave me was on the house.  If that's the case, you blame me for being surprised when it seems as if she didn't feel as good about you as you hoped she would?  Do you??  And besides, there have been several times where I take my wallet out of my pants and start to reach in for the dollars before she says, "Hey, don't worry!"  But it's not OK now, for all of a sudden?

But I need this place.  It's somewhere I can just be myself -- a pathetic, perverted loser.  I thought I could let all my inhibitions rot on the floor while I romp around in a stripclub (especially this one) hoping to get laid.  Without that, my social life is in the shitter.  So I sort of relent.  The stripper girlfriend who got in the middle of this helped me settle on four dollars with a dollar tip.  She thought that this would be enough to make it up to her.

But what if it isn't?  Before I left I saw her at the bar, not looking at me.  I have no idea what I did to set her off like this.  Moreover, I'm kind of disappointed of this stripper girlfriend I know.  She is trying to be a peacemaker, but this "scene" only should include me and the girl telling a proxy telling me to either clean up, eat it up fast, or leave.  By being a middleman she doesn't know firsthand what I or her need done.  Also, I'm guessing that that will almost certainly distort intent, one of the features of language that are both recognizable and corrupting.

And that's why this scene is "unresolved."  The pay is great (I get paid nothing), but the power behind the scenes may affect whether or not I get to appear in front of the camera.  I don't want to jump to conclusions, but biding my time probably means that her character will have moved on to another customer, and I'll just go to a place all too familiar to her -- a casting call.  And we don't know out of context

Eventually I left.  But I didn't want to start any awkward situation, so I went through the side door instead of the front.  Not dignified, but if it means you don't get into a fistfight, that's fine.  But this means that every night we want to go, we will see him and so we will need to find a way to avoid even making eye contact ... for the rest of our fucking lives.

I am crashing.  I need to go to bed.  I may not even understand all the shit I wrote just now.  I'm leaving.  Sorry.

The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey

#-1: Twins (Last Week: -1).  The defense isn't as awful as it was last season.  The offense has started to not suck.  But this week it finally appeared as if the starting pitching has finally ceased being atrocious.  Efforts by Nick Blackburn, P.J. Walters, Scott Diamond and Francisco Liriano helped the Twinks to a fantastic 5-1 week, and the only loss was a 1-0 decision at Kansas City on Wednesday.  They may be the hottest team in Major League Baseball; they have now won nine of their last 11 games.

Like it seemed as if we were the slumpbuster for every team that hit a rough patch in their schedule, the cure for what ailed the club may be the Chicago Cubs.  They outlasted the Cubbies in 10 innings after a back-and-forth game Friday night with Alfonso Soriano hitting two home runs (the last of which was a towering moon shot to the upper level of left field).  And Saturday afternoon's game was a rare rout; the squad crushed Wrigleyville 11-3.

They finish the home portion of their interleague portion of their schedule in eight days.  After attempting to sweep the Cubs Sunday afternoon, they host Philadelphia and Milwaukee.  I speak for myself when I say that interleague games still have a certain mystique for me.  I usually try to go to these games before any American League contests.  But since it's an outdoor stadium, I won't try and scalp a ticket unless it's cooler and a lot less humid.

Observations About My New Place Of Work

1. It takes an hour to get to and from work.  It's a goddamn nightmare.  There are three bottlenecks in the morning and two in the afternoon, and yet it takes about 60 minutes anyway.  I hate traffic, and ever since I started this project on Monday I was reminded why I prefer off-shifts like the graveyard.  Being stuck with other people, constantly braking and potentially getting into an accident dozens more times than you would other times of the day -- and especially doing all of this as the weather's heating up, as it has this week -- is only exacerbating my irritation.  Of course it's worth it; there's no way to make money if I just stay home, and even with the long commute (and the fact I have to fill up my tank after I blog about this when I last filled up my tank Monday) what I spend on gas daily I make up for in, like, one hour.  Nevertheless it's arduous.
2. I need to take naps, especially after I get worn out after spending an hour to get down to work.  Unfortunately, the parking spaces around the building complex is not conducive to that, at least I don't think.  They are oriented in such a way that the sun will go across my car through the day no matter how I park.  (And by the way, no trees that could provide shade, either.)  That means that, even though I have pretty much put the passenger seat on recline for the past three months, I can't relax in them in all my three private times (morning break, lunch, afternoon break).  On one of those times the sun will directly be on that seat.  I've tried just laying on it anyway and I fry like an egg on the sidewalk.  I can't pass out on that.  So I have to go to the driver's seat, recline that, and relax in that.  So when I drive out at the end of the day I get in with two reclined seats.  And I get paranoid of reclining the driver's seat because if the motor malfunctions, I have nothing to rest my back on while driving, and that scares the hell out of me.  But I need to close my eyes, so that's what I'll be doing the next two weeks.

Poor Bastard Of The Moment: Erin Moran

She played Joanie on Happy Days -- and, because I made a point to watch it, spinoff Joanie Loves Chachi.  Moran obviously hasn't been an actor in demand for, like, three decades, but I didn't think that her wages would have been so sapped that she would slip into poverty.  But she has.

According to rag the National Enquirer (which unfortunately breaks more sordid and pathetic stories than I care to admit), Moran was evicted from her home in California, apparently because the Great Recession hasn't ended and it finally caught up with the former star.  She and her husband, Steve, flew/drove/hitchhiked all the way to a trailer park in Indiana, where they moved in with his ailing mom.  Now, this seems to be a blessing in disguise; I think it's totally cool that they're moving in to be at his mother's side.  But the circumstances behind that fortuitous new living arrangement wasn't borne of health but money.

The article said that Moran is taking things in stride, and she is still a plaintiff in a lawsuit with other Happy Days cast members that contends she is owed up to a half-million dollars in royalties.  Still, I shudder over the message this sends to me.  If a well-known young TV actress can be so washed-up to the point where she no longer can make ends meet, what the fuck can I do?  They had to move back with his mom; I'm living with my folks and that seems like a great idea now.  All day at work I have been thinking about whether to move out, but every single time my mind restarts my thinking, it eventually ends up with me going, "How the fuck am I going to pay for that?" and that train of thought cutting out so I could get back to work.  I know I should grow up, but goddamn, society!  For fuck's sake, look at Joanie freakin' Cunnigham!!  She's living in a fucking trailer park!!!


I know she's a female but -- poor bastard.

Hunting For Pussy Via Text

Folks didn't talk to me again tonight -- are they mad at me?  Until then, a story about something not terrible. ...

So my ATF, the one I get most of my handjobs from for money, lost her cellphone for, like, the third time since I met her.  This time was different, and a little more harrowing: She got jumped near her trailer by a chick who was jealous of her because she believed ***e* was hitting on her man.  I saw the black eye she tried to conceal with makeup the last time I flashed her.  I trust her.

Before she could get a new phone and number, she borrowed one from her friend, who I think was a host of a house party I once went to and whom I also showed my weiner.  (It was close and I'm glad I got away with it; she opened the bathroom while I was in it, asked jokingly if she could see my penis, and without any other guys passing by the open door, I got her attention and took it out.  If she is the girl I'm thinking about, she reacted by saying, "Woo-hoo!"  Let's just pretend she really was excited.)  ***e* said that this was going to be her phone until she got a new one.

Well, up to last weekend I didn't hear otherwise, so I texted her out of the blue.  Nothing dirty, I just wanted to say hi.  I got a text back: "Who is this?"  Whoops, I may have texted one of her older numbers from one of the other times she lost her phone, and I didn't update my cell's phonebook.  Well, I tried again yesterday, sending it to what I thought was this latest number, the one that actually was her friend's.  But I got the same message, except that she outed herself as "****i**."  Funny, I don't remember a ****i** hosting a party.  There is another girl named ****i** that used to strip at My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Division) and whom I have talked extensively here about her tits so big that she lets me chew down on them like I'm teething.  But her texting language didn't make me think it was her.

Nonetheless, I'm intrigued.  I told this ****i** who I was and said that I texted her because I had no other contact information for ****i**.  Recognizing who she was and I think who I was, she texted back, "Us 3 need 2 get together sometime."  And even though I was in my car after work, my dick got sprung!!!

I could barely contain my brain from thinking about the three of us, ***e*, ****i** and I sitting around a dining table getting shit-faced, then me whipping out my dick and leaning back, pointing to it.  And then they both take turns slobbering on me cock.  I tried to both confirm and extend this dream by texting back, "I hope we can do that, for drinks and for something more."  See what I did there?  I was inviting them to sex.

So I thought she was on my wavelength.  But you know what she texted back?  "Sounds good"  There isn't even a period at the end.  I can't think of a worse way for your dick to shrink than thwarted pervertedness.  Two words without a period shows a rushed mind, action without thought.  This is her saying, "Oh, you're hunting for sex?  Well, good luck with that."

I will tell ***e* about this and ask her both about ****i** and the possibility to go for drinks, just the three of us, and something more.  I've got little else to cling to, guys.

Well, the first full day this new contract was in effect I spent most of my evening out (after doing the first of a three-part taste test) going to the U. to catch Venus In Transit.  (Not as much fun as Venus In Furs, but details.)  The computer room's light was on, but when I came in, I heard my parents talking to each other in there.

The contract did not stop My Fucking Father from meddling around my bedroom.  When I came in I saw that the flat sheet was completely tucked in after I didn't bother.  He also "made the bed" they way he wanted it.  And he put the TV antenna back upright, even though I can only receive stations when it's laying on the dish.

They could have said something because they were up, but they refused.

They're pissed I didn't sufficiently make up the bed and they're plotting of ways to throw me out.  I know it.

I Just Signed A Contract To Stay Living At Home

I thought things were going good until Mother told me we needed to talk out in the dining room.  Although she wasn't as mad as she was when she told me to leave the house, she finally did something I was afraid she would do: She made out a contract of things I need to do in order to stay in the house.

Here are things I need to do, which I signed because I frankly have no other choice:

1. When I wake up, I have to brush my teeth, wash my face and make my bed.
2. Clean my room weekly.
3. Don't say "What?  What?" when my folks yell for me.
4. Be nice to my parents and don't talk back to them.
5. Change bedsheet and pillows bi-weekly.
6. When they want me to throw something away, throw it away.
7. Don't throw my clothes on the floor.
8. Keep room junk-free.
9. If I don't have a job, get up at 9:30 and find something to do.
10. Shower every day.

This is going to fucking kill me.  Some of you may look at these rules and think, "Fuck, big deal."  Well, they are a big deal to me:

1. Never do this.  It's gotten me this far.  Why start?  Well actually this is something I sort of do now.  But I just go through the motions in the morning: I turn the faucet on and act like I'm brushing my teeth.  Heh-heh, that'll show him.
2. Fuck.
3. Double fuck.  This one pisses me off.  They yell at me all the time but they can and I can't???
4. I'll do this as soon as they stop yelling at me.  Goddamn, these fucking people have no fucking self-awareness at all.
5. Oh, fine.  But that means I need to buy new sheets.  They were nice enough to give me a new queen-sized bed when they forced me into Grandmother's old bedroom, but they neglected to give me sheets that fit except for flat ones.  I hate those because they always untuck and get loose.  I need to buy fitted ones.
6. Fuck that shit.  But that's what storage is for!
7. Well then, goddamn, where should I put it?  I know where my clothes are when they're on the floor.  I can accede to this, but can I put the tub where I put my dirty clothes be on the floor?
8. Goddamn.
9. Double goddamn.  Now I have to either get a job full-time or go to school full-time?  Have these fuckers seen the economy?  And do these assholes know about the oncoming student debt bubble?  They just think it's so easy to find a job or go back to school, but Life is not as easy as it was for them.  They don't realize that.
10. You know, I know I should do this, but what would it fucking hurt if I just skipped a day?

I am being treated like such a fucking child that I need to move.  I just have to!  But how?  Where do I go?  What do I do?  How do you, like, pay money to rent?  I am now absolutely certain they want to push me out (at least My Fucking Father is) and they're just trying to piss me off so I would leave.  But I know I can't go anywhere; I don't know how to fend for myself out in The Real World.

I'll be honest with you: I am staying for two reasons: 1) I need their approval while at the same time 2) I am punishing them for their neglect and abusive mistreatment of me while I was young.  I want to show them how bad a set of parents they are by staying ... and yet I constantly want their love and will withstand almost anything to get it.  It's fucked up.  But shit, this family is fucked up.

Man, we're Chinese.  Why can't we just live together and just accept and love each other?

Expenses Without Receipt

Didn't realize I was so behind.  Maybe because I was so preoccupied with my parents' vacation.  Here goes, starting from May 20th:

• I had to renew my health insurance through the state.  They needed copies of my stubs and account statements.  So I went to the library on Monday the 21st for that and spent: 40 cents.
• After working the night shift at the scoring center I went to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Division) and spent only coffee and tips: $10.
• After that I went to Caffetto.  Coffee with tip: $1.75.
• Tuesday was the day I sent my parents off to Vegas.  That night I celebrated by going to a stripclub called Lure.  Had been there before but wasn't impressed with the talent.  I went back because I had a free drink coupon that I wanted to spend.  Glad I did; the girls there were much more attractive.  I did not get a dance from any of them, however.  Cover and tips only: $39.
• Thursday I decided to take a trip to My Favorite Stripclub (Cover Division).  First I had to take the bus to and from there: $3.50.
• I enjoyed myself, but I didn't get any extras, sadly.  Four dances, drink, and a ton of tips: $105.
• For probably the last time, I went to the Wendy's across the street from The Store.  I did it to just watch the storefront and reflect.  I thought about that moment for a long time.  I thought I would just sit there and let my lunch get cold as I look at the red walls and weep.  I didn't; instead, I was focused on what I had to do the rest of my "staycation" and listening the woman at the next table inquire about a credit card charge.  I usually get the value menu, but because of the occasion, I went all-out: $7.32.
• Stripclub that evening after work: $10.
• My Favorite Coffeehouse (Late-Night Edition), with tip: $3.75.
• I then went to another greasy spoon close to me, Flameburger.  I should go more often, but it's often busy and doesn't have a TV I could veg to.  With tip: $14.37.
• I usually go to this stripclub that's far away from the Twin Cities during The Big Three Summer Vacations when the 'Rents are away.  Did it Saturday, to see Claudia.  No extras here, never have, you cheeky monkeys.  Seven table dances with her because I got to her too late (I would have spent more if we had more time but they were closing), plus two from Tatiana, who was trying to upsell me, plus Corona and, of course, stageside tips: $132.
• Sunday night I saw a friend from college visiting her sister up from Iowa.  Had dinner with him, his father and his uncle at the 5-8, the place which I think makes the best Jucy Lucys.  I am indebted to his dad because he paid for my meal.  I then I went to My Favorite Stripclub for tips, no coffee, and a long-deserved dance from Sasha: $28.
• I then went to Pizza Luce to see if I could get a ticket to the Minnesota RollerGirls' special summer friendly against Chicago on the 16th.  They didn't, but that didn't stop me from cashing in on a free pizza guitar pick I got from an MNRG bout (man, I used a lot of free chits that I'd been saving!).  I needed a beer to wash it down with, however, and even though I also have a free beer pick, I decided to save it for later and pay for this one.  With tip: $6.65.
• ETA: Tuesday afternoon I finally got around to watching The Avengers (verdict: A little long but otherwise solid.  Joss Whedon's imprint is all over this flick, especially the mix of big ideas and jokes coming when you least expect it.  And honestly, the best scene in the movie is the very last one, the one after the credits.  A-).  I have the ticket, which cost five bucks.  But this is for the small popcorn and pop, both of which are discounted on Tuesdays at My New Favorite Move Theater: $3.
• Tuesday was also the night before my folks came home.  One more trip to the stripclub -- cover, tips, and dances from three girls: $79.
• OK, one one more trip to the stripclub Wednesday evening, right before I went to the airport.  My Favorite Stripclub, where I spent tips and a dance with Toni, whose perfume I didn't give a shit about my parents smelling on me: $26.

Mental note: I copied all of these expenses from my Franklin Quest because I was good these past couple weeks of writing down the stuff I didn't have a receipt for.  It makes things a lot easier.  Unfortunately, because of the turning of the month, I have slacked off on doing so lately.  I am caught up only through May 31st, the end of the month.

The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey

#-1: Twins (Last Week: -1).  Recently on KFAN a caller asked about who the Twinks' representative for the All-Star Game would be.  At the time, about two or three weeks ago, the answer would be Matt Capps.  Matt Capps?  Matt Capps "Off Another Loss?"  Somehow he has 11 saves out of 12 save opportunities and has a WHIP of 1.05, because I can only fixate on the 0-3 record and the impression I get that every time he comes into the game he puts runners on base.  And he seems to blow one game a week in dramatic, pathetic fashion.

My pick?  It could be Glen Perkins, who may very well be the best hurler on the club (Scott Diamond and P.J. Walters have been with the big team for too short a time for me to consider them for the ASG).  But right now, it'd be Josh Willingham.  He has been the only consistent threat to hit for power all season.  Sad that a journeyman slugger is the only bright spot on the Twinks squad.

As for the week, well, it was pretty good.  They finished 4-2, capped out with a sweep of the Oakland Athletics.  (This team "revolutionized" baseball?  This is why I can't ever watch Moneyball: I can't respect the presumed notion that this non-lucrative team beat the Goliaths through smarts, savviness and numbers because they fucking didn't.)  They're going nowhere, but above-.500 screening weeks are few and far between, so we should recognize it when we can.  After finishing their series in Cleveland Sunday (last week I said they'd be visiting Seattle, and I think I looked at the first week of May, not June), they play three at Kansas City, have a a day off on Thursday, then start interleague play at home against the Chicago Cubs over the weekend.  This will be the start of one of their longest homestands of the season, nine games over ten days, all of them against organizations in the National League.

What The Fuck Did I Get Myself Into?

Just to get away from my now-retired parents for the weekends, when they will be home all day, I decided to help out as extras for these small film productions.  It doesn't matter that I won't get paid, I think I just wanted to get away from them.  It's best to avoid them, at least for now.

Well, when I inquired about helping out, they said they could use a Production Assistant (PA).  I said sure.  But then two things happened that bug me out.  The first is that the call times, at least for this weekend (they need help for the next three weekends, and I signed up for all three) is 6 a.m. -- in other words, five hours from now.  The second thing is that the fucking shoot is in Burnsville, clear on the other side of the metro area.  I don't know why I just assumed it'd be kind of close, because most of these shoots have been nowhere near my side of the metro.

So what the fuck did I get myself into?  Spending all this time, spending all this gas, waking up at these godforsaken hours when I know I'll just pass out unconscious because I've been up so goddamn long, and what for?  A copy, credit and meals?  Time away from the 'Rents?  Fuck me.

My 2011 Playboy Playmate Review

For some damn reason, Playboy.com does not have a webpage showing the Playmates of last year.  They have one in their January issue every year, and they had a page for it online in years previous.  I don't know what gives.  Maybe since Hef has really started to give up day-to-day editorial control, the bean-counters are rapidly focusing on what makes money, and traditional, right ideas like giving the 12 girls of the past year a second stint in the limelight will just be hogging magazine real estate and bandwidth.

So I instead will have to go to wikipedia to remind myself of the lucky girls whom Hef has graced with his decrepit dick Playboy bunny.  I am nonplussed with this group beauty-wise, but the advent of social media makes 2011 a quantum leap forward when it comes to Playmate-fan relations, and it's largely through that that I base my choice for who should be 2011 Playmate Of The Year.

Unfortunately, my choice is not the real 2011 PMOY, Jaclyn Swedberg.  I understand that she typifies the "Girl Next Door" look that the mag gives more lip service to than proves with actions.  But it was only her PMOY spread where she caught my eye and cock.  There's one shot where Swedberg is reclining on an inflatable bed on a pool.  She's got a top, but even though you can't really see through her crossed legs and photo angle, she's not wearing any underwear.  Oh, and there's another shot where she's lying face down on a bed.  You can't see anything except her ass, but she's pulling her panties down to show it, and she has this pout (she may even be biting her finger) that suggests the dirty, come-and-sodomize-me look that gets my attention.  But none of that was in her Playmate spread in April, so we wouldn't know that she could do that here.

By the way, the two photos I remember most come from PMOY also-rans.  Miss May, Sasha Bonilova, has the biggest tits of any PM in a long time.  She has this pic where she's just standing wearing only a long robe, obviously opened to show off her huge mammaries.  The other picture isn't even a nude one; it's a shot of Miss November, Ciara Price, showing off her ballet nimbleness by reaching behind her and pulling one of her legs up to the height of her head.  She shows a little barebelly, and yet I can't remember any other shot where I can see her breasts and vagina.

What would help both would be more interaction online with me.  That's where others, such as Anna Sophia Berglund (January), Kylie Johnson (February), and Tiffany Toth (September) are non-starters; I don't think I've seen one tweet or facebook posting from them.  I don't even know if they have an account on either.  (By the way, Swedberg only started to use her facebook fan page after it was announced she was PMOY.)  And even though both Iryna Ivanova (August) and Rainy Day Jordan (December) have facebooks, they did not post enough status updates for me to give either of them PMOY.  I'm glad I'm "friends" with them, though.

So that leaves four.  Ashley Mattingly, Miss March, is hot, but she's the kind of trashy trash that whom you'd want to hate-fuck you before you kick her out of bed.  She has a, shall we say, colorful history.  She has had a facebook before she got hooked up with Playboy.  She wrote a comment about waking up her apartment neighbors while smoking a cigarette outside her place.  (That's where the trashy trash part comes in.)  I know a lot about her.  She loves surfing.  She also was dating this guy who was on Prison Break and recently got out of jail for something.  (Sorry, can't remember his name and I don't care enough to look it up.)  But a few months ago she says she was single.  Whatever, she seems like a handful.

I guess who would come in third is Miss July, Jessa Hinton.  Typical Playboy buxom blonde, she made waves (such as it is) and possibly made history by writing in her Data Sheet that she is bisexual.  I give her a lot of points for being visible; I think she's a sideline reporter for a mixed martial arts company, and that makes up for her lack of facebooking and tweeting.  But basically she told me that she has doubled the number of competitors I have for her affections, and I'm not going to fight for her if the playing field is that wide.  That's not enough to overcome her smoking hot body.

The runner-up spot goes to Mei-Ling Lam, Miss June.  Part Asian, she's the cutest little thing.  And after her spread came out she spent a lot of time on facebook.  She even posted short videos of her playing around with her boyfriend -- which, by the way, is not a deterrent because she is at least honest about her personal life.  Besides, if her boyfriend is cool with her both getting naked for all the world to see and telling the world about themselves, that's got to reflect well on her.  Unfortunately I don't remember the last time I saw a facebook posting from her.

So my winner for PMOY, and it's not that close, is Amanda Cerny, Miss October.  She too hasn't posted in some time, but what she posted, goddamn, made me run into the bathroom a few times, if you know what I mean.  She is the Playmate that uses facebook the most.  Moreover, she gets very personal with what she reveals.  One the one hand she frequently put up photos of her in revealing clothing, usually a halter top and tight shorts just before she goes running.  But she also shows her deep philanthropic work with Haiti.  She has gone to that earthquake-ravaged country at least two times since I signed up with her.  She has posted many photos, several videos, and continually makes pleas for contributions.  You get the feeling she would be doing all of this even if she didn't have the Playboy platform, and that dedication is really fucking sexy.  For all that (though especially the barebelly jogging-wear shots), Ms. Cerny is my pick for Playboy Playmate Of The Year.

But, of course, I'd fuck all of them.