Sister and brother-in-law are coming home for two weeks (him) to a month (her), mainly to see my cousin get married.  Excited, though scared as well.  My brother-in-law is great, but it's still kind of weird to talk to someone who is not blood, let alone having someone who is not blood living with us.  But, he is family.

Three other things I'm afraid of:

1. My Fucking Father still doesn't trust my brother-in-law, and probably never will.  He just hates people -- and that includes us.  He is contemptible towards family, so he'll be absolutely monstrous to those who are not blood.  I was not fooled when he started talking to him when we flew over to see them in Switzerland.  I'm sure there will be an incident where he's rude.
2. Inevitably, my sister is going to ask about The Store.  Probably it'll be at the dinner table, so I won't be able to escape not knowing any information about its impending death, such as its drop-dead date. I'm being such a pussy about it, but it's been at least, uh, two months since I've seen it, and it remains very awkward to come up with a reason to go to The Store.  Maybe them coming home is reason enough.  Still, I have no way to stop what is going to be (or was) a momentous part of my life, and so I have tried to just avoid knowing.  I doubt I can avoid knowing now.
3. Finally, I'm afraid of hearing them have sex.  I still, and forever will, see my little sister as this virginal kewpie doll.  And of course she's not; she's a full-blooded wife.  Regardless, her bedroom and my new bedroom (which I will forever see as Grandmother's bedroom) share a wall, and the vents for both I think are cut across from each other in the duct.  So if I hear bed-rocking noises and/or grunts (and my God I hope I don't hear screams), I'll be freaked the fuck out.  I might -- I might -- bang on the wall and ask, "Are you two fucking over there?!?!?!"  Hopefully they'll know that doing it at home is a terrible idea and are, like, getting their fucking out of the way before they get here.

Money's Too Tight To Mention

I await the modification (I won't say appeal because I just flat-out forgot to add an employer) to my unemployment application.  In the meantime, I have to rely on meager weekly wages to get me by.

I used to be able to rely on unemployment.  It helps a lot that I still live with my folks, but I could actually save up money while on the dole.  Well, I blew some of it on strippers, but I figure that if I have enough money, why can't I do that?  I mean, it's money I earned and had taken away by the government while I was actually working, right?

Well, what I'm allowed to get now isn't sustaining me, not with all the other expenses I have.  I have been on the dole for two or three weeks now, and since I started I have had to cut back on my budget.  Yet after I go through what I spent, every week I'm giving out more money than I'm taking in.

I have cut back (well, tried to cut back) on driving everywhere, and even though I'm not putting in as much money for gas as before, it's still a lot.  I have cut back (well, tried to cut back) on going to stripclubs, but that still feels like an expense I could completely cut out, if only for a little while.  I actually made good on my promise to not visit My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Version) for a month because the waitress was pissed at me for not paying for coffee, but I couldn't stay away forever.  I now go weekly, and I do pay for a dance on occasion.  And that has meant that I spend more than I "make" each week.

Having time off has meant that I spend some money on fast food, but to counteract that I have asked Mother to make lunch for me, under the perception that I was going to eat at work.  Yet I still find myself eating through my wallet.  Got to try those new food items, you know.

And then there are the ancillary charges, those expenses that crop up that you just can't escape from.  They are both necessary and frivolous, stuff that I needed to get done and couldn't resist enjoying.  But they usually are big, and right now it looks like I can't stop accruing them:

• I wanted to give my parents' car a buffing during My Disastrous Day In St. Paul, which ended up being a big more expensive than I thought.  Oh yeah, I also took advantage of eating at a fancy-schmancy restaurant there.
• Lately My Father has received a series of large boxes from a friend or associate.  They are not supposed to be sent here, so he has opened them, shoved them into lesser boxes, and asked me to send them to Las Vegas.  It costs a lot of money to ship, and even though he always is good in paying me back, I shudder to see what this month's credit card bill, one I expected to be less than the one before because of the timing belt change I got in late-May, is going to look like.  If it's the same amount, I think I will die.
• And speaking of car repairs ... due to a combination of tardiness (as in it's way overdue) and making sure my car is in tip-top shape when my sister and brother-in-law come home for a month, I am taking it in for fluid flushes.  I hope it's not too expensive.  Moreover, I hope there are no surprises.
• And speaking of my sister and brother-in-law ... the main reason they're here is to attend the wedding of our cousin.  I have not bought them a gift.  Man, should I just buy a cheap one in the hopes they'll understand I'm kind of broke now?  I haven't talked to that guy a lot since high school, but before then he would come over all the time.  Would I be considered too penurious of I bought him and his beautiful fiancee a jar or something?
• Oh, and while they're here I just promised them I'd take them to see The Dark Knight Rises.  In IMAX.

I don't know if I can hold on any longer if I'm not saving more money than I'm spending.  FML.

Fast Food Fuck-Ups

Burger King screwing up my order is prompting me to blog.

(I usually want Wailing And Failing to "breathe" after I do my Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey; in other words, I want the WMNSS to be a linchpin for WAF, and so I want it to be the first thing you see for most of the day on Sunday.  But I recently checked my view stats and it looks like that may not be as popular as I want it to be.  Plus, what happened at BK this afternoon reminded me of what happened at Taco Bell and, before that, Jimmy John's, and three fast food run-ins convinces me I should write about this now before I forget.)

So I wanted to try BK's sweet potato fries.  I also used the survey code for a free Whopper.  Does anybody do those?  You take your receipt, call the number, punch in what you think of the service, then you write down a free code for a Whopper or chicken sandwich, you know?  I did that ... uh, a long time ago.  I hadn't cashed in on it until today because I need to conserve cash.

So I give the BK girl that code, then asked for sweet potato fries and a dollar drink.  The girl needed to ask the manager how to punch in the code to give me the Whopper for free.  I've realized that I've seen the cashier ask the manager how to punch in codes a lot.  After she got done with that, she gave me the total, which seemed a little high.

She then gave me a medium-sized cup, not the dollar-size.  She thought I wanted that size, but I didn't.  I always feel bad when I decide to correct the girl into giving me what I ordered because I could feel that there were at least a couple people behind (turned it out it was a father and his kids).  But I can't pay more money than I expected.  But it was futile, because she gave me some bullshit about how it really is less expensive if I take the combo than the small drink by itself ... except that's it not really a combo because I ordered sweet potato fries, not regular fries.  And then she said something dumb and she gave me her large doe eyes, and then I realized that I couldn't explain myself after the foofooraw she just gave me.  So I dropped it and gave her my money.  Maybe I was wrong.

But then the manager put out a tray that looked like it could have been mine: A Whopper with regular fries.  That would be my order, except that it was supposed to be sweet potato.  At this point I've complained too much and I just want to eat.  But they fucked up my order a second time, and I really couldn't let it stand.  So I decided to be a bitch and tell the manager that it was supposed to be sweet potato.  And I will say that she seemed really busy so she just made a mistake, and so she gave me the sweet potato fries and told me to keep the regular.

So OK, I won't complain, but one other thing bugged the hell out of me.  My change was $1.27.  I could easily peer into the cash register.  And the cashier, for some fucking reason, gave me two dimes and a nickel instead of a quarter even though I could see that she had a bunch of quarters to use.  Yeah, it's the same amount.  But goddamn it, why the fuck couldn't that doe-eyed idiot give me a fucking quarter???

---

This situation reminded me, kind of, about Jimmy John's a few weeks ago, that Thursday when they were giving away a free sub.  So I line up, decide what I wanted to get, then decide to treat my meal like a combo and ask for chips and a Coke, even though I'm not paying for one.

And for some reason the guy at the register messes up my order.  Either he charged me for the sub, or the cash register somehow automatically charged me a higher price for the chips and pop because the guy treated it like a combo.  Man, I just wanted to pay for chips and pop.  I was puzzled at how expensive it was, and I needed to look at the receipt, which I think was taped to the sub that was given to me after we're told to go to the end of the line to pick it up.

I had to stop the girl who gave me the sub and point out that I paid too much.  She told me it was right because she also gave me some bullshit about the prices on the receipt.  I refused to eat the pabulum she was shoveling me.  So the manager (the fucking manager again!) had to be pried away from, like, taking out sandwich bread from the plastic bags to look at it.  Without question, he went to the cash register and gave me the difference.  That's great, but I still think I paid too much.  I don't know how much money I should have gotten back, however, and I didn't want to deal with figuring out how many more pennies or nickels I think I should receive.  Like with BK, I mentally threw up my hands, gave up, and promised myself to never eat there again, or at least for a little while.

(Aside: I don't understand the hype over Jimmy John's.  First of all, their commercials are not funny and are pretty creepy.  Second, their subs are no better than Subway.  And finally, I have often received surly service from Jimmy John's.  The one in Block E in downtown Minneapolis were populated by dicks the couple times I was there.)

---

Oh yeah, Taco Bell.  This time I wanted to spend some money.  Their Cantina Bell menu is an offshoot of the fish soft tacos they had a year or two ago.  Not only was it good, it received a rare rave from one blog that usually concentrates on bashing fast food.

Now they have a Cantina bowl and a Cantina burrito.  I had the former, and this time I was going to order the latter.  I needed a drink, and this time I would get it cheaper if I combo it up with chips.  Those chips come with your choice of three dips: guacamole, pico de gallo, and, uh, something else that escapes me.

I specifically wanted pico de gallo with my chips.  Nothing against the guac, but I had it the last time when I ordered the bowl, and I wanted to try something else.  Well, someone from the back fucked up and tossed a plastic container of guacamole on my tray.  This time I let it slide because, damn, it was a dip.

As I noticed as I was leaving, TB fucked up an order of two old ladies, burritos and not the bowls they wanted.  The lady ordering for the both of them could have been wrong or confused, but after my experience, I think it was one of the lady workers in the back being lazy or not giving a shit.

Man, and I keep shelling out cash for fast food.

The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey

#-1: Twins (Last Week: -1).  Won Sunday to take the series at Kansas City.  But the midweek sweep at Chicago probably was the official deathknell (although the real deathknell probably happened Opening Day).    They were outscored by a combined score of 26-10.

Because of that, apparently, the Twinks finally pulled the trigger and traded Francisco Liriano to the White Sox.  There goes the man who was the heir apparent to Johan Santana.  Although he had turned it up the last several starts, and his slider may be the last most devastating pitch by a Twins starter, the consistency and unsteadiness gave fans blueballs.  It's sad that he had to be traded, but I understand.

What I don't quite get is that Liriano was traded to a division rival.  It doesn't really matter at this point, but why would you want to trade within the division and give him the opportunity to haunt his old team 12 to 18 times a year?  And you can probably guess that he'll, like, have a complete-game three-hitter the first time he plays the team.  That's what usually happens.

At least the club has soundly pounded Cleveland the past two nights, 11-0 and 12-5.  This weekend, at least, the young pitchers Scott Diamond and Samuel Deduno point to a brighter future.  After playing Cleveland Sunday, they host ... the White Sox!  I have a feeling that Liriano's first meeting with his old organization won't come this series.  They visit Boston for four next weekend.

#-2: Timberwolves (Re-Entry!).  I didn't think the Woofie Dogs' offseason was important enough to merit a summer entry, but I was hanging out with a fellow alumni club member on Wednesday and we were talking about the team.  He supported the moves because he said there was a lot of dead weight David Kahn and Rick Adelman had to move.

My argument was what they replaced that dead weight with: More dead weight.  Who did they part with?

• Michael Beasley (he's with Phoenix)
• Anthony Randolph
• Martell Webster
• Wayne Ellington (traded to Memphis)
• Wesley Johnson (traded to ... Phoenix?  I don't know)

I don't know if this is a positive, but I understand why they're no longer on the team.  Now, who have the team added?

• Brandon Roy
• Greg Stiemsma
• Chase Bundinger
• Alexey Shved
• Andrei Kirilenko

This is basically rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic.  Sure, Roy can give you 10 to 15 minutes if his knees hold up, and maybe Budinger is a star waiting to happen, and maybe Kirilenko will give you defense and a perimeter shot reminiscent of his play almost a decade ago, when he was a Top 20 NBA player.  But maybe not.  And right now you have an abundant but not deep small guard roster and a bunch of 3-4 tweeners that can further marginalize Derrick Williams.

The future is bright, but it's at least a season away.  Kahn and Adelman are acting like they're only a piece away.  Are you kidding me?  I guess revamping your bench isn't that big of a deal when the main guys are Kevin Love and Ricky Rubio, but I don't like the attitude that they have to win now.  Because they won't.  Win later, conserve as much cash as you can, and if you don't win this upcoming season, that's OK, because that means you'll have a high draft pick next year ... right?

Had to do a hard shutdown of my laptop for the second straight day just now.  I'm worried about the health of my computer.

Put Out The Recycling Bin The Wrong Way

I had a function with the alumni club Wednesday night, then wanted to spend time surfing on the Internet with my new tablet at Caffetto before going home.

Got home at around 11, then hung out in the car listening to the end of an extra-inning game, won by St. Louis over the Dodgers.  Recycling comes every other Thursday, and this is our week.  Father did not take out the bin, which is stashed at the side of the house, behind a gate.  So I did.

However, I forgot which way I'm supposed to leave it.  They have a sign on the lid saying "Arrows Point To Street," but since it was so goddamn dark out, that's the only thing I could tell from the faint streetlight -- the one that's off more times than on these days, thereby making me doubt my "orientation" -- and I couldn't remember where the arrows on the lid were.  When I went to close the gate I thought about trying to, for example, turn on my cellphone and use that light to find the arrows.  But I figured I had it right because of the other things that distinguish the correct orientation of the bin: wheels out and push handle out.

Well, that was 180 degrees wrong!  I got out of the house this afternoon and saw that I put out the bin exactly in the wrong direction.  I guess I'm lucky that they emptied the bin anyway; the recyclers have done this so many times they can spot from several houses away when a household fucked up such a simple task.

There was a little more risk to this particular pick-up however, I'm afraid.  I don't think it'd be a big deal if it was just newspapers and cans and shit.  But there was also shards of glass in there.  See, last week, while I was at my storage unit, one of the bottles I had been saving (did I blog about this before?) fell to the ground one too many times off the other stuff I've piled into this thing and shattered.  So I took it home and dumped it in the recycling bin.

I didn't think it would be a problem ... but it might be a needless complication if I also screwed up the orientation of the bin.  I don't know how it works, but if they put arrows on the bin, it probably is taken up by a machine so no worker needs to come out and manually throw the contents into the truck.  But if it's the wrong way, maybe someone needs to get out of the truck and help and possibly getting sharp glass raining down on him (even though I found it the following afternoon in the same direction I left it, namely the wrong way, meaning it doesn't look like a sanitation worker turned it around).  Maybe I should have called the company and warned them about the glass?

Well, I hope this doesn't bite us in the ass.  I'm really scared those guys will come back in two weeks and do something to the bin or us for fucking up.

You got to be fucking kidding me.  My Fucking Father put a mop to everything in the house tonight.  That's not good.  However, that he didn't act spiteful towards me, not even giving me The Eye, was a good thing.

He even went into my bedroom.  I swear, if he isn't going to put in a lockable doorknob, I will learn and do it myself.  I saw him throw stuff around, move around other stuff and, underneath my desk, tip over my stand of Entertainment Weeklys.  Whatever.

I exercised tonight.  When I came home I put two and two together: My Fucking Father tipped the stand over with the mop, therefore it was wet on the floor.  And so the bottom magazine was in contact with the, uh, wetness of the floor.  I just propped the stand back up and checked that bottom EW, one of the many with Twilight on the cover, and yes, it's wrinkled wet.

Goddamn, My Fucking Father.  He just doesn't give a shit about my stuff, just his work, doesn't he?

Where Did My Porn Go?

Need to blog about recent changes to of my favorite porn sites.

Anybody know about the Bangbus?  The conceit is that these three guys (a cameraman, a driver and the well-hung fucking guy) drive a minivan around Miami picking up chicks who get in, reveal that they are whores, get offered cash and proceed to have sex in front of the camera.  Of course it's not real; the girls are all (or nearly all) porn stars "acting."  But by God, whenever I was jerking off to the preview videos on the site I pretended that it was all real.  Guess I loved the concept so much I suspended my disbelief.

Their splash page was laid out such that the latest "pick-up" was the first you'd see and you'd scroll down the page for the previous week's Bangbus, then further down for the week before, etc.  Also, their updates were put up every Wednesday, so for the past, oh, decade or so (?) I would, almost invariably, get to the Bangbus at some point on Wednesday to see who the next (in their words) "victim" was.

Until about a couple weeks ago.  I sit down and get ready to get hard, but when I surf over to the site I see that their entire format has fucking changed.  No latest updates anymore; instead there are three columns of screengrabs of scenes of these "pick-ups."  I can't tell where the most recent "stranger" bang is because it doesn't say.  I don't know if there even has been one because the pictures are of vids I've seen and beat off to weeks, months, even years before.  I'm glad that the vast majority of these pics are facials, but that is not what I come to the Bangbus for.  And, when you click on the picture there isn't a free truncated highlight reel of the scene but a sign-up form.  That's bullshit.  You give me all this good porn for free and now you just take it away from me?  Fuck you, Bangbus.

At around the same time another porn site I rely on changed formats.  Hot Sex Series, for at least ten years, had a welcome page of a modified biohazard symbol; they still had those three crescent-shaped panels, but you could see an image of a woman's face on one of them and her breasts in the other two.  You hit "Enter" instead of "Exit," and you then get to the list of links updated daily.  So it's not a standalone producer of porn, but an aggregator, and that was alright with me, because their links were pithy but informative statements about what it was -- "UNIFORM SEX" or "SECRETARY SEX" or "MMFF GROUP SEX."  Sure, they recycled the pictorials and videos, but when I needed some material, it did in a pinch.  Besides, I've gone to that site for years, and I still liked going to it from time to time.

Their new website approach doesn't take away as much as Bangbus did, but it took out a lot.  This too now has a matrix of pictures.  If you click on one of those, you do get to see that scene's full video in its entirety, and for free. Two things wrong with that, however.  The first reason: I grew up with Hot Sex Series as a link to pictures, sort of like seeing a Penthouse pictorial online.  It predated the advent of online video, and that was still A-OK with me.

The second reason kind of ties into the first: My Internet connection sucks.  Last month I upgraded the Internet speed to our house (we have DSL, how much longer I can't say) and none of us can see an appreciable increase.  Moreover, the last two or three nights the goddamn Internet has gone back on the blink.  (I'm typing this particular sentence at just before 3 a.m. and right now I can't connect.  I'll have to wait until either we turn off the air conditioning or when I wake up to send this because I just flat-out can't right now.)  A connection this unreliable is absolutely no way to watch an online porn video.  Trust me, I've tried: When the modem is working it still takes several agonizingly long minutes for a vid to download.  If I don't wait until it's completely downloaded, it's slow enough that I see the beginning part of it and catch up, so the video has to stop and reload some more seconds before playing again.

So Hot Sex Series and Bangbus are now out of the porn rotation.  To where can I turn to in order to find free masturbating material?

Observing My Parents In Their Natural Habitat: Arguing

My parents suck.  They really do.  What's worse is that they don't even know it.  That's the most mind-boggling goddamn thing about it.

But ever since, say, high school I've been trying to differentiate how both my folks suck.  I guess I don't really need a reason why or how exactly they suck; I could just say they're bad parents and them pro-creating (even if it gave me life) was a huge mistake for those that are bad at rearing kids.  But nevertheless I continue to work on detailing their utter failings as people, let alone as parents.

The most obvious conclusion after you watch them for a night is that they yell.  A lot.  As far as I could understand that I had such a thing called parents, they've been yelling.  My earliest memory of them is Mother yelling about something in Chinese and Father talking back, albeit softer.  My earliest memory of Mother is her beating the living shit out of me.  My earliest memory of Father is me coming to him, crying in his shoulder after Mother beat the shit out me, and him trying to console me.  That's why I try to please him to this day, and why him chewing me out on even the littlest thing hurts me at such a deep level.

When they get going, contrasting my parents at their worst is pretty hard to do.  This is what I've come up with after more than three decades of observation:

• My Fucking Father is the one who can't let shit go.  He's the one that holds a bitter grudge.
• It's boom-or-bust with Mother -- that is, she can be a really good woman, but if she's pissed at me, man, she can go off.  And not just at me or My Father but, like, into outer space.  She can demand the weirdest shit.  Just the other day she told me that because I gave Grandmother's "boyfriend" my phone number, I need to change my number.  Fuck that!  Anyway, after a yelling session she seems to go back to normal.
• On the other hand, My Fucking Father seemingly is on a permanent simmer of anger.  He's always going to complain about something no matter how much you try and appease his ass.  And he's often good for a gruff, "You need to do this!"  But he rarely yells ... wait a second, he yells a lot.  Never mind.
• Beyond making crazy demands, Mother incessantly asks really dumb questions -- "Why can't you do this?  Why didn't you do that?"  Shut the fuck up!  This incessant interrogation inevitably leads to her concluding that, somehow, even the most uncontrollable situation is my fault.
• My Fucking Father is the one with the goddamn cleaning jag.  Well, Mother does complain about me not cleaning enough.  Well, just once.  OK, just once -- therefore that's a difference.
• My Fucking Father frequently acts like a petulant brat -- not just during a heated argument but during a conversation where he verbally throws a fit out of the blue when he wants something.  One of his pet insults is calling me a baby.  He has no fucking clue that his whining he falls back on whenever he gets into an argument makes him sound like he needs a bottle.  Ooh, just thinking about that pisses me off.
• Mother is the nag, continually pestering me to do something ... no, wait, My Fucking Father is also a nag.  Not as much as Mother, but they both nag plenty.
• My Fucking Father is the one who usually calls me stupid ... well actually when she gets going she calls me stupid too.  That's a tie.
• OK, Mother is the one who acts all superior in an argument ... that's wrong, My Fucking Father gives off that holier-than-thou vibe as well.  Call that a wash.

So I guess that when they're screaming they're both alike.  I guess that's why they've been married for about 40 years.  Therefore it was hard to sense who was right and who was wrong when it came to a little matter of sending photos through a smartphone.

Have I blogged about this before?  A storm through downtown Minneapolis blew debris off the rooftop of the business next to The Store onto The Store.  Their clean-up crew made it worse by dragging the debris into the dumpsters, thereby scratching up the roof and allowing water to seep through the roof and into The Store.  Father dutifully documented everything -- the aftermath of the storm, the tracks on and holes in the roof signifying the further damage down to our property, and the water stains in the aisles and our remaining merchandise.

The contractor he just hired presumably today told him to e-mail him those photos.  He tried earlier this afternoon, but he couldn't.  So he needed my help.  It was there that details are fuzzy because I concentrated on trying to send the photos.  But while I hit a dead-end -- I don't have a smartphone, so I stopped after I think I hit "E-Mail Photo" and "Send" but didn't get a message on the iPhone saying it was sent -- Mother started saying that My Father couldn't send photos through his phone and, I think, she's been trying to tell him that all day.

Why couldn't My Fucking Father send photos on his iPhone to this contractor?  All three of us were confused as to what to do and about any other tricks we could use.  The back-up plan was to upload the photos from his smartphone to his laptop, then attach them to e-mails from his AOL account.  The problem was that he has a hacked phone.  I remember running into the same issue when I tried to upload photos from another hacked phone (could be his, could be hers) before: You basically lose all function on the phone if you try up- or downloading something from the phone.  Once I remembered that plan was a no-go, I had little choice but to wait until my brother returned my call.

My parents -- well, maybe Mother the know-it-all -- had a Plan C: Photos of the roof damage were taken on her phone as well.  And either because hers is a legit phone, it's a working phone, or possibly because she is on my brother's family plan that has data, she can send just fine, at least according to her.

So I gave My Father his phone back when Mother called me from upstairs and told me to take her phone and e-mail those pictures to the contractor.  My Fucking Father and I were just going to quickly do it at the bottom stairwell, but Mother continued on her hen-pecking mode and told me -- and maybe him -- to just go upstairs.

And once My Fucking Father and I sat down, that's when all hell started breaking loose.  They were saying shit to each other Chinese so I don't really know what was spoken.  But I think Mother complained/whined about one thing too many and My Fucking Father just let it rip.  For a good two minutes they just yelled at each other, I mean YELLED! at each other.  It was like hearing them downstairs when I was young, except that I was older, and not only was it upstairs, but in the middle of their argument Mother opened the door to cook something in the backyard propane stove.  I am sure that our neighbors could hear them screaming at each other.  And by the way, I'd be shocked if this wasn't the first time my folks have gotten the attention of the guys next door to us.

During all of this I mentally took a couple steps backward and noticed that I was trying to send these photos on Mother's smart with My Fucking Father literally screaming into my ear while Mother was making what sounded like condescending potshots (I guess it'd be about him not being tech-savvy or not listening to her) from the kitchen.  Then I had an epiphany, or at least confirmation of indescribable feelings I've had for years now: This is why none of us kids have had a baby.  We grew up hearing this shit night and day.

I'll be honest: I'm kind of taking My Fucking Father's side on this one.  He was acting like a bitch when I asked him what size should I shrink the photos to: He gave me a "tsk" and yelled about something, so I just took a guess.  But while I don't know the complete context, this felt like an argument where Mother was hammering away at him, telling him "I told you so" relentlessly.  Geez, maybe Mother holds a grudge too.  And maybe she's right; after all, My Fucking Father can be stubborn (Mother too -- shit, these two fucking people shouldn't have been parents, but they really do seem made for each other, don't they?).  But the trigger for this argument seemed to come from her, and his body language, though generated in order to garner some self-pity, made him look tired as he was just trying to get The Store's roof fixed.

And the worst part about all of this?  I'm not sure if even the photos from Mother's phone went through.  I called the contractor after hours after I tried to send the pictures on My Fucking Father's iPhone twice, and he said he's on his devices right there and he had received nothing.  I need to call again to see if I struck out a third time.  Meanwhile, my brother did reach me via text.  I still don't quite understand what the problem is, but I don't think you need a data plan to send photos from your smartphone.  If that's the case, what the hell happened?  Moreover, he told me that what I could have (should have?) done is open up the e-mail app on My Fucking Father's smart, sent all the photos to his AOL e-mail, go to his desktop, download the sent pics, attach those pics to messages through AOL, and send them to the contractor that way.  Well, if I could e-mail them from My Fucking Father's own phone to My Fucking Father's own e-mail, why not skip the intermediate step and e-mail them from My Fucking Father's own phone to the contractor -- which is what all of us tried to do yesterday?

Technology sucks.  Moreover, my parents do.  And yet I can't get away from them.  In fact, I'm fascinated by them.  I also realized something tonight: I have subconsciously made it my life's mission to observe these two people.  Why?  I need to figure out who these two fucking human beings are that made me.  And I have a long way to go before solving that problem.

Almost Blew My Own Cover

I am still keeping up with the charade that I need Mother to pack me a lunch for work.  If I completely drop that, the parents would think I'm hiding something, namely that I really am not working right now.  That would open up a whole can of shit that I wouldn't be able to pack back in.  Still, I can't just eat a box lunch every single day -- especially since these days she makes this special vegetarian shit meal that's supposed to be a staple for us Buddhists.  I'd kill myself if I had to eat the all day.  So I have just said yes some days and no on other days; Mother has not been suspicious.  Besides, I should look on the bright side: For a guy who doesn't have a whole lot of money, maybe I should be grateful I have free food to eat.

I have nowhere to go with this food, so what I usually do is wake up, eat the lunch that's supposed to be for work, then take the bag and scraps with me when I leave for the afternoon.  When I come back for dinner I bring the bag in with me.  They're none the wiser.

But I keep forgetting that I keep forgetting.  When I got done with the lunch today (Buddhist vegetarian crap included), I told myself don't forget the bag, don't forget the bag.  So I throw the bones from the short ribs back in the plastic container, put the container in the bag, and put the plastic chopsticks we use at home (Mother didn't pack in disposable ones) on top.  I then made a point to put the bag somewhat close to the door (instead of, say, on the dining room table where I ate, which is on the opposite end of the stairs) so that, as I invariably dash out of the house, I'll see the bag and take it with me.

Y'all can tell I didn't, right?  I started remembering me forgetting about this particular plan when I went to the coffeeshop at the mall closest to me.  And once I was done, I opened up the trunk, not only to throw in my laptop but to check and see if the bag was there.  It wasn't.  Of course I left it in the house.  Fuck.  Me.

I could imagine the scene once I came home.  They would go, "What's with the bag?  Why did you leave it here before you went to work?  And did you already eat it?  Say ... you're not working, are you?!?!?!"  I could try and bluff and say that I was so hungry I just decided to eat right then and there, but then they'd ask why I just didn't wash the container and chopsticks and instead threw them in the bag.  Then I'd stutter and then they'd really find out the truth.

But by the time I knew I had forgotten, it was past 5.  They were already home.  I might as well get my poker face ready; in the meantime, I'd just go to Target to get some milk and juice like I planned.

What to my surprise did I (not) see once I got home from Target?  No minivan!  They weren't home!!  Hallelujah!!!  So I just strolled in and, just to make sure, acted like I brought in my lunch bag first before going back out and getting my laptop.  And the 'Rents did not come home immediately after me; it was about half an hour, so I in fact had time to wash the container and chopsticks, and put everything back.  And they're still none the wiser.

Well, at least until I forget again and get caught.

Poor Bastard Of The Moment: Adam Scott

Golf player.  By all accounts (at least the ones I heard when I saw the replay of the last holes of the final round of the British Open yesterday) a really nice guy.  Had his first major tournament title in his hands through 14 holes.

And then Scott went bogey-bogey-bogey-bogey.  He made the same number of bogeys in the first three rounds of the weekend's tournament as he did in the last four holes.  And when his last putt shimmied to the left of the hole, the choke was complete, and Ernie Els (by all accounts also a great guy, at least according to the talking heads I saw on the replay of the last holes of the final round of the British Open yesterday) won his fourth major.

From golf immortality to a collapse for the ages.  All in just four holes.

Poor bastard.

Update On The Store

I should be thankful, and I want to write about it here: Despite my worst fears, my parents are, up to this point, still dutifully getting up in the morning and going to "work," such as it is.  Now they go a lot later than they did when they were fully up and running, 9 or 10 instead of 8 or even 7.  And they get home a lot later.  I can't vouch for that because I usually try and stay the hell out of the house by the time they get back, but I think that instead of 5 or 6, they come home at 4, maybe 3 -- shit, maybe even 2.

My friend dropped by the place two, three weeks ago and said they were still open, but according to him, my parents were in everything-must-go mode.  That's the reason why, even though I still want to show appreciation to The Old Lady by dropping by the place, I'm afraid to do so at this point.  The last time I was there was ... gosh, was it when they were in Vegas for Memorial Day vacation and they wanted me to dump some stuff?  And gosh, I think I blogged about the last time I was there with my folks.  Frankly, I don't have the time to link to it here, but I'm also afraid of looking at the blog post entry date and thus knowing how long ago it was I was there when my folks were there.

Uncertainly over The Store's final demise, along with trying to establish a cover of working when I'm really not, us fighting, and me not having time because I did work, all of that has contributed to me not seeing The Store for a long time.  And it thus makes it harder to just stop by because I don't know in what condition it is in now.  Is it open?  How empty are the shelves?  Are they throwing shit away?  Are they intent on selling the place?  And when I say condition I don't just mean what they used to sell; a storm blew through about a month ago, and My Father showed me pictures of the water coming through the roof into The Store itself.  Some parts of the aisles really got damaged by the rain getting in.  I hope it's better now.  But maybe my folks don't care any more?

Complicating all of this are signs, even more signs I guess, that The Store's days truly are numbered.  I've been saying that for almost a year -- has it been almost a year since My Father told me about The Store?  Damn -- but my folks haven't been aggressively bringing home stuff like they have the past couple days or so.  Today, for example, I woke and saw in the newly remodeled kitchen about half a dozen milk crates.  They had to have come from The Store.  And today they brought home a bunch of plastic food containers as well as the microwave they took from home because they were afraid Grandmother would break it.  Maybe they haven't been using it in some time, but it's kind of hard to cook food without a microwave at The Store.  Either they are using that very old hot plate that's still there, deciding to bring food they don't need to heat up ... or they don't need to eat at The Store anymore because they're not going to go to The Store anymore.

Regardless, I'm afraid I still don't think I'll be visiting her any time soon.  My weakness.

The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey

#-1: Twins (Last Week: -Infinity).  So they failed to avoid an embarrassing home sweep at the hands of Oakland Sunday, thus getting swept at home by the A's for the first time since 2000.  They then broke out with a 19-7 dick-smacking of Baltimore on Monday.  They needed to save a few of those runs.  They then won the next game before surrendering the series win with one-run losses Wednesday and Thursday.  The Twinks have split their series at Kansas City.

And ... that's all I really have to say about that.  Well, that and the Negro League uniforms both the Twins and Royals were wearing Saturday (the Monarchs for K.C., the Colored Gophers for "St. Paul") were pretty sweet.  The rubber match against Kansas City is Sunday afternoon.  They then go to Chicago and begin a three-game set against the White Sox.  After a day off, they come home to begin a weekend trio against the Cleveland Indians Friday.

Addendum To: Finally, Running Water Upstairs!

First off, I don't know how all of a sudden I'm posting follow-up blog entries to things that I wrote about days earlier.  Maybe I should make a label.

Anyway, although this is gross as shit, I'm just going to say it: The only downside so far to having a brand new countertop in the bathroom (unnecessary though I think it is, it looks really nice) is that I don't feel that I can masturbate onto it.  It's new and pristine, and I don't want to "ruin" it with my cum.  Now, I don't think the old countertop was soiled this way before I put my semen on it (though, to be totally honest, I have no idea what my brother had done in there, and that's the last I'm going to say about that), but I can at least say that it was old and I needed to satisfy my urges and it was the perfect place to ejaculate onto.

But now I can't.  So where do I go?  I've done the bathtub, but it's a little tougher to clean up, what with going down into it and scooping up all the splooge.  A towel?  I've done that too, and in my room, which means I have the advantage of being able to beat off in front of the thing I'm beating off to instead of needing to remember it as I head into the head.  But I'm afraid of getting my room dirty.  It's tough to get all of it onto a bath towel, trust me.

Expenses Without Receipt

Starting on July 1:

• On Sunday that 1st I needed some money before going to the Nomad to take in the Euro final.  PCA Infusion of: $50.
• At the Nomad, I bought a Carlsburg and a Pabst Blue Ribbon, and ordered calamari from the food truck parked outside the bar.  With tips: $18.
• After seeing Spain beat the living hell out of Italy, I enjoyed some Dairy Queen: $2.67.
• Monday the 2nd I did something I rarely did: I used cash for gas.  I gambled that the price of a gallon was going to go down later in the week so I spilled a small amount of money, small enough that I didn't need to pull out my credit card.  And since I planned on going to the library and it was fucking hot, I got some dirt-cheap pop at the gas station too.  Total: $10.63.
• And it was still fucking hot so I treated myself to some more DQ: $2.67.
• Tuesday the 3rd: My Fucking Father went into the upstairs bathroom and tore out the very old medicine cabinet Grandmother and I used forever to throw the toothpaste tubes in.  I saw this when putting the garbage in my parents' minivan.  Inspecting closer, I saw there was a penny stuck in that cabinet.  I couldn't save the old girl, but I could rescue the penny.  It's still good currency.  An infusion of: $.01.
• I saw the reboot of Spider-Man, the remake of the franchise that was last on theater screens on ... 2007.  Charged the ticket, but used straight cash, homey for the popcorn and pop.  Thank God this was Stimulus Tuesday: $3.
• 4th of July: Found money on the ground of the laundry room.  An infusion of: $.06.
• Before going to the Stars game I needed more money, so I pulled it out of my PCA stash.  An infusion of: $50.
• Stars game -- ticket, hot dog, and Sprite: $16.
• Thursday the 5th: I went to the Mall of America.  Why, I forgot.  But I had a coupon to the Jamba Juice there, and now I am a fan ... as soon as I have more coupons.  With tip: $4.50.
• On to Friday the 6th, where I started my day with a PCA infusion of: $50.
• I needed to make copies of W-2's to send to the state because I fucked up my initial unemployment application.  Twenty cents apiece?!?!  Total: $.40.
• Back to the Megamall.  Saw Savages because I had nothing else to do.  Really good.  I liked John Travolta, I liked the Grand Guignol moment when Salma Hayek ripped off her wig, and I loved the false ending.  Taylor Kitsch has made it three flops for 2012, but even though I haven't seen either John Carter or Battleship, this is his best movie, and he deserves better.  Ticket, popcorn and pop: $16.50.
• Still fucking hot, so DQ: $2.67.
• Saturday the 7th ... I went to this coffeeshop at the closest mall to me.  Very cheap coffee.  Sadly, I overheard that they were closing because they have bigger digs close the University of Minnesota.  Shit.  Coffee with tip: $1.50.
• A two-way transaction for the Lynx game that evening.  I had to pay back my friend for the ticket he got for me: $20.
• But I got a hot dog for him.  I charged it because I was getting a hot dog and Pepsi, so I pocketed the cash he gave me for the food he wanted.  An infusion of: $5.
• The Lynx lost, so I was bummed.  So I said what the hell and decided to take the light rail down to Hooters to see if I can catch the huge mixed martial arts card.  Didn't get in, but I stood in line, so I was able to see the whole thing without paying for even a drink.  The downside?  I forgot that my ticket could get me on the LRT for free for two hours after the end of the game.  So I paid for fare both going down to MOA and coming back downtown: $3.50.
• Late-Night Italian afterward.  With tip: $9.50.
• Sunday the 8th begins with yet another Infusion of: $50.
• Hanging out with coffee at the mall during the day, with tip: $1.50.
• Hanging out at Caffetto that night, possibly after visiting Grandmother.  With tip: $4.75.

I should stop it there.  Should be caught up through the 8th.

Stuff I Learned From A Bad Day In St. Paul:

• My health insurance gets me a huge discount to the Science Museum.
• All the walking has to be good for me ... right?

And that is the only thing that went my way this day.  Now, here is all the bad shit that I figured out:

• I'm still very, very bad at directions ... after I got lost on the way back to the car wash/detailing service.  I thought I was too far south, and then I realized I was on the right street.  Unfortunately I had to double back and waste about ten minutes.
• Don't ever again get sucked in by shelling out $25 more for this chip sealant/shine thingy.  I wanted to give my parents' minivan a good buffing because I scratched one side of it a couple years ago, and I think it would've been fine with the "regular" sealant/shine thingy.  It looks great from the outside, but I can't notice a difference.  (Of course, this is the first time I've ever brought in a car for exterior detailing, but I still think that's the case.)
• Buffing doesn't cover up your mistakes.  I put touch-up paint to cover up the scratches on the minivan, and even though I was told it was going to be the same exact color, it went on a shade or two darker. And it stayed that way.  You can tell where I used the fingernail polish brush that came with the touch-up paint if you look at it up close.  I think the scratches are gone, but the touching-up remains.
• When you bring in a minivan, or an SUV, or any grown-ass car for washing and/or detailing, never forget that you have to pay a premium.
• The particular place I went to for detailing doesn't give AAA discounts for detailing ... which means I don't think I'll be going back to this place -- for detailing or for washing, either.  I mean, they promised they'd call me by 3 and I didn't receive a call when I finally got there at a quarter past 5.  Fuck!
• I have to stop thinking that the Omni Theater movie has anything to do with the special exhibition I wanted to go to.  I decided to make a day of it: If I'm going to go to St. Paul to get my parents' car detailed, I might as look at the Pirates exhibit at the Science Museum, too!  But the movie had nothing to do with pirates.  It was a special Warner Bros. IMAX movie called "Under The Sea" narrated by, of all fucking people, Jim Carrey.  Was he talking out of his ass when he did that voiceover?  It was beautiful, don't get me wrong, but there were some shots of animals eating other animals.  I wasn't ready for that shit!  I covered my eyes as living creatures was about to die.  If I knew that this is the movie I was going to see at the Omni, I wouldn't pay money for it and I'd save time to see the Pirates exhibit ... not just because of the violence, but also because it was about undersea creatures.
• I guess you can't get only one shrimp cocktail even though this very fancy-schmancy French place in downtown St. Paul says in its menu that you can get only one.  Did I mention that, or did they misunderstand me?
• I mean, this was great, and I decided that I'd eat at this place because I've been wanting to for the longest time, but I thought my bill was going to be, like, $35.  It became $49.  $49!  And all because they thought I asked for four shrimp cocktails instead of one???  Again, it was great food -- I recommend the matzo ball chicken soup -- but now that I've given them half my unemployment check for the week, I don't know if I'm ever going back there again.

Oh, speaking about unemployment ... I called the state today.  They did receive my amended application, but they're guessing that they need to check it out.  At the very least it'll take till next week, possible the week after ... and there's a possibility that I'll be denied the compensation I paid into on the basis of the PCA job I held as Grandmother's caretaker.

Fuck me.  Why did I ever even go out today?

And you know what?  I might double down on my spending spree by going to a strip club tonight.  Hooray for self-destruction.

You know what I'm gonna do to get back at my parents?  I'm going to masturbate all over their bedroom door ... and not clean it up.  Well, I might give it a once over before they come back.  But I'll tell you what, I ejaculated all over it last night, and after wiping up the excess with a towel, I just walked away.

That'll show them for disrespecting me.

You know, if I ask you, hot stripper, for your phone number, and if you give me a pen and tell me to write it down so you can surreptitiously take it from me later, I kind of expect you to, you know, be around for me to take it, not leave fifteen minutes after you give me a pen.  Yeah, I guess this is typical stripper shit, but that doesn't stop me from asking, and that still doesn't mean you're lying.  Fucking hate that.  You lost me as a customer ... well, unless you make good on me exposing myself to you and give me a little sumpin'-sumpin'.

Fuckin' A, man; my goddamn parents are away and yet I'm so fucking stressed out, first from their stupid goddamn accusations yesterday and then from this stripper who lied to me just now.  This is the worst Reverse Vacation ever!!!

Humiliating, Stupid Fucking Father (And Mother Too)

Fuck My Fucking Father.  Fuck Mother too, she's an idiot, too.

I'm taking my parents to the airport yesterday.  They're going to Laughlin, a place where My Fucking Father (and me) have been to twice but My Fucking Father hasn't yet.  Please note that I am not going on this trip.

Before leaving, My Fucking Father told me to go to the Big Terminal.  (There are two terminals that comprise MSP, a Big one and a Little one [my parlance], and they are separated by about a mile, connected by light rail..)  However, while going to the airport, My Fucking Mother mentioned that they don't really know where they're going.  I then told them that I tried looking up the status of the flight online, but I could not find a single record of that flight.  "It's a ghost flight," I told them.

So I drop them off at The Big Terminal.  A few minutes later I get a call from My Fucking Father.  Of course it's the other terminal.  So I turn around and pick them, though I mention to them that the two terminals are connected by light rail, but they don't know that, so, whatever.

And goddamn, they both fucking start yelling at me because they screwed up.  "Why didn't you tell me that the flight didn't show up online?  Then maybe we would call!" Mother bitched.  First of all, if you don't know which terminal to go to, I don't think you were on-the-ball enough to keep the number to call.  Second of all, WHY COULDN'T YOU FUCKING REMEMBER WHICH TERMINAL YOU'RE FLYING OUT OF????!!!!!!!!!

And then My Fucking Father turns out the most pathetic, self-centered excuse I have ever heard from this asshole: "I am 70 years old!  I work so hard!!  You do nothing!!!"  First of all, he's 67.  Second of all, I thought he shut down The Store.  Third of all, I ain't your goddamn travel agent.  Finally, WHY COULDN'T YOU FUCKING REMEMBER WHICH TERMINAL YOU'RE FLYING OUT OF???????????????!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

When I stop the car at the Little Terminal, My Fucking Father shot me a look.  Fuck you, Father, this is your own goddamn fault.  Again.

---

So I was really pissed off and hurt while driving to the Mall of America.  My mind was full of hate and revenge and anger.  I even ended the call when My Fucking Father told me that they made it through to the gate on time without saying goodbye, which is usually what I (and I figure most people) do when I'm pissed off at someone.

But then I remembered something: The contract I had to sign to stay home.  If I continue to maintain how right I am, they'll throw me out.  Both my parents are acting like babies for not taking care of their own shit, but they do own the house.

That led me to do something that is totally beneath me and totally what I stand against: Apologizing for shit I didn't do.  I didn't make them almost miss the flight because I'm not supposed to be responsible for their fucking arrangements.  But if they are angry at me, and if I don't have any place else to go ... well, I don't have much of a leg to stand on, even though I'm right, right?

I can stay angry or I can try and make peace.  I would rather stay angry.  But for the sake of not fighting, I decided, once I was in the MOA parking ramp, to immediately call My Fucking Father and say, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you guys, and I won't make that mistake again."  And he said, "o-kaaaaaaaaaaaay!" in that whiny voice that tells me he doesn't believe a word I say.  Which is true.  But maybe it'll work.

For good measure, several minutes later I say the same thing to My Fucking Mother.  Trust me, I was gritting through my teeth when I "apologized."  When husbands say sorry to their wives, do they sometimes not mean it like I just did?  And do they do it just to make family life more peaceful?  Really?

This is the first time I've ever did this, saying sorry when not meaning it.  I am less of the man I want to be now that I apologized for something I didn't do.  But if it lets me stay in the house, and if it will make them shut their goddamn mouths, I'll do it.  And if it works, if me apologizing is the one thing they wanted to hear from me all this time, fine, I'll "say sorry" more.

---

Oh, who am I kidding?  They will (or at least My Fucking Father) will bring this subject back up because he's bitter like that.  He'll raise it some time during what I would assume to be a peaceful dinner or something.  He'll once again "teach" me that I have to be more responsible, and take care of my elders, even though I already do both, and more importantly, WHY COULDN'T YOU FUCKING REMEMBER WHICH TERMINAL YOU'RE FLYING OUT OF??????????????!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  And I'll all say is, "Yes, Father, I didn't mean to disappoint you, Father, you always right, Father, whatever you say, Father."  And he'll see through me and then throw me out of the house.

I should have just shut my mouth about researching the status of the flight for them.  That way I wouldn't have any information that my parents' fucking little brains would make them think I was withholding them from.  From now on, I won't do a goddamn thing for them unless they ask me.  It's better that way.

Those are the two things that hurt: An innocent comment being used against me, and being blamed for something out of the blue.  Typical coming from these parental units.  And I get to see these motherfuckers back again on Friday.  Yay.

Been Meaning To Put This Music Video On ...

... even though this isn't technically a music video.  It's a recording of a session by The Band Perry, that (relatively) new sibling clan that struck the mother lode with "If I Die Young."

Here, in a performance recorded in late 2010, they play it acoustic, with guitar, mandolin and electric bass guitar (which means it really isn't acoustic, but so many bands say they're unplugged yet have their bass player plugged in -- I don't get that).  And like many songs, this sounds better.  Don't get me wrong; the official version is great (and there's something about the video that goes with it; it evokes a maturity and long-term perspective that belies the fact this trio is so young), but its theme of living life every second doesn't need electrification.

This brings up a big bugaboo of mine; crossover hits that feel the need to warp the original version of the song in order to bring in fans of other music genres.  I heard "If I Die Young" when it blew up several months ago, blew up so big that it crossed over from country to the local Top 40 station.  Goddamn, that fucking added drum was so loud it basically ruined the song.

But I digress.  Here, it is treated with the delicacy it deserves.  I'm not crazy about the video part of this, specifically its fast cuts to the beats at the end of the first chorus and the unnecessary close-ups.  But it's still awesome:

The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey

#-Infinity: Twins (Last Week: -1).  They lost all their games this week.  Sure, there were only three games because of the All-Star Game, but the depressing way they lost all of them more than makes up for the lack of quantity.

They had a 3-0 lead on Texas in the bottom of the ninth on Sunday and Glen Perkins fucked it all up; the Bastard Washington Senators v.2.0 tied it, then won it in extra innings.  On Friday they wasted a 15-strikeout performance by Francisco Liriano (aside: It is still striking that even after Liriano's superlative performance -- and his performance ever since he was sent to the bullpen -- that the team and fans are still thinking like he's about to be traded.  That fatalistic attitude towards a guy who's playing as well as any pitcher in MLB right now is due to two things: We've been through this song-and-dance before and know that he'll just go back to sucking again, and the organization is so bad that we see his lights-out production as a trade asset accruing in value, not a piece of a World Series-winning team.  We should be keeping hurlers who can strike out 15 batters, not trading them!), and the bullpen, the supposedly rock-solid bullpen which has been rested all this week, cratered late in a 6-3 loss to the Bastard Philadelphia Athletics.  And Saturday Cole De Vries, who seemed to have his shit together, was shaken down for, like, six runs in the first three innings (that's probably incorrect but I don't give a shit because this franchise blows) on their way to a 9-3 loss to the Bastard Kansas City Athletics.

They are now by far the worst team in the American League, and they are now also contending for worst team in the majors.  They try to avoid the sweep to Team Moneyball Sunday afternoon, then finish their homestand with a four-game set against the Bastard St. Louis Browns before starting a series in Kansas City on Friday.

I Have To Confess Something From Ten Days Ago

It was the 4th of July.  I was scared that my parents would be home the whole day, so I was gladly surprised to hear the front door and what sounded like their car.  They are going to The Store that day, so no awkward social situations or conversations -- and I could get out of the house before they come back!

So I went to a mall about 20 miles away.  I'm happy malls are open on holidays, otherwise there literally is nothing to do.  Unfortunately, halfway into the time I gave myself to dink around the mall, I get a message.

I return to my car, just in case I don't want the other person on the line hearing that I was at a mall, like my Mother ... who was the one who called me.  "Where are you?" she asked.

This was still a holiday, so even though they went to "work," they came back home early.  I tried to think up a lie, but maybe I should just tell her the truth?  It was Independence Day after all.  But my mind was too slow, and I split the baby mid-sentence: "I am hanging out ... with a friend!  At Rosedale ... er, Roseville."

That broke my stride because for the rest of the conversation all I could think about was Mother yelling at me for hanging out with a friend at the mall.  I think Mother asked me if I was going to come across a grocery store, and I felt guilty about not helping her out.  Then, after she hung up, I felt bad about just hanging out more at the mall instead of going back home.  Because they now knew I was out "having fun" while they were at home doing ... oh, maybe Father was obsessively cleaning around the house or something.  But I didn't just want to hightail it back home because if I, well, fucked up in their eyes, I might as well have fun before suffering their wrath at home.

I eventually compromised; I stayed out, but not as late as I wanted to.  When I came home, both of my parents were in the computer room downstairs.

"You're home?" Mother asked, "Why didn't you call me like I asked you to?"

D'oh!   While obsessing over the fact that Mother "caught me having fun" I totally forgot that at the end of the phone call she asked me to call before I drive back home.  She wanted to have dinner ready for me once I got back.  That's OK, I'd rather take a nap before eating.  But once again I totally forgot a detail because I was worried about something else.

She wasn't mad, at least I don't think.  And that was ten days ago and nothing came of it, I don't think.

Finally, Running Water Upstairs!

Even though the person's car took my spot, forcing me to park behind my parents' minivan and prompting me to actually go out last night even though I didn't plan to, that person apparently was the one to attach the water lines together.  And finally, there is running water, and faucets, in both the remodeled kitchen and bathroom.

Now, I won't have to act like a Third World resident and turn on the bathtub faucet to wash my hands.  And I can now properly brush my teeth in a place different from the place where I wash my body.  I am not pretentious about a lot of things, but having no running water crosses a line.

Construction Workers Suck

How many stories have you heard about a woman being strangled to death, or a girl getting raped, in her own home?  How many times was the guy who did it a person working on that home?

That is why they suck.  A disproportionate amount of people in landscaping and/or home-building are criminals.  Understandable, to a point: I remember the very first season of the U.S. version of Big Brother (not too bad compared to the VD fests succeeding seasons were).  Chicken (Shit) George (I call him Chicken [Shit] because there was an All-Star version of BB and he basically turned the course of the season when he decided to side with the bad people because they were the cool kids and he wanted to be cool too, unlike his days in school where of course he wasn't one of them), who was an owner of a home remodeling company at the time, was talking outside with another cast member/hamster.

This season, which was overseen by a production company that was junked in favor of another one that amped up the trash factor, was great in that it tried to air some deep conversations about actual meaningful things.  This (heavily paraphrased) conversation eventually went to the fact that many of the people he employs have criminal records:

"What's the word one of your guys did?" asked the other contestant.

"I don't know, assault?" Chicken (Shit) George replied.

"Why do you hire them?" the other person asked.

"Well, they have to find a way to make a living," Chicken (Shit) George said.

So, yeah, that's why so many construction workers go on to rape and kill women ... OK, I guess I kind of went off on a tangent.

Anyway, Tuesday there were two guys who, to my surprise, were back at the house and installing stone walls in the kitchen.  One of them wore a red shirt sporting the name and logo of Chivas, a famed Mexican soccer team.  I was leaving the house early in the afternoon.  He was headed out the door right behind me.  Being a nice guy, I opened the door for him.  Instead of saying thank you, all he did was look straight ahead.  Asshole.

And it burned me even more when I heard Father chatting him and the other guy up later that afternoon.  My Fucking Father always seems to be doing that, putting on a smile, being suddenly gregarious and laughing like a hyena at everything they said.  I hate when he does that.  He's really a cuss that would rather duck into the house rather than start a conversation with a stranger in the neighborhood.

And then it pissed me off even further when this Chivas dick started having a conversation with him, like they were BFFs.  You think My Fucking Father's the shit, yet you can't even give me a decent "thank you" for opening the door for you?

No wonder I have bad feelings that you would try to rape Mother.  That's why I called home late yesterday afternoon, when My Father and I were out and she was back home awaiting them: If she didn't pick up, I would be really scared.  Gladly, she did.  And, they got done affixing the stone wall additions, so Tuesday might have been the last time I had to see that ungrateful shit.

Nightmare ... And Remembering Movie Trailers

I am currently having car trouble -- a power steering line probably is leaky, dislodged and/or broken, and so it's leaking fluid so fast this morning I topped it off for the second time in four days.  So I think that fed my nightmare ... a nightmare I just realized I lost most of the details to.  Something about the check engine light and -- could this be true? -- Bob Costas.

Isn't it funny that the nightmares are the memories that you forget the quickest?  I'm really bad at remembering, for example, the litany of trailers I had to sit through before getting to watch the movie I paid for.  I kind of make it an exercise right before the movie starts: Can I recall all the trailers I just watched, and in order?  But the nightmares ... damn, right after I work up I could recite most of it, and now I've forgotten most of it.  The damndest thing. ...

Addendum To: Gatorade Hijinks

I'm embarrassed not only of what I overlooked, but the fact that I didn't really rectify the situation either.

Here I said that Target shorted me two bottles of Gatorade.  Well, the next day I did what the Target lady told me to do; I went back to the store, with the receipt, and got the two bottles of Gatorade Recover (the shake version, not the, uh, normal kind), and I put those in the fridge, right next to the ones the checkout lady did hand to me.

Then, I think it was some time the next day, I was going over how many bottles I used.  "There are now five  bottles in the refrigerator," I said to myself before thinking: "Wait a minute ... I thought I bought enough of Gatorade 1, 2, and 3 bottles to use one of each the next two times I work out.  Shouldn't I have just three?"

And then I looked back in the fridge.  Right next to the shakes are the other bottles I had in my bag already. I thought those were the "2," the "Perform" bottles that I knew I already had.  Whoops -- it turns out that those are the "3"/"Recover" bottles I thought were missing.  That's when I remembered that I did not intend to buy the shake version of the 3 bottles because I already tried those.  Those "Recover" formulae also come in basic liquid form, and I had bought two of those ... and the checkout lady, it turns out, did put them in the bag.  She didn't forget anything; she scanned everything I brought to her, put them all in one bag, and gave all the items I intended to buy to me, like she is supposed to.

So, it turns out that I basically took two items from Target without paying.

I thought about giving them back, but what would be my explanation?  "Uh, I thought that one of your co-workers forgot to pack in two bottles of Gatorade, but when I rechecked it turns out that she didn't forget, and I feel bad for stealing, so I just want to return these.  No!  I don't need money back because I didn't pay for these."  Not only would my explanation be too convoluted to understand, this Target is one I go to frequently, and I don't need anybody thinking I'm a dork with a troubled conscience.

I have used all but one bottle -- a liquid one.  I think I'll just keep my mouth shut ... well, after blogging about it here!

Expenses Without Receipt

OK, picking up from where I left this off on the 15th: The reason why I was confused was because I forgot that I was surprised with a Father's Day buffet, treat by my brother and sister-in-law.  I think I planned on working out that evening, but instead I stuffed my face.  I had no time then except to go to the burlesque show at 10:30.  I could be wrong, but it's been so long, I will take this story as complete.

Moving on:

• Saturday the 16th was the last weekend of this web series I was helping out on.  I had to bug out a little before they wrapped to get to the second-ranked Minnesota RollerGirls special summer bout in which they upset the top-ranked team in the region, Chicago -- awesome game, awesome win ... wait a second ... I just went on their website and it says that right after the bout the officials reviewed the score and determined there was an error made in scoring.  The official score: 155-155, a tie.  As of mid-June, the time of this press release, the sanctioning body, the Women's Flat Track Derby Association, is figuring out what to do.  Anyway, I had a Pabst Blue Ribbon after I got there.  With tip: $6.
• After driving around a little bit, I went to an ice cream place in St. Paul.  I wanted to treat myself.  Expensive ice cream, though -- with tip: $5.25.
• After some more driving around, I decided that even though I had to come in real early for the shoot the next day, it's not every day you can celebrate the most significant win in MNRG history (at least what we thought was a win at the time).  So for the first time ever I went to the roller derby association's afterparty in St. Paul.  Had a Surly on special with tip: $4.
• I tried out a new community center because the one I usually go to has summer hours where they are closed on the weekends.  This fitness room has an admission of: $6.
• My Favorite Coffeeshop (Late-Night Division).  Went all-out and got the most expensive drink there, another iced cream coffee concoction.  With tip: $6.25.
• Saturday the 23rd, I went to another community center.  This one was cheaper, but I had to feed a quarter for a locker.  All told: $4.75.
• Ice cream in Uptown, with tip: $4.25.
• Late-night coffee again.  I was one short of filling up my frequent coffee-drinker card.  Usually you had to fill it up, then cash in on your free drink on your next visit.  But this girl, this babe, she punched my card, then allowed me to use it this time around.  Good thing: I went all out on something expensive, either an ice cream drink or an iced mocha.  Thank you, sweetie!  For that I added an extra quarter to a tip amount I usually give when I cash in on a free drink: $1.25.
• Spent Sunday the 24th at the Nomad World Pub enjoying a Euro tournament game.  They don't serve food, but there was a food truck outside that had great fish tacos and Belgian fries.  I wish I remembered the name.  Anyway, with those items, beer and tips: $18.
• I then got my hair cut.  With, you guessed it, tip: $14.
• Monday the 25th: The Dairy Queen at my local mall has a happy hour: Most drinks and shakes are half off from 2 to 4.  Sweet!  Malt for: $2.35.
• I have switched my allegiances for theaters.  My old one, one I had patronized and racked up some frequent movie-watcher points, early this year raised the prices of their tickets.  I think they did the same thing last year.  It wasn't much of a bargain anymore, even if those prices were the cheapest level you can get.  Meanwhile, one theater on the other side of my house, one that I ignored because I once thought it was expensive for matinee screenings, turned into a bargain.  Day showings are only five bucks.  Moreover (either this was new I never paid any attention to it) Tuesdays they sell small popcorn and pop for $1.50 each.  So on Tuesday the 26th I saw Men In Black 3.  Ticket, popcorn and pop for a very reasonable: $8.
• Afterward I treated myself to more DQ.  This time it was at a different place, one that did not have a happy hour deal.  I bought a small hot fudge sundae, something I have traditionally bought and eaten at DQ ever since I was young.  Cost: $2.67.
• Busy day of fun Thursday the 28th.  So I took out some money I earned as Grandmother's PCA.  An infusion of: $76.
• After going into a tube and getting scanned for only an hour, I went downtown to watch more soccer.  Charged all of it.  Then I went across town for this North Stars reunion which started an hour later than they announced.  In the meantime I was thirsty, so I got a Coke from two vending machines.  It was two because I think the first one was sold out.  I don't really know because it didn't scroll the words "SOLD OUT" on hits 90s screen.  And it didn't return one dime, either, that fucking machine.  It was $1.50, so with that stolen dime: $1.60.
• Drove down to Hooters to watch the NBA Draft.  Wish they turned up the sound.  Anyway, with tip: $16.50.
• I then headed to the Turf Club that evening for a concert by Cory Chisel and the Wandering Sons.  Goddamn, these guys are good.  I wanted to buy their new record that came out that week, "Old Believers," but I only had a fifty, and my OCD kicked in and I didn't want to break that fifty.  I did spend money on the cover, a beer and tip: $18.
• Friday the 29th ... went to the library to print out some letters Father wanted me to write for him.  The fucking printer still doesn't work.  At least somebody left a nickel in the coin change slot: 15 cents.
• More PCA money to use for the night, an infusion of: $20.
• Went to work out at the place where I had to pay for a locker.  I won't go back there because 1) their locker room was so fucking nasty with all the standing water everywhere; 2) the benches for the lockers were too far away from the lockers, and I had to get off my ass to reach for my shoes and clothes; and 3) there are no TV's there.  How can I work out without the distraction of TV?  Whatever: $4.75.
• Late-night coffee ... and this time it really was coffee, because I was spending too much damn money. With tip: $2.
• Saturday the 30th begins with me taking out more money for spending.  It was only a little bit, though, an infusion of: $8.
• Remember when Father came after me while we were eating pizza downstairs?  (Well, no one did because according to Blogger stats, no one has read it yet.)  Well, this might be an asshole thing to say and do, but I felt he had to pay for humiliating me.  He gave me money to get the pizza, and there was change, and so I kept the change.  What?  He was going to tell me to keep it anyway.  An infusion of: $9.30.
• Worked out at the new place that does not charge for a locker.  It extends till 10 while the other one I'm trying out closes at 9.  They have TV's, but they're on silent (though you have a radio I guess you can tune in and hear it through your headphones).  But it's expensive, though.  In the end, I think I'll just stick to my old place; it's drab and further away from me, but it's the cheapest and I get to listen to a TV full blast.  Admission: $6.
• Deposited that $50 I couldn't bare to part with at the Turf: $50.
• Treated myself to ice cream because this might have been the first day of our fucking heat wave.  With tip: $3.75.
• Caffetto: Coffee with tip: $2.

I should stop because this is already too long.  Caught up, I hope, through the end of June.

Home Improvement?

So the renovation of the house continues in earnest.  It doesn't just stop with redoing Grandmother's bedroom and spackling a new coat of paint over everything; My Father finally got around to doing something he had planned on for over a year and finally removed the kitchen cabinets, the kitchen counter, the sink and the stove last weekend.  What I didn't know was that he would also replace the cabinets, the counter and the sink in the upstairs bathroom, aka my bathroom, as well.

I knew this not because he told me.  No, we don't do the communication thing in this family.  Instead, I was woken up to the sound of unfamiliar voices speaking in unfamiliar tongues outside of my bedroom door, followed by loud banging and, soon, electric saws.  And that's when I came out -- after about, oh, an hour -- to see the kitchen practically laid bare.  If I'm correct, they then went into my bathroom last Sunday and ripped the shit out of that, too.

They started installing some of the new counters last weekend.  The new stove was also put in last Sunday (I think), and the new bathroom counter and sink was put in yesterday.  Unfortunately, they are not done yet.  There is stone to be tiled up around the kitchen still, I guess, and the faucet in the bathroom is not hooked up yet.  Moreover, Father decided to take out the bathroom mirror either Saturday or Friday.

This transition has been a little rough.  Without the kitchen faucet, we cannot clean the dishes the way we used to.  Mother has resorted to using the basin in the laundry room to clean up after dinner, and we all use the fucking bathtub to wash our hands when we're ready to eat.  Without the sink in the bedroom, I have been forced to also use the tub to brush my teeth -- but only sometimes; I find it to be so, uh, primitive that I will go downstairs and use the master bathroom sink to brush my teeth (but again, only sometimes; don't tell my folks, but I don't brush every day!).

The day they took out the bathroom sink (last Saturday?) they turned off the water as well, so I had to go downstairs that night to shower.  Man, what an experience.  A shower stall in and of itself is small.  Moreover, the linoleum tile was either warped or installed (by Father) incorrectly; it bows out, cutting the scarce square footage for me to shower even further.  The lip of the shower was very, very small, and I'm sure water hitting the floor bounced out of the shower stall.  Finally, for some fucking reason the curtain did not stretch from wall to wall.  There was enough of a gap that I had to decide which end I would leave open.  (I finally decided on the end opposite the shower head, to minimize any water coming out through the side.)  Thankfully I only had to do that for one night; Father reconnected the lines the next day.

And that's my main issue with this.  Could the kitchen and bathroom use a new look?  I guess.  I'll be honest: Two of the stove coils weren't working, the kitchen cabinets were well-worn and beat up after a botched polishing job, and the bathroom cabinet was pretty fucking old.  But I could still use them.  Were they rotting and getting eaten up by termites?  No.  See, that's when I would replace those cabinets.  (And by the way, I wouldn't've replaced the stove because I don't cook.)  Don't get me wrong -- what have been installed, some dark apple-wood color ... stuff looks great.  Was it necessary?  It may be the laziness talking, but no.

So why are my parents (actually My Father; I don't know the role Mother has in all of this mess) renovating the kitchen and upstairs bathroom when they really should work on their bathroom, the downstairs bathroom?  The shower could use a major overhaul, if not a complete teardown.  And did I mention that their sink, the one I prefer to use when I brush my teeth, has a handle that spins a complete 360?  I did it once while brushing and I was afraid I made the sink spit out scalding hot water permanently.  (They could take out the toilet too; it has a knack for leaking water.)  It sucks, man.  Plus, why not give themselves a better bathroom?  Forget about me!  But I don't know if gutting the master bath is part of their plans.

I can't wait for this to be over.  Father took out my mirror as well, so I have no idea how I look naked.  One thing has changed: The counter is taller now, which means I can't lift up and rest my foot on the edge of it when I need to trim my toenails.  I was overdue for a trim (toes and fingers), but I had to do it, yes, in the tub.  The light (and that hasn't been taken out yet, though it is as old as the mirror [and I forgot to mention the medicine cabinet that goes with that mirror] and looks very out of place with the modern cabinetry) is behind my back, so I was casting a shadow on the toes that I needed to clip.  I'm pretty sure I did a shitty job.

Oh, I pine for the day I can brush my teeth and clean my cups upstairs!  No living like my parents probably did when they were young kids in China and Vietnam.

Oh, Almost There, Almost Done -- Oh, Goddammit!

They've been renovating the kitchen and upstairs bathroom for the past two weekends now.  With so much commotion with the workers there, last weekend we were ushered downstairs to eat fast food both Saturday and Sunday.  For Sunday night dinner Mother went to some social gathering, leaving My Father, these workers, and me.

For the first time in a long time we got -- well, I ordered and carried out -- pizza.  Damn, I miss pizza.  Anyway, this set up an awkward tableau where My Father and I were hunkered in his computer room to just eat.  Far from ideal as a dining room -- there's a footstool I sat on, My Father sat on his desk chair, and we laid the pizza box on a laundry hamper.

I was afraid with us two just sitting by ourselves, My Fucking Father would try to raise the issue of my future.  As usual, I have no answer.  So all this time, eating slice after slice, I'm just waiting for My Fucking Father to launch into, "So, what's your future like?"  I didn't have a good answer for it, I was just emotionally steeling myself.

So we're just sitting there in silence for most of the conversation.  The only thing we say to each other is who wanted the last piece of pizza.  And so I thought, Maybe I can get through this awkward situation without him fucking coming down on me.  Good times!

He was done while I was scarfing down the last of the pizzas, and so he left.  I let my guard.  But then, just as I was about to get up, he comes back in the room:

"Are you working tomorrow?"

Me, lying: "Yeah, in the afternoon, from noon till 5."

Oh-oh -- this is the opening My Fucking Father usually seeks before launching into me: "Why don't you get a full-time job?"

And this is where I had to choose between bad choices.  I could have just not said anything and looked at him stupid, prompting him to harrumph and leave.  Looking back, that would have been than me, for some fucking reason, trying to add levity to the suddenly heavy atmosphere of the room added by My Fucking Father's comment by piggybacking on his comment with something he usually says: "Or maybe I should go back to school!"

"Tcha!  You talk, you never do," My Fucking Father said, in disgust, as he stomped out of the room.

Well, fuck me.  And fuck him, too. That was humiliating to hear.  Partly because he was right.

I don't care, I just wanted no talking during that dinner.  Not too much to ask.

The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey

Positive Numbers: Wild (Last Week: -2).  Ho.  Lee.  Shit.  Holy fucking shit.

I really didn't think the Mild would get both Zach Parise and Ryan Suter.  Fuck, I thought there was a less-than-5% chance they'd land Suter and maybe, maybe, a 10% chance on Parise.  And honestly, I'd be OK if neither of them came here.  This organization has been bad for so long they've got a bumper crop of prospects: Mikael Granlund, Charlie Coyle, Jonas Brodin, etc.  The future is bright.

And I guess both Parise and Suter saw that as well and decided to get in front of the rocket before it hits paydirt, if that image makes any sense.  They now get to lead and mold what could be, in an ideal world, a Stanley Cup contender for the next decade.

I think getting to play on a team with such potential was a deciding factor.  What appears to be the main factor for taking their talents to Hidden Beach is that they really, really wanted to play together.  I didn't know they were so close.  That would filter out most of the known contenders: Parise's previous team, New Jersey; Suter's previous team, Nashville; Pittsburgh and Chicago.  The only other team that allegedly had enough cap space to go after both is Detroit, and apparently Parise and Suter thought they were on the downslope.  Well, they are now that they decided to come here!

Let's be honest: They have to reach the playoffs next year.  Injuries could happen like they did last year, but do you know what?  Even I will no longer accept that, even if that's beyond the Wild's control.  Furthermore, for as long as those two free agent acquisitions are in Minnesota, they have to, have to win at least on Stanley Cup.

But in some ways the franchise has already won.  Not since Brett Favre, or maybe even George Mikan, that someone of such stature, let alone two, willingly came here.  What also is different is that the Minnesota Wild, and Minnesota, are now Public Enemy No. 1.  The team is now the Miami Heat of the NHL, even if the comparisons aren't totally parallel.  So what the hell, why not embrace the role of villain?  Because being the center of attention, and a sudden contender for a championship, are two things that this state is not used to.  Let's just see how that feels for, oh, the next 13 years?

#-1: Twins (Last Week: -1).  A second consecutive 4-3 week.  I'm actually surprised that the Twinks won a game against the Texas Rangers on Friday.  Losses to Texas Saturday and Detroit to Thursday hurt.  This team is worst in the American League, and so the outlook on a salary dump is a foregone conclusion.  Francisco Liriano will be the most prominent Twin to be traded, but he shouldn't be the last.

They finish in Texas Sunday night.  They then have the All-Star break (well, not Joe Mauer), and then they have a rare two-day break after the All-Star Game.  They resume play Friday, when they host Oakland for a three-game series.

My Fucking Father's at it again, surprising me with important shit happening mere days from now without giving me more time to plan ahead.  Pisses me off.  Now I'll have to delay an experiment I delayed once before already.  And in the meantime I'll have to spend gas on all the trips I'll have to take over the weekend.  Neither thing I planned on doing, and now I'll have to waste money and spend a lot of palm-greasing capital in order to pull all of this off.

And all of this because My Fucking Father didn't have the decency to tell me this important news sooner.  Goddamn him. ...

Addendum To: Found Out About Me On The Dole?

I just went downstairs, just to get a Sierra Mist.  About to head back up, Mother pops out of the master bedroom, eyes narrowly slit from the light I turned on.

"You're still up?" she asked.  This was 12:30.  I mumbled something about not needing to work in the afternoon.

But I have to wonder: Does she now think I don't work?  Did she suspect as soon as she saw my unemployment mail today?  Goddamn, was just trying to get some pop downstairs mean that I've been caught -- and that, gulp, they're going to throw me out?

I just wanted to get some Sierra Mist. ...

Found Out About Me On The Dole?

I was afraid this was going to happen.  Last Friday I tried to get back on the dole online, but I knew that regulations meant the state would send me something through the mail.  Ideally, I would be able to intercept that mail before my parents got to it.

Well, it came today.  And I saw it because they laid it out for me right where they usually leave the mail for me.  Shit.

Maybe they didn't notice.  Oh, come on, me, of course they noticed.  It says "Unemployment Insurance" right in front of both pieces of mail I got!  Goddamn, how can I be so stupid?

You know, it's possible that they didn't pick up the mail when they got home.  Sometimes -- OK, only a few times ever -- they go inside the house without picking up the mail.  What I could have, should have done was checked the mail before I got home.  Maybe then I could have intercepted it, and they would be none the wiser.

No, they got the mail before I even got home.  So why didn't just fucking stay home?  Because I was too scared to just stay home and wait for the mail because I wouldn't know when the 'Rents would come home.  Then I would have to answer questions of, "Why are you home?  Why don't you just go back to school?"  And then My Fucking Father would tell me to help him with some chores that I don't want to do.  I mean, he's virtually redecorating the fucking house.  Why?  It was fine just as it was.

But now, knowing that they've seen the unemployment mail, I regret that I didn't just come home early.  Now I'll have other questions I have to answer -- "What is this?  Unemployment?  Are you back on unemployment?  I thought you were working!"  And the worst question of all: "Are you lying to us?"

And that's the worst: It's the questions I'm not able to answer.  I know that they noticed the letters, and they will ask -- if not tomorrow, then a few months from now, when I've let my guard down, when I thought I was scot-free.  They'll ask and I'll just blabber on, and then there will be one hell of a fight.

Finally Using The Tablet Given To Me For Christmas

I am writing this right now on an HP Touchpad, given to me by my cool brother and my sweet sister-in-law for Christmas.  Feel kind of bad for not even taking it out of the box until a month ago, but I'm stuck in my ways; I didn't feel the need to use it until the battery on my laptop started making a lot of noise.  I finally used it on the 1st to check my e-mail, and now I'm trying to use it to surf the Internet.

Still adjusting to it.  Will file initial thoughts some other time.

I Said It Before And I'll Say It Again -- Only The Best Goddamn Song Ever

And appropriate for today, Independence Day:



No, it's not a patriotic song by any means.  But it's just the motherfucking awesomest song ever.  I said so two years ago, but then I neglected to embed the song (with an accompanying shot of the cover photo of the album it comes from, Soundgarden's Superunknown).  I will correct that mistake now, just in time.

This is so much better than my previous all-time favorite, "Jingle Bells."

Too Fucking Hot

Whoever likes weather this hot can kiss my ass.  This is not funny, this is not fun, this is goddamn dangerous.

This heat wave started ... when, Friday, or Thursday?  (I can never recall what the weather was like the day before, funny. ...)  Temperatures in the 90's, with humidity reaching the 70's starting on Sunday (although it was pretty much hot as hell on Friday when I went to a fitness center in town).  And it's not going to end any time soon; they're predicting it's going to feel like 100+ from yesterday (Monday) through pretty much Friday.  There's a Heat Advisory that will last till 10 p.m. Thursday.  And for Hennepin and Ramsey counties, make that a Heat Advisory Warning because with so much concrete, it's going to be hot as fuck even at night.  Technically I live in Anoka County, but it's extreme south Anoka county, situated between Hennepin and Ramsey, so I'll just believe this shit applies to us as well.

I know it's been this hot for this long before -- even hotter for longer.  But since we're in this now, this is the hottest it's ever been in the Twin Cities.  And goddamn, I hate this shit.  I will take a -20 degree day with a fucking blizzard over this.  Fuck, it's too hot to even watch bikini babes on the beach.