Unproductive Staycation

Even though I had the house to myself for less than 48 hours, I still had dreams of sealing up my Entertainment Weeklys and going through a bag of stuff I got from storage.  I have done neither, and since my folks are coming back later this afternoon, it's too late.

What I have done instead is spend a lot of money at stripclubs, work, get gasoline for two cars, and be an extra for a shoot, unpaid.  Basically everything I wanted to do while my parents are away without doing anything productive.

And I'm still pissing away money.  Fuck me and fuck my life.

A Crazy Risk ... Or My Shot At Personal Redemption

OK, if Mother wants me to get a girlfriend, this is it.  Well, this probably isn't what exactly she wants.  Oh fuck, if she found out she'd probably say, "Finally!  My son is getting some!"

My ATf, ***e*, and I texted back and forth.  And she has just agreed to come over to my place later tonight.  I gave her my address.  And, if things are good, I'll get some sexual activity.

We'll see.  I may or may not keep you posted.

Even though I gorged myself on 25 Hooters wings despite being broke and fat, and even after telling his All-Time Favorite that even though I had no money to spare, I needed her touch and I will see her tomorrow, today was a good day.  Why?  Because my All-Time Favorite at My Favorite Stripclub (Cover Edition) finally told me her real name, after all these years!!!  Oh, ******a, I am so glad you trusted me with this sacred information.  If only I had known how readily you would give it to me!!!

Addendum To: I have a goal of really cutting down my expenses. ..."

So the diagnosis for the oil leaks came back: There are cracks everywhere in the engine, and possibly even one in the transmission.  I had a similar issue about five years ago, and I managed to get them all fixed over a couple occasions.  I don't think any of these leaks were the ones from 2007, thus eliminating the possibility that I could go back to the guys who did the '07 fixes and tell them to do it again (even though making them do it for free probably is a tall order, seeing that it was five years ago).

The guy who gave me the bad news did give me a priority: There is a bolt on the transmission housing that is loose.  But to get to it would be very invasive: They would have to pull out the transmission to see for sure if it's just a bolt, because there are clamps that could be loose, and there's no telling what else could be wrong that they couldn't see just from looking up into it.  I had the fucking transmission replaced entirely after it went kaput on me on my way to work at Xcel in 2004 or 2005.  Not saying that the replacement has proved to be shitty, I just don't want to revisit that bad memory.

I'm guessing here, but there might be a bright side.  The guy tells me that, as of now, the levels for both the oil and transmission are good.  (By the way, they found nothing in regards to the power steering and coolant.  Even though I continue to refill it, they both are apparently OK.)  He said in a previous visit that the car runs great for one that age, it's just leaky as shit.  When the levels are low, that's when I've got problems.  OK, I can deal with that.  I just don't know if my folks will put up with seeing the car essentially shit itself every other night.

I should have asked how much it cost, but because I took the news of the numerous leaks so hard, I was too shell-shocked to ask; too much bad information at one time.  I should have; if it's going to be, like, more than a grand, I don't know if I want to fix it.  And with the Benz parked next to the house and my brother having what seems to be a coterie of used cars he doesn't know what to do with ... well ... I hate to say it, but maybe it makes too much sense to, you know ... junk the car?

Well, at least with my parents now on vacation I can use the minivan.  Let my car rest for a couple days.  And hey, at least the diagnosis cost less than $50.

I have a goal of really cutting down my expenses, especially ones I charge on my credit card.  Well, it might be between one and three days into the newest cycle, and what do I do?  I'm charging $60+ on my card.  I didn't want to, but I am.

I can justify it this way: The car's in the shop.  I have brought it in because I have to know what the fuck is going on with the oil leaks and the disappearance of the power steering and coolant fluids.  I didn't want to pay anything for this, and they were nice enough to look at it for free, but he told me that degreasing the engine in order to look for the oil leak was going to be less than $100, so I changed my mind.  Plus, I woke up this morning with a huge oil stain on the driveway.  I have to fucking know.  I can't do anything about it right now, and I probably don't have the money to get it fixed.  But I need to fucking know.

And I probably need to get gas for the car, too.  Goddamn, I'm going to charge $900 to my credit card this fucking month too, aren't I?

Losing Opportunities To Make Money Is Killing Me

Unemployment has failed to give me the money I think I'm entitled to, so I have to (inbetween job applications) get "work" when I can.  Lately though, I can't catch a fucking break.

I have been getting more work being an MRI guinea pig.  In particular this batty guy from mainland China is getting active again, scheduling weekend sessions for research he needs for papers he intends to present in conferences that apparently are coming soon.  Although his research mainly consists of scanning my kidneys and prostate, which means I've got this fucking plate that is cracking my spine for upwards of five hours, I have been fortunate to get most of these numerous scan sessions from him.  In fact, I think I became his favorite, which would usually scare me off, but because I need the money, I am appreciative.

I saw "was" his favorite because I was unable, for the first time in a long time, if ever, to make one of his sessions.  And late communication and/or miscommunication may have been the reason.  He told me he needed someone this Sunday evening, from 7 to 11.

Here are the circumstances specific to this and never occurring at any other time:

• Even though he told me the previous weekend (after a session) he probably will need me this past weekend, he didn't e-mail me until Friday afternoon.  He has never asked me so late in the week;
• My sister flew back from Hong Kong and is here for only a few days more.  Therefore, I want to spend as much time with her as I can.  Family functions, even though they are never concrete until the last minute, are quite possible.
• I finally cleared up the possibility that we would have a huge Sunday dinner with Mother early Saturday afternoon.  However, I kind of spaced out and was determined -- after doing my laundry -- that I would go exercise that afternoon before I, my sister and her best friend would go to the Minnesota State Fair that evening, something that we had planned for weeks.  (We would meet up with my brother and sister-in-law at the Fair, by the way.)  If we're going to pig out, I'm going to burn through as many calories as I can before I stuff my face.  (I'm still fat, by the way.)  That means I kind of blew off e-mailing this researcher back, telling him I was available, until some time after we got back.  But no biggie, because he's cool with shit like that.  Besides, he didn't tell me till Friday, he couldn't put me on a deadline, can he?
• But he did.  Thankfully he was up after I finally got around to e-mailing him, at about a quarter to midnight.  An hour or so later he told me that he actually found someone to fill in for me, but thanks, and we'll see you next time.  (Aside: Since I told Mother I would be working, I had to now find an excuse to be out instead of staying in, which would only raise questions in them about whether or not I am actually working.  It was possible that I could say they asked me to come in in the afternoon, but Sunday was the day I gave my sister the car, and she didn't come back until just before dinnertime.  I worked out and then had coffee instead of "work.")

To make sure you guys don't get the wrong idea, he did e-mail me this (Monday) morning asking if I could come in Thursday.  I planned that day to be a nothing day where I'd just stay home because my parents would be gone, but again, I need the money, so I agreed.  That's good.  He then asked me if I could come either Saturday or Sunday afternoon ... because he has another volunteer he's booking.  Seems like I'm no longer his favorite.  Was it because I failed to get back to him in a timely matter Saturday?

At any case, that was about 4-5 hours of blown "work" time, which translate to $60-75 gross wages.

---

Tonight I was blissfully left alone to take a nap until the phone fuckin' woke me up.  It turned out to be a company that was asking me to come in for a paid survey study.  Some time ago I was a banshee signing up for these paid study groups and stuff -- easy way to make a quick buck, and there is no commitment than an hour or an evening.  Now I occasionally get phone calls and e-mails from either survey companies, taste test companies or actual, you know, companies that are interested in paying me to either drink something (I had to test brandy once), use something (such as a lawnmower), or talk about something (like giving out private information and how and why I determine who to give it out to, a very interesting focus group I was proud to be a part of a couple months ago).

Toro was the company that called me tonight.  But these companies usually don't just ask me to come in; they usually first have to ask screening questions to see if I'm eligible.  To this day I don't know what fucking answers guarantee me a spot in these studies and thus money I get for "working."  The only rule of thumb I think works is to say yes to questions that start off with, "Do you own ... ?"  I have given these ... organizations the perception that I am a homeowner that has bought every product under the sun.  I think I made the mistake of being honest and saying I did not own something, and thus was rejected.  Fuck that -- from now on I have bought everything under the sun and own every single thing Man has made.

So I did that with the litany of questions this Toro fellow asked me ... well, he gave me a list of four types of lawnmowers and asked me which ones I own, and I said I owned three of them.  He went on to the next question -- phew!

Yes, I own a chainsaw.  Sure, I own a string trimmer.  (I don't, but after mowing the lawn I have thought about getting one, no joke.)  But then he asked me if the trimmer is gas- or electricity-operated.  I said gas.

"Thank you.  Well, after asking these questions (something, something, dude's a mushmouth) a quota."  You're telling me I got rejected from a Toro survey?!?!?!  But I just fucking said yes to everything!!!  Actually, I didn't.  Maybe I should've said I own both gas and electric trimmers.  Or do you think I got rejected for saying I don't own that own type of lawnmower I said no too?

In any case the guy told me before he began interrogating me that I just had to come in one day next Thursday and I would get $65.  Or was it $85?  Whatever -- it ain't mine.

Fuck me, and fuck my life.

People Who Should Be Fired: Haircut Bitch That Took A Penny From Me

It's been more than three weeks, so it's about time I vent about this. ...

So there's a Fantastic Sams within walking distance from home.  Mother told me that men's haircuts are $7.99 there on Mondays.  I needed to get my 'do tight because that weekend was my cousin's wedding.  Totally makes sense to go.

I chat it up with a girl there -- she wasn't perky, but she wasn't a bitch, either.  Totally matter-of-face about clipping my hair.  That's alright -- been there, often am that way.

So I get done and give her the money for the cut, which, remember, is $7.99.  She breaks my $20, I think, and gives me back $12.  Twenty minuses $7.99 is $12.01, but she gave me a dozen dollars back, only.

I waited a few milliseconds to see if she realized her mistake.  I am nonplussed on the outside but feeling this wave of disrespect slowly roiling in me on the inside.  What did not help is what I perceive to be her attitude towards me after she gave me my change back.  She slammed close the register and gave me a terse "thank you" and just stared at me.

Yeah, I guess I should've asked if she forgot something, or even told her I wanted my penny.  Did she make a mistake?  From her attitude, I think not.  I really think that she was determined not to give me my penny.  Why not?  For the time being I'm going to cross off racism.  I think I may have cracked a stupid joke about her clipping off too much hair and then gluing it back on my head, to which she croaked out a "tuh" that signals acknowledgement and nothing more.  Honestly, that's the only thing I've got, that she thought I was a smartass and she wanted to teach me a lesson.

And you know that I couldn't just ask for my penny back in front of all the people at Fantastic Sams; that's be too weird.  So I gave her my two bucks anyway and left -- dazed, confused, and feeling like I was robbed.  Who cares if it's only a goddamn penny?  That's supposed to be mine.  And if she didn't think a penny's a big deal, don't advertise that haircuts are $7.99, because a guy would see that and expect to pay only $7.99, not eight bucks.  You put up a sign that says men's cuts on Mondays are eight bucks, I'll go, "Weird ... they're not advertising something with "-.99" on it.  And that's good, because they can keep that penny, because I don't need it."  Why is that different?  Because then I wouldn't feel like she owes me a goddamn motherfucking penny?!?!?!

I wish I had the balls to go through my receipts and find this bitch's name and call for her to be fired.  But I'm so goddamn broke that I might go back there on a Monday to get a haircut.  For $7.99!!!  I will say that I won't stand for this shit again.  If that bitch is there again, and I don't get the penny that I'm supposed to get back because they're not advertising this for eight bucks ... hide the women and children because I will go off.

The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey

#-1: Gopher volleyball (Re-Entry!).  The most criminally overlooked sport in the world -- women's volleyball -- cranked up in the NCAA this week.  Minnesota, ranked in the preseason AVCA poll at #16, probably won't win the championship this year.  But I still love the sport, and I nevertheless am intrigued at whether or not they will exceed, match, or fall short of their Sweet 16 appearance last year.

Of the 14 players on the roster, eight are new; I did not know they had such a veteran team last year.  Three of those eight are transfers.  One of them is from Wisconsin-Green Bay, and the other two come from Santa Clara, which is odd because I can't really tell why they would transfer.  The first thing I would think of is a coaching change, but the Santa Clara coach is entering his 14th year at the helm.

Whatever the case, I wonder about team chemistry with the Gophers.  Overarching all of this is the interim title of Laura Bush, in her second and last season basically care-taking the program.  I don't know if Hugh McCutcheon, who just took the U.S. women's volleyball team to silver in the Olympics in London earlier this month, will be breathing down her neck.  But will the current team be playing with one eye off to the side?  It is weird to what really is a lame-duck coach with so much talent.  It could go south in a hurry.

But at least they won their first two games of the season, both played on Saturday, in Harrisonburg, Va.  They actually lost the first six points of their game and dropped the second set against host and James Madison Invitational namesake, but won in four sets.  They then blitzed Appalachian St. in the nightcap, 10-14-19.

That's great to see them go 2-0, but I'm very surprised at the low caliber of competition the U. is playing to start off the year.  They began last year participating in the prestigious AVCA Showcase and then hosted Texas for a special two-game series Diet Coke Classic.  Now they're beating up on James Madison and Appalachian St.?  Is this to pad their record or because Bush doesn't believe this team can stand up to the titans of the college volleyball world?  The answer to that won't get any clearer when the Diet Coke Classic is held at the Sports Pavilion starting on Friday; the other teams in the tournament are Long Island, Miami of Ohio and Albany.

#-2: Gopher soccer (Last Week: -2).  Fast starts and late collapses are becoming an unfortunate hallmark of this team.  As they did in their season opener against Florida St., the Goofs got up 2-0 on at San Diego Friday night, only to surrender two second-half goals and then, in double overtime, lose the game on a corner kick.  Killer stat: The Toreros scored two converted on their five corners while the Goofs didn't score once off any of their 11.

But at least they won a game.  Go back to Sunday afternoon, where striker Taylor Uhl gave Minnesota a 1-0 lead on then-24th-ranked South Carolina at Robbie Stadium.  (Including the Seminole and Toreros games, Uhl has now scored within the first 20 minutes of all her team's contests so far this season.)  But mere seconds before halftime, a Gamecock rush and shot by Lani Smith hit off U. Goalkeeper Cat Parkill's hands, and the ball crossed the goal line just before the clock struck zeroes.

It was a horrible way to cough up a lead, but they didn't let in the game-loser in the second half.  In fact, just before the end of the first 10 minutes of extra time, a cross in the box founds its way from Haley Helverson's foot past 'Cocks Goalkeep Darien Vercillo (who's the backup; the regular 'keeper is Sabrina D'Angelo, but she currently has duties playing for Canada in the Under-20 Women's World Cup) for the win.  Minnesota has now beaten South Carolina, the defending SEC regular season champions, the two times they have ever met, both when the Gamecocks were ranked in the Top 25.

They travel to my alma mater, USC (which has its own pitch, McAlister Field, which was built the year after I left) to play a game this (Sunday) afternoon.  They then come home and play an early Labor Weekend game Thursday against Bowling Green.

#-3: Twins (Last Week: -1).  No, they didn't lose every game this screening week; it only feels like they did. They did open the week losing to Seattle (and thus completing getting swept), and they have lost five in a row to end the week.  Only a 7-2 "eruption" Monday in Oakland prevented this from being an 0-7 whitewash.

Nevertheless, they have lost 10-of-11 and, ick!, 14 out of their last 16 games.  And the losses this week haven't fucking even been close -- 5-1, 4-1, 5-1, 10-6, 8-0, and 9-3.  Those last three games were in Texas, so this very clearly is a case of a vastly superior team giving the Twinks a little bit of prison sex.  But even despite seeing Scott Diamond, the team's best pitcher this year, get thrown out of the game for inaccurately throwing a payback pitch near the head of Rangers slugger Josh Hamilton (after a frustrated Roy Oswalt buzzed a Twink the half-inning before), and then seeing Manager Ron Gardenhire run out of the dugout to argue with plate umpire Wally Bell before he too got tossed, it is obvious that this team has quit.  And that should piss off any Twins fan, any Minnesota sports fan, and any Twin Cities taxpayer whose money was taken to build this joke of a franchise a brand-new stadium they said would ensure they would compete for World Series titles in the future.

They'll try to avoid a four-game sweep at the hands of The Bastard Washington Senators v.2.0, then come home to Target Field (no, don't come back!) to play four with Seattle, then immediately hit the road again and be Kansas City's opponent over the weekend.

Thrown Out Of My Favorite Coffeeshop (Late-Night Division)

Just to let y'all know, the place I have often referred to in this blog as My Favorite Coffeeshop (Late-Night Division) was Uncommon Grounds.  "Was" because Friday likely was the last night I would ever step in there again.

Had a huge dinner with the fam, but because My Fucking Father woke me up 15 minutes before I planned to (covered that in my previous blog post) and then I felt irritated by my parents while helping for said dinner, I decided I needed to take off and get some coffee and Internet time by myself on a swingin' Friday night.

Uncommon Grounds -- again, the My Favorite Coffeeshop I've alluded to so many times because I didn't want to a) give it any illicit publicity and b) be bothered when I'm there -- is the place I went to because they're open until 1 on weekends.  Urban Bean closes way too early; I've been there only twice.  Bob's Java Hut closes at midnight and caters to bikers, which scares me.  Common Roots is a quasi-restaurant, and the one time I went there I had to hunt for a good 15 minutes for a plug for my laptop.  (Plus, they serve leftist food, and even though I'm generally a liberal, leftist food sucks.)  Spyhouse also closes at midnight and -- this will be considered blasphemy by Twin Cities coffee cognoscenti -- they have the rudest barista bitches in the area.  Fuck them.

I seem to be saying that Uncommon Grounds is the least of evils, and that's not the image I want to impart.  Their drinks are on the expensive side, sure, but at least they're good.  I like the atmosphere; the coffeeshop is a remodeled house.  Not too many people go there, so I often can just camp out in the upper floor and enjoy surfing in peace.  And the baristas there are all women, and they're very pretty, I must say.

However, one thing that has happened in recent years, and has gained steam this summer, is closing the upper floor.  Not too many people want to enjoy a cup of coffee during the summer, the baristas say, and it cuts costs to not need to air-condition the second floor.  I understand; sometimes I've walked out, sometimes I've been lucky enough to find a table with a socket next to it and do my business downstairs.

This changed for good tonight.  I was minding my own business when the owner came up to me and told me, "You can't use the computer here.  Starting next week we are banning computers, at least on the first floor."

What-what-what???  Why?  I had never thought it was a problem.  But he insinuated that singles with computers -- pathetic loners like me -- take up too much space.  Apparently laptops are allowed upstairs ... but only in groups.  I haven't gone to UG with someone since at least 2000, so I can't go upstairs, and since there's nothing else a pathetic loner like me can do at a coffeehouse besides lug his computer, I am banned from enjoying a cup of joe on the ground floor.  Which means I'm fucking banned.

The owner did say that I was allowed to use my computer for the Internet now.  One problem: The modem didn't work this night.  I was told by one of the cute baristas before being addressed by the owner that it was on the blink.  It is usually reliable but that has happened on occasion; now I kind of think the modem malfunction was deliberate.  And then, after "talking" with the owner (who always wears a ballcap for some reason) I saw the "No Computers Allowed" sign taped to the cash register.  It might have been there when I came in and I just ignored it.  But I took that as a sign that, really, I and my laptop are no longer wanted here.  I saw the sign after deciding to leave (I wanted to pour my coffee into a to-go cup); that sign confirmed I made the right decision.

So it's now Caffetto for me, the place I discovered on Vita.mn several months ago and find to be a funky place with left-of-center values.  This place is also open until 1, they just haven't banned singles with laps, at least not yet.  Plus, their drinks are a bit less expensive.  The big problem will be trying to find parking.  But I will be undaunted in trying to find a spot for a cheap way to spend a weekend night.

And fuck Uncommon Grounds.  I thought you were my safe harbor, but if you don't want me, I have no choice but to move on.  It's been real.

Fuck goddamn, My Fucking Father woke me up this morning.  He needed my car to go to the bank because Mother took the minivan to go to another bank with my sister.  And of course he fuckin' nagged at me again: "You need to get up and do something!"

NO I DON'T BECAUSE IT'S NOT IN THE GODDAMN CONTRACT, ASSHOLE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Oh my God, he's going to continue to do this, isn't he?  And it's going to get worse once The Store, uh, you know, isn't it?

Expenses Without Receipt

I am not sure why I continue to do this.  I thought this would be a great to both make sure I write down my expenses and to update my blog.  But my inertia has defeated those plans as well.  Oh well:

• Starting with Wednesday, August 1, I went to this party.  I basically lost my (financial) wad with the cover: $10.
• Afterwards, went to Diamonds.  Hadn't been to Diamonds for a long time.  In spring I went to these guys three, four times a week.  Coffee with tip, I think: $1.75.
• I then cooled my heels at My Favorite Coffeehouse (Late-Night Edition) till the coast was clear.  Like I blogged, it never became clear.  At least I got to surf on the Internet over a stable connection.  Coffee with tip: $2.
• Tuesday the 2nd ... coffee at the mall closest to me.  With tip: $1.50.
• Just to make sure, I'm going to put in the tickets I bought for me, my sister and brother-in-law for The Dark Knight Rises on IMAX: $54.
• Onto Saturday the 4th, where my sister and brother-in-law needed change after taking me out to a local place to eat lunch: $1.
• Sunday the 5th ... my sis and bro-in-law paid me back for the gasoline I needed to fill up the car that day.  Buddha bless them, I love them so.  An Infusion of: $55.
• On Monday the 6th I exercised at the community center: $3.
• I followed that up with a quick trip to the party close by.  This is the one where I flashed my ATF's friend and then they both ran away before I could escort them to their van.  At least ***e* reached into my pants to quickly grab my cock after our dance: $20.
• Tuesday the 7th I saw Total Recall.  Ugh, what shit.  Ticket, popcorn and pop: $8.
• I then cleansed my palate by having coffee at the mall closest to me.  Coffee with tip: $1.50.
• Same coffee at the same place the next day, Wednesday the 8th.  With tip: $1.50.
• Went to the Triple Rock to see the Dum Dum Girls concert.  Surprised I knew three songs when I only went just to hear "Bedroom Eyes."  Ticket, beer (which I think I paid more for than I should have) and tip: $18.50.
• Finished my night with a burger and fries at My Favorite Late-Night Italian Place.  With tip: $5.50.
• On Friday, August 10, to prepare for the wedding festivities, I went to the Moler Barber School to get a shave because the bathroom was being remodeled and I couldn't shower and shave in the same bathroom.  Nice guy, but he was a student, so he nicked me all over the place.  I left Moler bleeding.  I hope he learned something.  With tip: $7.
• Went to the Megamall.  Brother-in-law wanted Jamba Juice.  I gave him one of my 2,000 Jamba Juice coupons for a dollar off.  Sneaky bastard manning the cash register asked if he wanted to donate a dollar.  Well, I couldn't have him pay because that would ruin what the coupon was used for, to save a buck.  So I paid for one instead: $1.
• Open bar at the wedding.  Unfortunately I did not load up on ones.  I think I did load up on drinks, though, so even though it was much more than a dollar tip-per-drink and it completely emptied my wallet, I really didn't mind because of the occasion.  Ahem ... I put in the bartenders' tip jars: $11.
• Brother-in-law went back to Europe the next day, the 12th.  So we hung out for a bit before he went through security.  Graciously, they continued to pay for me as we sat for an impromptu lunch.  But I did pick up the tip of: 75 cents.
• After work I had coffee at Caffetto.  With tip: $1.75.
• Monday the 13th ... I found a penny!  Infusion of: 1 cent.
• Coffee (with tip) at the mall closest to me: $1.50.
• Tuesday the 14th was the day we shipped Grandmother to Hong Kong.  Holy shit, I never blogged about that, did I?  I wanted to forget.  And this day I tried to forget by working out: $3.
• And then I went to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Edition).  Got a dance from a girl I confided with about Grandmother for a long time, ********a.  I really couldn't spare the money, but hey, my life with the person in the family that took care of me the most is over, so who gives a fuck?  With tips: $26.
• To Wednesday the 15th ... I think I went to the U. to eat the lunch my parents prepared for me.  Went to the convenience store to get some pop: $1.08.
• Thursday the 16th I got the car a much-needed wash.  I remember switching pants and not having the few pennies to make change because I left my change in my other pants, so the cash register girl took some from the penny dish, thank God.  Anyway, I have the receipt for this, so I am going to only type out the tip: $2.

You know, I should stop.  Might as well keep the second half of these Expenses Without Receipt in my back pocket for a future blog post.  Caught up through the 16th.

My Fucking Father, that motherfucking asshole, woke me up, banging pots and pans in the kitchen.  He only did that to wake me up.  Since I thought they were staying home instead of going to The Store before picking up my sister, I had to wake up.  And then I was brushing my teeth My Fucking Father and Mother left for work.  Typical passive-aggressive behavior.

As soon as I heard and saw their minivan leave the driveway, I finished brushing my teeth and went back to bed.  Or tried to go back to bed.  I lolled around trying to pass out, and maybe I fell asleep between 11 and 11:30.

I showed him.  Maybe.

Really Bad Oil Leak

Drove back home from "work" today.  It actually was working out.  I felt fat last night and took one look at my gut and realized that even though I didn't want to waste gas and didn't plan on burning miles today, I had to work out.  I usually want to do it in the evening because that's when I feel like working out, but My Fucking Father has bitched too much about me exercising in the evening.  I didn't want to work out so early in the day, but one of the impediments, not having anything to watch, was removed when I checked TV schedules and saw that the Cubs game was on WGN, the Twins loss game was on Fox Sports North, and Chelsea was playing Reading in a rescheduled Premier League match in the afternoon.  I at least would have something to watch while retraining my body to not get fat.

Anyway, when I drove up to the driveway I noticed this fucking huge dark spot where I park my car.  It was about half the size of the car.  And it was the second time I saw this.  The first time was the time where the contractor (who I don't think is done with the house yet) wondered to me which car of ours did the huge pool of crap that his truck was then parked over.  I actually took out the hose and tried to wash away the stain, kind of like the times when I was an adolescent and had wet dreams, and I was so scared that I quickly went to the bathroom, took one of the face towels that weren't mine, and used it to wipe away the cum in my underwear.  I'm always trying to wash away the bad stuff.

And if I recall correctly ... well, first of all I think I tried washing down the driveway on Monday, and that's important because this now means this huge puddle happened two days (I think, it may have happened yesterday, I didn't pay any attention) after trying to clean away the first one.  If I recall correctly, most of the stuff did wash away; after evaporation and coming back on Monday (?) the big pool of leaky fluid was replaced by a smaller one.  I also ran my finger through the puddle; it looked clear and felt greasy.

And it's big again.  And, I could have looked away if I didn't, for reasons beyond me, I avoided parking right over the puddle.  Of course it wasn't going to go away if I hid it.  But right now I parked just to the left of the mess, so when my parents go to The Store tomorrow (if -- they're picking my sister up from the airport tomorrow) they'll see this goddamn huge pool of black shit on their beautiful driveway, like my car just pissed itself ... for a second time.

So I can't just look away and pretend it isn't happening anymore.  I have to take it to the shop.  As I said before, there are problems with the car losing as well as not retaining the fluids it needs to function.  I mean, it functions just fine.  But that's the other problem: That goddamn huge leak has to mean something, and at the very least it looks bad on the driveway.  Even though I wouldn't bother (besides checking under the hood a little more often), the perception from my parents would be to think that the car's breaking down.  And you know that would mean at least him harping on me to do something about it.

But I can't do anything about it because I'm goddamn broke.  I could have them look at it for leaks, plus the coolant overflow is still going empty every time I fill it up.  But what if they diagnose something?  I can't get it fixed.  And what if they need me to shell out, oh, $200 to test it?  Can't even pay for that.  And yet my folks think I can pay for it because I'm working all the fucking time.

Fuck, I am in a pickle.

I don't know what to do.

Goddamn, can't all of this just go away?

DON'T REMIND ME THAT THE STORE IS CLOSING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Right now The Store is in a limbo state.  That duality is depicted by my parents putting the open/close sign at the front door right in the middle.

I have been very fortunate, blessed even, that they have still gone to The Store even though they have largely shut many operations down.  I don't know what the hell they do out there, but they do something, and that means that they are out of the house and out of my hair -- well, whenever My Fucking Father doesn't wake me up.

There is still activity.  A couple weeks ago I had to pick up some goods for Mother and drop them off at The Store.  Twice since I had to drop by there, too.  Each time I did my usual OCD pattern of going up and down each of the three aisles, so I would criss-cross the old place six times.  There was no one there and the lights were turned off, but to me it still felt like The Store of old.  Before those times it had been at least a couple months since I saw it, and so I am glad that obligations took me to her.  And even though it's in a quasi-state, I still can say to myself, with only minimal self-delusion, that The Store is still open.

But yet I avoid questions about when it will end.  As I had feared, my sister and brother-in-law asked about its closing; despite me wanting to put my fingers in my ears and go "blah-blah-blah jedi mind tricks!!!" I heard something to the effect of, "soon."  Oh, and Mother invited my brother-in-law to take anything from The Store he wants, "because this time next year, no more."

And then there's tonight, when I came home from "work" (actually watching a free screening of Hit & Run, Dax Shepard's labor of love with a friend.  Quick review: It's a ramshackle, shaggy-dog car chase movie.  Story kind of lopes along, but it's funny and smart enough.  Tom Arnold puts in his second surprisingly memorable performance, years after True Lies).  Got called downstairs because Mother wanted to know if I e-mailed their Vegas condo's management company to change their mailing address.  Like he sometimes does, My Fucking Father believes it necessary to explain the entire backstory to me when they need something.  In this case it's the reason why they need me to get the address changed: "Because The Store is closing."

I paused to choke back what I really wanted to say, which was, "I know!" in that same whiny voice My Fucking Father always gives me.  I then, after taking a deep breath, calmly said, "I don't need to be reminded of that," to which I detected a wave of umbrage forming on My Fucking Father's face.

I don't know if they know how hard I'm taking its death, but they might have understood then.

I need to take each day The Store is "open" as a blessing.  But looking at the glass half-empty, it, and I, are living on borrowed time.

Headed into a temp agency today because I needed to update my account.  Had to go inside their office to have stuff done on a computer.  There are several workstations there, two of them filled.  I had an instant nightmare where one of them was Mother, who, in case I hadn't said it here yet, has filed for unemployment. I would have a lot of fucking explaining to do.  Fortunately, she wouldn't go into a temp agency because she doesn't want to work anymore ... or would she?

Just woke up from 90-120-minute nap.  Needed it after Mother bombarded me with questions I wasn't necessarily prepared to answer, then My Father ambushed with a request when I was flat-bang tired, and then Mother's laptop's icons and display was all big and stretched-out for some fucking reason.  Seriously y'all, I was about to lose it.  This could have gone south into an argument like the ones they use against me when they threaten to throw me out.  But thank Buddha they left me alone, at least for 90-120 minutes.

The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey

#-1: Twins (Last Week: -1).  I did not know that the WMNSS from two weeks ago would be the last WMNSS with only one team.  Gone are the Sundays where I can take a look at the Twins' schedule, automatically type a "#-1," write some shit about how bad the club is, and be done with it in ten minutes.  And if the Lynx don't win the WNBA title this year, those blissfully short blog entries will be gone for some time.

The Twinks, however, should be glad those dog days are over.  Because it gives them at least a 50/50 chance of not being the worst team on the survey.  They are this week, but barely.  They finish the week 1-5.  Only a 9-3 cubing at home to Detroit Monday prevented a completely winless screening week and, more importantly, the ass end of the WMNSS.  They are, however, the ass end of the American League.

Late Saturday night I heard that the Houston Astros, the team with the worst record in Major League Baseball, fired manager Brad Mills.  The Twinks have lost eight of their last nine and, if not already, are officially buried.  If Minnesota, who has a record of 50-69 as of end of day Saturday, was any other team, Ron Gardenhire would be fired after Sunday's game.  This is not his fault; ex-General Manager Bill Smith did an absolutely atrocious job stocking the farm system with good prospects, and it's coming home to roost with this shitty collection of "talent."  But it's convention for the leader of the team on the field to take the fall for his team's poor performance.  That not only is there no talk of Gardenhire being fired but the notion that the Pohlads would even consider shitcanning him is nonexistent is ... remarkable.

Twins try to avoid the sweep in Seattle Sunday afternoon.  The organization will then finish their three-series, A.L. West road trip with visits to Oakland and Texas.

#-2: Gopher soccer (Re-Entry!).  You probably didn't know it, but Friday essentially begins the college sports season.  I was not aware that the first sport to begin is women's soccer.  Call it First Kick, college version.  The NCAA should capitalize on this in some way, especially in the wake of the U.S. Women's National Team winning the gold medal in the Olympics last week.

Oh, too bad the Goofs lost.  And they lost in awful fashion.  I was at the game at Elizabeth Lyle Robbie Stadium (which is now abbreviated to just ELR Stadium in a lot of places -- when did this start, and who made that decision?) Friday night when the squad opened their season against 4th-ranked Florida St.  They went to the pitch with a brand-new Head Coach, Stefanie Golan, hired from Army.  Previous coach Mikki Denney Wright left so she could "devote more time to her family."  Maybe that's true.  Or maybe she was pushed aside.  I don't know why; she led the 2009 (?) team to the Sweet Sixteen, the furthest they've gone in the NCAA Tournament (I think), and if you're not a traditional power, you give someone who did that more time.  Whatever the case, Golan probably was hired because she has fielded some very good Golden Knight defenses, and Minnesota could have used some better D.

They certainly could have used some better D on Friday.  Amazingly, the U. had a lead early in the game -- in fact a 2-0 lead after goals in the fifth and sixth minutes.  They just needed to hold on and they would've beaten a top-5 team for the first time in program history.  But the Seminoles fought back and won the game off a corner kick late in regulation.  What a way to lose.  Oh well, they're not predicted to go anywhere anyway.

I will be attending their second straight non-conference game this (Sunday) afternoon against South Carolina, a team ranked 24th in the first NSCAA poll of the year.  When's the next time you're going to see women's soccer teams from the ACC and SEC coming up to Minnesota?  They will then travel to Southern California for the weekend for two, starting with the University of San Diego on Friday.

Another Bratty Bullshit Move By My Fucking Father

My Fucking Father woke me up at 10 this morning.  I answered the door and walked out to the kitchen to see what was going on.  "Wash your face, brush your teeth, do something, it's morning," My Fucking Father said.

This is only because he's bitter he had to go to work at The Store today.  He doesn't want to work these days -- I doubt he ever wanted to -- so if he has to wake up, I have to wake up.  What a fucking baby.

I may have had an inkling of his juvenile behavior last night.  When I came home he went upstairs to get something to eat, and for some reason he wouldn't step around me as I was taking off my shoes.  The guy's a brat, I'm telling you.

I lost it when he woke me up for that "reason," so instead of doing what he said -- I'm 36, asshole! -- I went straight back into my bedroom.  But then I remembered: I can't afford to move out.

This has nothing to do with the contract.  Even though My Fucking Father might think it does, as far as he knows, I'm working.  I have to wake up 9:30 every morning if I don't have a job.  But I do.  Actually I don't, but he doesn't fucking know that.

But he thinks he does, and so he thinks he can bully me into doing what he wants me to do.  And that pisses me off ... but then I remember: I can't afford to move out.

I'm kind of in a bind.  I wanted to go back to sleep, but my (rightful) act of anger and defiance to his bullshit move could cause a fight and make My Fucking Father say he wants me out of the house.  I'm know I'm right, but there's nothing I can fucking do.  It makes me mad to no end, but those are the facts.

So I try to smooth things over by calling My Fucking Father an hour after waking me up.  A few days ago he asked me to stay home because the contractors would finishing up the living room and upstairs bedroom.  I called him to tell him that they didn't come over yet.  There is no real reason why I had to call, but I needed to gauge his attitude after what he pulled on me this morning.  He was calm, even friendly.  I'll take that, but he could certainly turn around and be an asshole when I come home in an hour or so.

In the meantime I had to, in his words, do something.  I mowed the lawn, which is something I planned on doing, even though the grass is dying and too short to mow anyway.  I also washed the plants' leaves, for lack of a better phrase.

However, I decided to just fucking leave the pail of water I used to wash the leaves in front of the pots.  It's my passive-aggressive way of letting My Fucking Father know I did work, just not the work of cleaning up after myself.  I'll dump the water when I get home ... unless My Fucking Father can't take it and does it himself.

Oh, and when I showered after I mowed the lawn I had to use my parents' shower because the upstairs shower still isn't completely finished.  Also, they use a t-shirt for a bath mat.  Fuck that, that is philistine.  I've had to shower down there for the past week, so I remembered to take my own towel.  But this time I forgot, and because I'm still pissed at My Fucking Father, I decided to use their bath towel as a bath mat instead.  Just put it down on the floor next to the shower, and when I was done I hung it back up.  Fuck it, they don't have to know.

All the time I have to make sure I don't blow up this whole situation just because My Fucking Father wants to be bitter and dare me.  So for the past few hours I've been repeating this koan to myself: "I can't afford to move out ... I can't afford to move out ... I can't afford to move out. ..."  Pray for me.

Can I Make A Table?

You know, I've wanted to do this for a long time.  It's time.

Can I make a table?  It's one of the things I learned when learning HTML way back in a freshman class in 1994.  I might use it again here.  But let's see if it works, because I can no longer use HTML to make a table when I blog on MySpace.

Here goes:

row 1, cell 1	row 1, cell 2
row 2, cell 1	row 2, cell 2

It works!

Addendum To: Now I Am Officially Broke

I forgot to mention my car.  It's breaking down again.

The big things that's happened is the ever-metastasizing pool of fluid in the driveway where I park my car.  I've had leaks for a long time, they were just inconspicuous because I always parked it in the garage.  Now that is being inhabited by Mother's new Benz and a Porsche Father is still trying to fix.

I have noticed that the dark spots on the driveway have gotten larger over the past weeks.  But one day earlier this week the fucking thing grew like a weed.  Father woke me up and took my car out for something.  When I checked the driveway to see if he was gone, what I saw instead was this huge pool of ... car effluvia.  Worse yet, I thought I could catch from the sunlight reflection of what appeared to be a mound of fluid, as if the oil or transmission fluid or antifreeze didn't just evaporate but there was so much spilled that there is some that still need to evaporate.

I didn't think it was a big deal until I realized that I was ruining the driveway.  It is my parents', and it certainly isn't mine to make ugly.  It is an eyesore, and I want to be responsible in stopping this.  But I can't tell them I don't have the money to fix the car, and there's certainly no way I can literally clean up the dark spots on the driveway.

Moreover, I'm pouring fluids into my car just as fast as it's going out of my car.  A while ago my car began making noises when steering.  I was afraid it was mechanical, but when I checked under the hood I saw the power steering tank empty.  It was the first time I ever had to refill the power steering container.  But I've done it a lot lately, including Tuesday and today.  Moreover, the coolant tank (which I have refilled from time to time over the years) was dead-empty for the second time in the past three days.  I thought that the reason may have been my air conditioner; lately it's been making a very guttural noise after operating for a while, and even after it stops I hear what I can only describe as a 3-D sound accompanying the engine.  But I made a point of keeping the A/C off (although I turned the fan on) yesterday and I still had to fill it up.

My plan, because I'm broke, is to baby the thing until my parents really bitch about it.  They think I make enough money to fix this, so I can't tell them what I'm really planning on doing.  Unless it's just a bad hose or clamp, I don't have the money I'll probably need to pay to get this repaired.  And think about this: There's a good chance the two problems I just described, the leaks and the filling of the fluids, are two separate issues.  My new mechanic has told me that there are oil leaks, and yet I have to fill up the tranny and steering fluids.  What if I need to deal with both?

Today when I was doing my checks Father came out.  He was worried about the car and mentioned, "The car is very old now."  And for the first time I totally agree with him.  There is another car, the M-B SUV, that was supposed to be my sister's, in storage.  Should I even bother to fix this?  And would I even have the money to fix it if I wanted to?

Fuck my life.

Now I Am Officially Broke

It's been a month since I last spoke to the state about me not adding my PCA job to my unemployment reapplication.  Then I was told to wait between one and three weeks.  Since I had not heard from the state, either online through my account or through the mail, I surmised one of two things -- they had not gotten around to my app, or they had already rejected it.  Obviously, I am much more worried about the latter scenario.

And unfortunately I was right.  I called this afternoon in the safe confines of the roomy study room in the Ramsey County Library about ten minutes away from me.  Turns out they did receive all the PCA addition.  But it didn't matter, and all the wages I got taking care of Grandmother will not count towards me getting dole money.  According to the state (and doing my best to decipher what the woman told me), helping a relative of mine does not count.  Just helping a relative disqualifies me from getting unemployment from my PCA job.  If I was helping a stranger, I guess it would be fine.  But because she's "related" to me, it doesn't count.

Even though I lean left, for some reason I blame Governor Dayton for this.

So my agony over forgetting to add my PCA job when I sent it online just under the 6 p.m. deadline on Friday of the week I had to tell the state I was out of a job was moot.  It wouldn't've mattered if I told them about this or not -- it would not have counted.  And to think I would've gotten insurance because I paid into a job.

So I am stuck with the weekly benefit I got from the beginning: $122, minus anything I get through work.  It's obvious that's shit money I can't live on, so I've been mentally trying to find ways to spend my day without spending money.  I try to stick to that mantra, but then ... oh, I'll give Monday as an example -- I went out to the coffeeshop at the mall closest to me and, instead of getting just coffee, which I always get, but I took them up on the sign they put out and ordered some eggs, scrambled, and I got some cheese put on there for an extra 50 cents.  That and the coffee (with tip) cost a total of $4.  That might be chump change, but I usually spend only $1.50 there.  I justify it because I have constantly overheard that the place is going to close at the mall and reopen at the U., so I have to try and take them up on their eggs soon.  But that's, what, $2.50 I could use to spend somewhere else ... such as paying down my mountainous credit card bill.

So now I'm fucked.  My checking account is going to be decimated no matter how much I cut back -- and I don't think I will because cutting back means I'm staying home, and staying home means I'll have to talk to my parents, gulp, during the daytime.  I really do need to find a job, but until then, I'm a sitting fucking duck.

Every week I'll be rationing the money I get on the dole.  I'll have to take out all the money I get from the state and hope that I have some left over, even though that has never happened.  Something always comes up, like filling up my tank of gas, or buying your cousin wedding gifts, or something that happened when I came back home late this afternoon, getting a bill from the storage company saying the rent on my unit is due at the end of the month.  And this is on top of all the credit card charges I have made.

I don't know what to do.  I really don't know what to do now.

Let's Try This Embedding A Music Video Thing Again

Sorry to dig up old bones, but I didn't realize until several days after I posted a video in a blog post that it didn't show up.  And when I fixed it, I didn't say I fixed it.  I feel bad about that and want to put a little more effort into letting everybody know what I wanted to write about.

Anyway, here is a live studio recording of The Band Perry doing an acoustic version of their biggest hit to date, the beautiful "If I Die Young":

Expenses Without Receipt

Starting with Friday, July 20th:

• Went to My Favorite Coffeeshop (Late-Night Edition).  With tip: $2.
• Then I went -- or maybe I went here first, I don't remember -- My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Version).  Got a dance from my girl, uh, ********a.  Uh.  Coffee and tips and dance: $28.
• On Saturday the 21st I had an alumni club event to go to.  I had to pay for a helium tank, and the president paid me back.  An Infusion of: $21.16.
• Went to the Stone Cold Creamery (I know it really is the Cold Stone Creamery, but I like to think that "Stone Cold" Steve Austin made the ice cream company) at the Megamall and cashed in on the punch card I filled up.  Because the ice cream is free, I indulged in three toppings instead of one.  Paying for two of the toppings (the first one is free with the punch card) and tip: $1.75.
• To Monday the 23rd.  Went to the coffeeshop at the mall closest to me for coffee.  With tip, a quarter more this time probably because the girl helping me overcharged me for something else: $1.75.
• Dinnertime, Father paid me back for FedExing packages for him.  An Infusion of: $70.
• Tuesday the 24th, I went for coffee at this mall, with tip: $1.50.
• Had another alumni club event on Wednesday the 25th.  I paid for some Target gift cards which were prizes for this event.  So the president paid me back, in cash.  An Infusion of: $20.
• Afterward I went to Caffetto.  Coffee plus tip: $1.75.
• On Thursday, the 26th, I went to work out.  Admission costs: $3.
• On the bench in the lockerroom I found some loose change.  I'll take it.  An Infusion of: 31 cents.
• Friday the 27th: I received several new crisp dollar bills with consecutive numbers.  I love those: It means I'm the first person to ever use them.  And by God, I'll be the last one to use them, because even though I had to use one of (I think) the four I got, I kept the rest for safe-keeping.  Because they deserve to retain their virginity.  They are in storage -- where they are: $3.
• Saturday the 28th, active night.  First I went working out: $3.
• I think I then went for Late-Night Coffee (with tip): $2.
• Then I went stripclubbin'.  Just coffee and tips: $10.
• Finally I went to My Favorite Late-Night Italian Place.  But because I already ate and I have no money, I think I just ordered a burger and fries.  With tip it's a much lesser amount than I usually pay: $5.25.
• On Sunday the 29th, after visiting Grandmother, I finally hit a rather popular ice cream shop in St. Paul, Izzy's.  It just so happened that it was their 12th anniversary that day.  I didn't know that if you ordered at least a regular ice cream, they would top it off by giving you a small scoop of any other flavor of ice cream you like.  It's as if your ice cream has a little hat.  But, because it was their birthday, Izzy's celebrated by giving everyone, regardless of size and type, a free scoop (which they called an "Izzy").  So, since I got a regular ice cream, I got one regular scoop of ice cream with two different mini-scoops on top!  What a deal.  And great-tasting ice cream, too.  All total, with tip: $5.25.
• Topped off the night at Caffetto.  Coffee and tip: $1.75.
• Worked out Monday the 30th: $3.
• Tuesday the 31st: I "worked" at a study at the U.  It was the last of a three-session, three-week experiment, so I got paid (an Infusion) of: $20.
• Did I work out this night?  I didn't write it down.  What I did write down is another ice cream shop in Uptown.  With tip: $3.75.

I need to go.  Caught up through the end of July.

T-1

OK, wish us luck.  We are going to ship Grandmother off to Hong Kong today.

I apologize for not coming clean earlier; I've known about this for some time.  But it hurt to know that her son has decided (possibly with some coercion by our parents) that it's best if she came home to live (or be near) him and her blood family.  Cannot argue with that.  Hell, I don't know why they haven't seen her in a decade, let alone how come she has lived apart from them for 35+ years.

Also, we tried shipping her to Hong Kong once before, about a month ago.  What a fucking disaster that was.

It started on a Friday around dinnertime, when Father, out of the blue, said that Grandmother was leaving for good Tuesday.  You just think of that, pops?  It was after we failed that My Father told me this was suddenly thrown on his lap by her son, who I think told My Father that he bought a ticket for her the morning before he told me.

This was a half-ass operation from the start.  Father and I went to the nursing home with only a black leather bag; this carry-on-size satchel was the only thing Grandmother was going to take with.  It was going to be filled with her medication as well as instructions, so there was some space for clothes and other sundry items from her room, which Father packed.

Grandmother, for her part, acted like she didn't know what the fuck was going on.  She may very well might not have known, but I believe Father when he said he told her she was going on this day.  She was no help, just looking around while Father was stuffing her bag with things she may or may not have needed and I was listening to the nurses tell me where the insulin syringes, which Grandmother should inject herself, would be.

We threw her into my car without saying a proper farewell to the nursing staff and fellow residents, to which Grandmother had expressed different thoughts about them every single time I dropped by to visit her.  For example, I once asked her if she liked it in the home, and she said no.  But then the nurse told me that they told her that morning that she was leaving for Hong Kong and she said that the nursing home was her home.  She could be playing possum -- or, she is going mentally.

---

Grandmother was confused as soon as we got out of the car and into the airport.  Is a sign of dementia asking questions about stupid things every single minute, like a seven-year-old?  Because that's what she did.  Kind of can't blame her, though; if she didn't remember she was going on this trip, this would be like when My Fucking Father took her straight from the doctor's to the home on March 28 -- namely, confused about where the hell she is and what the fuck is going on.  If that were me, I'd be asking dumb questions too.

Not everything was going smoothly.  I made sure I went on the Internet to Google "vulnerable adults flying alone" to make sure I could deal with every contingency, and I called the airline to make sure of her itinerary and to get a wheelchair for her, which only came at the ticket window when I asked for one.  The nurse gave me a sleeping pill that I needed to give Grandmother before she got on the flight so she wouldn't act a fool.  I forgot it in the car, then got lost finding the parking ramp where I parked my car.

I was given a special pass to go through security.  But there was a potential problem with the TSA agent screening the IDs.  For some fucking reason, when Grandmother's real son booked her ticket, he put her name down as something I have never seen before.  Not only isn't the first name a name I ever remember Grandmother using, but it wasn't a name at all.  It was a random jumble of letters.  I think there were a double "m" and a double "u."  I think the first name could've been "Rum Tum Tugger," like from Cats.  The TSA agent looked at her passport, then her boarding pass ... and then both again before shrugging and letting her through.  He must've figured two things: 1) I was with her and my name matched up; and 2) if someone as infirm as Grandmother in a wheelchair really is a terrorist, well then, this world isn't worth saving.

Fucking Grandmother was yammering the whole fucking time, even as I was fielding calls from my now-antsy Father waiting on the other side of security.  I gave her her anti-anxiety pill, and then I told her to shut up as I was concentrated on My Father's call or getting someone to assist her through the jetway and into the plane.  I got one last picture with her; the airport worker was able to get both of us in the shot, but we were small heads in a long-range photo.  She kissed me goodbye as I let the wheelchair handlebars go.  As I saw this big burly man push his way through the throng trying to board the aircraft, I saw her (and heard her, all the way) leave, possibly for the last time.

---

But it wasn't.  I have to admit, I really thought that she was going to make it.  That anti-anxiety pill would put her in a daze for the whole 15 hours, then the airline would attend to her as she stayed in Narita, and then there'd be a 2 1/2-hour flight to Hong Kong, and there she'll be greeted by her son and the grandchildren and great-grandchildren she has never seen, I thought.

How could I be so wrong?

I found through Internet searches that I had to stay at the gate until the plane left, just in case something happened to Grandmother.  So I stayed there, for a long time, despite My Fucking Father calling me three goddamn times and telling me I could go when the doors closed.  The doors closed soon after everybody boarded, but no fucking way was I going to listen to some chickenshit tell me I don't have to responsible and make sure all the "i"'s are dotted before leaving.  And I sure as hell wasn't going to drive out of the airport only for My Fucking Father get a call that Grandmother was thrown off the plane and that we had to pick her up again.

So I waited -- not too long, about 45 minutes.  Then, maybe 20 or 30 minutes after the posted time of departure, one of the other people hovering around the gate motioned to me.

"Is that your Grandmother?" he asked, pointing through the double doors that led to the hallway and the jetway.  There, at the end of the jetway, was Grandmother, looking around all dazed and confused.

She was thrown off the plane.  For one thing, Grandmother wouldn't sit the fuck down.  According to the airline gate agents (who were in turn told by the attendants of that flight), she would ask the flight attendant where her passport was.  When they found it for her, Grandmother would ask one of them again where her passport was.  Also, she stood up and started fucking around with the panel above them, the one where all the buttons and lights are and where the oxygen mask supposedly is housed.  They said that Grandmother really was trying to pry that thing open because she was going to put her passport in there, for safe-keeping.

But, and this is how I read this, the main reason she was thrown out was because of the instructions the flight attendants found in her bag.  The nurses were really nice in laying out all the information about Grandmother that someone in charge (that someone eventually being her new doctor in Hong Kong) would need in order to provide treatment for her without losing a step.  But one of the instructions, glued right in the front of a manilla envelope, said that the two pre-loaded syringes encased in dry ice in her bag had to be injected at some point during the flight over the Pacific.  Flight attendants couldn't administer the shots for Grandmother because they're not trained nurses and they can't be liable.  And when they asked her if she could do it to herself, apparently she said she couldn't.  So that's the main reason she was kicked out.

So I wheeled her back through security.  And we threw her back into my car and drove back to the house.  But as they made their way back inside, he asked, "Where's the bag?"  In his disgust with the failure of this plan, he got Grandmother out of the wheelchair and into the car without getting the bag sitting in a basket underneath her.  So we had to fucking drive back to the airport, where it only took My Fucking Father four minutes to go Lost and Found and retrieve the bag.

---

So onto Plan B.  Grandmother needed to be accompanied overseas.  I would have done it, but as My Fucking Father went through all the Playboys in my nightstand drawer as he threw me into Grandmother's old bedroom, he also packed away my passport, so now I don't know where the fuck it is.  In a sorry bit of serendipitous timing, my sister and brother-in-law had planned to come home, my sister for the entire month of August.  She could now use the time she would have spent vegging out here (she had plans to see Grandmother every other day, for example) to take an impromptu trip to Hong Kong.  Not only would she be able to see her off, she could also sneak in some time to see friends and family.  And all of this would be paid for by Grandmother's son.

The nurses wanted my sister to come to the home a couple times, to communicate Grandmother's medical needs and to have her inject Grandmother to make sure she knows what she's doing.  That shot "class" was Monday morning, and she took some time to prepare the bag for her as well try and make Grandmother remember she is leaving.  I don't know if any of it is going to take, but I still think our failure was in not being honest with her about the transition from the nursing home to Hong Kong.

Nevertheless, one of the nurses there think it won't work, that Grandmother will fucking freak out again and get the both of them thrown off the plane.  I hope that doesn't happen, if only because this is a plan we're trying to execute.  But after seeing Grandmother be uncooperative the first time, I say it's 50/50 they make it to Hong Kong.  Whatever happens, I once again will wait (this time at the unsecured side of the airport since I think I won't be allowed to wheel her in because my sister could do that) and make sure that the plane takes off before I hightail it and run.  And then I will say a prayer for both my sister and Grandmother.

---

I've seen her six times in the last 11 days.  It's me attempting to make up for all the days I didn't visit her.  I don't think that, in all the times I saw her when she was at the home, that I had a 100% lucid conversation with her.  She would have her good days, but then she would have some where she would constantly talk about going home, or worse, money.

I never felt like crying after I dropped by to visit.  Maybe I'm cold-hearted.  But whenever I see her, it seems to me that even though the body is there, much of her mind is gone, taken over by urges to live back at home with us, or her greed.  That is sad.  But then I remember the time she openly accused me of taking my checkbook from her last year.  And I still think that was the tipping point, the time where, even though I still think we could have handled her here, I was OK with seeing her gone.  I guess that was the time I really started saying goodbye to her.  And even though I will be sad, I think a part of me believes this is best.

The plan this time around, the difference between last time and this time, is my sister.  Having a familiar face holding Grandmother's hand throughout this whole 15+-hour trip might be the very thing that calms her down enough to behave.  But just in case I suggested that she keep Grandmother's passport, so that when she asks for the third time in an hour where it is, she can just show her.

This is going to be a huge test for my sister.  I really doubt she's going to get any sleep on either flight on the way to Hong Kong.  She will have to assuage Grandmother's every crazy utterance and confused question, and she'll need to look after her because there's a chance she'll start wandering around the plane.  Grandmother might -- might -- even try and open up one of the doors while in-flight, but that just might be paranoia talking.

We'll see how it goes.  Either Grandmother's indomitable spirit and demented brain brings another huge plan to get her to safety crashing down in flames, or tomorrow could be the last time I ever see the most important woman in my life (and yes, I include in that declaration Mother, who, BTW, has not lifted a finger to help get Grandmother to HKG).  I'll let y'all know.

Two Things I Hope To Remember, But Probably Won't:

1. That gray suit that I wore to my cousin's wedding on Saturday?  Don't wear them again.  In fact, probably sell and/or give it away.  Too goddamn small for me.
2. The next time I'm working in the tube, make sure I don't wear a shirt with a collar.  I wore one late this afternoon, and while I wasn't as hot as I was afraid I would be, things would go a lot smoother if I didn't wear one from now on.

How In The Fuck Did I Charge $950 Dollars Last Month?!?!?!

I am perpetually afraid of looking at my credit card statement online, but eventually I have to face the music and pay it or else I'll get dinged on my credit score and the card company will jack up my interest rates.

I was hoping last month's bill would be small.  I didn't work, so I knew I had to cut back on stuff, so I tried to not go anywhere.  Little matter: I somehow charged a fucking grand onto my card.

Worst of all, I tried to cut out what I considered "superfluous discretionary costs," things I went out of my way to charge just because.  I know myself, and try as I might, I will occasionally charge something for coffee, or the run to Hooters.  There aren't a whole lot of those "superfluous discretionary costs," and knocking those off knocked the statement to only $650.

That means that, whatever I could have done, I would have still charged $650 onto my credit card for the month.  Of course that's a fucking lot more than I make, especially now that I'm unemployed.  How in the fuck does that happen?

I can't do anything else but continue to tighten the belt.  Don't drive around so much; maybe then I only need to fill up every two weeks instead of one.  Don't go off for coffee so much.  And put off things like a new battery for my laptop, or new prescription sunglasses that I've been wanting, or industrial, steel-toed Doc Martens that I can slip my orthopedic soles into.

Unfortunately, a huge "superfluous discretionary cost" is coming: Paying for hotel and car rental for my trip to St. Louis late next month.  Honestly, money is so tight right now I'm thinking of either postponing or outright canceling the trip.  I just don't have the cash to spend right now.

Fuck my life.

The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey

#-1: Twins (Last Week: -1).  I thought that the massive beatdown on Tsuyoshi Nishioka was overblown and, in latent socio-psychological way, was fed by racism, as in that it was easier to come down on T-Nish because he was Japanese.

I still believe that some haters want to hate him because of that, but I admit now that I'm largely wrong: Nishioka is awful.  The sportscasts correctly said that storyline was the most important development coming out of Wednesday's 6-2 loss at Cleveland, a defeat that allowed the Indians to break their long losing skid.  He had three errors in the game, including a fantastic stop-turned-what-the-fuck-were-you-thinking? glove-hand flip that was so far off second base it pulled the shortstop off the bag, and a throw to home from a dribbler just past the mound that was also errant and scored a run.  And the sports anchors said that he continues to fail in the basics of fielding, such as getting to the right base at the right time and being the cutoff man.  I didn't witness these gaffes personally, but if that's true, that's inexcusable.

This guy came to the Twinks after winning the batting title in Japan.  Are you to tell me that Japanese baseball doesn't use the cutoff man, or is vastly different from the way Americans field?  Nishioka was called up from AAA Rochester because Trevor Plouffe was injured.  It's possible (maybe it's even happened already) that he'll be sent down because Plouffe is expected to be back soon (if not now).  I, and probably many other fans, wouldn't mind if he stays there for the rest of his career.

You could say that Nishioka's fuck-ups are the reason for their current three-game slide and a bad end to their 2-4 screening week, one that had so much promise despite giving up the series sweep at Boston Sunday because they dispatched Cleveland in back-to-back games.  Or maybe the fact that a certifiably good club like the Tampa Bay Rays could come into Target Field this weekend and double-up the hometown nine by scores of 12-6 and 4-2 is more verifiable evidence of how this organization sucks, without T-Nish's "help."

They will now try to avoid the sweep at the hands of the Bay Rays this (Sunday) afternoon.  They then host the other really good team in this week-long homestand, Detroit, starting on Monday before flying out to Seattle to start a series there Friday.

#-2: Gopher volleyball (Re-Entry!).  I could imagine the splash page of Gophersports.com.  Hugh McCutcheon coaches the U.S. women's volleyball team to their first Olympic gold medal in history ... and in 2013 he'll be coaching the Gophers!!!  What a way to generate buzz for a non-revenue sport.  Even Norwood Teague would have to stop glad-handing boosters for football in order to give him and the program some dap.

Alas, it was not to be.  The Americans were spanked soundly by the Brazilians in yesterday's (Saturday's) gold-medal game in London, destroying the Samba Girls 25-11 in the first set before getting run off the court 17-20-17.

I need to put this in perspective, because I got caught up in all the hype that this team's first-ever gold was inevitable.  It wasn't; only the media (specifically the broadcasters of NBC, who, somehow, have been the target of rightfully-deserved criticism after not suffering such a fusillade of heckles Olympics prior) that said that they were.  The U.S. team was considered the top-ranked country in the world, according to a respected worldwide volleyball organization.  But Brazil was #2.  I wanted the American team to win, and yes, they should have.  But it wasn't supposed to be a complete shock to lose to an excellent team as well as the defending Olympic Champion.  And Sports Illustrated's Brian Cazeneuve, for one, predicted Brazil would beat the U.S.  Should've listened to him.

The chatter from the volleyball fans on volleytalk.proboards.com are coalescing towards some conclusions about the loss: the Brazilians, in particular Jaque, played out of their minds; indoor Olympic stalwart Logan Tom and, to a lesser extent, Penn St. legend Megan Hodge were the only Americans really playing well; the hitters, led by Destinee Hooker, were just not hitting; setter and captain (and Minnesota alum) Lindsey Berg was having a bad game passing; Berg got hurt in a pool play game and wasn't 100%; and poor blocking.  Yes, poor blocking is coming up a lot.

This defeat obviously relates to the U. volleyballers because the coach of this gold medal-losing team will be coaching them a year from now.  I'm guessing he'll start to turn an ear to the program this year, however.  McCutcheon is weathering some criticism over this defeat because he was the coach of course -- didn't adjust in-game, not replacing Berg, not doing the frontline/backline substitutions like he did in the past, even picking the wrong players for the Olympic roster -- and those criticisms carry over to a college program.  You could say that he nonetheless has been successful, and you'd be right: He did win a gold medal ... coaching for the men's volleyball team in the 2008 Beijing Games.  I'm sure there are no Caster Semenyas on the Gopher v-ball squad.  What would have been the best advertising the U. volleyball program has ever had turns into a disappointing non-story, one that comes with the silence common in a sport people are only interested in every four years and will be put back on the shelf unless it results in gold.  Is the best we can expect from the runner-up coach in the Olympics a runner-up finish from the Goofs in the NCAA tournament?  Been there, done that.

May I Indulge In A Negative Thought?

I'm in the middle of a two-day wedding, and ugh, I ate so much last night.  We're going to do the same tonight.

Great food, but I'm already paying for it.  Don't remember feeling full right after waking up, but I just did.

I need to hit the gym.  But then I remember My Fucking Father bitching at me a couple weeks ago when I said the same thing: "Don't stay out too late. One hour, two hours, enough!"  Yeah, like an asshole who gave me his gut should tell me when I've exercised enough.  I don't think I can even work out anymore because all he does is fucking complain about it.

Blowing off steam because he gave me The Eye when I tried to leave last night's dinner with the table's unopened liter of Coke.  We needed the Coke, guys.

Expenses Without Receipt

I don't know why I'm still doing this.  This is not working out as I thought it would.  I haven't updated my expenses since the 8th of July.  This makes no sense.

Oh well, I keep going:

• Monday the 9th, I wound up at the coffeeshop at the mall before heading home.  Cup of java, with tip: $1.50.
• After visiting (trying to visit?) Grandmother, I went to Caffetto for more coffee.  With tip: $2.
• Don't know how I spent the next two days not pulling cash out of my wallet, but on Thursday the 12th, I went to the coffeeshop at the mall closest to me again.  With tip: $1.50.
• Did I exercise that night?  Probably did.  Went to My Favorite Coffeehouse (Late-Night Edition) afterward.  With tip: $2.
• Only two transactions on Friday the 13th, both of them putting money into my pocket.  Did a study at the U.  An infusion of: $5.
• Then, around dinnertime, My Father paid me back for helping him send this continuous wave of packages that were being sent to him.  Gosh, sending stuff is expensive.  An infusion of: $45.
• Saturday the 14th: Took out some PCA money.  An infusion of: $50.
• That evening I went to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Division).  Finally made good on my 2-for-$30 dance promise from Krystal.  With tips: $36.
• Sunday the 15th ... after visiting Grandmother, I went to an ice cream shop I read about on Vita.mn -- Conny's Creamy Cone.  Like it a lot; they use soft-serve, like Dairy Queen.  Even better, these guys are cheaper than most of the other ice cream shops I've been to this summer.  With tip: $2.75.
• And then I went to Caffetto.  Iced mocha with tip: $4.25.
• On Monday the 16th, I dropped off my parents, who went to Laughlin for free.  I went to My Favorite Stripclub (Cover Division) later that evening.  I feel bad that I do not remember how much I spent.  There was a 2-for-1 deal that I cashed in on, and of course there's the usual tips.  I got dances from my ATF, Claudia ... ten of them.  I remember ten because she had to go immediately up on the stage after dancing in front of me, and I told her that to get on the stage as soon as you could, I'll just give her the $100 I owed her from the tip rail.  I also wanted to that just to show off to the other tippers that I had and gave two $50s.  Nevertheless, this amount is a total guess: $150.
• To Tuesday the 17th, and even though the 'Rents were gone, I decided to work out at the community center anyway.  Price of admission: $3.
• I then went to another stripclub.  Cover, drink, a few tips, and a dance with a hot girl named ***a, at whom I whipped my dick out.  Total: $38.
• I don't remember if I got a receipt when I went to the Science Museum Thursday the 19th.  But I'll just put it down here anyway: Admission to the exhibitions and the Omni Theater show cost me only: $8.

Ah hell, I'll just stop here.  Caught up to the 19th.

Do You Know How Paranoid I Am?

Remember I was talking about shopping with family on Sunday?  I thought the reason I had to go on this long trip watching other people buy stuff was because, get this, my family was going to take my 19-year-old car away from me.

After eating at Five Guys, we split up.  My sister, brother-in-law, sister-in-law and nephew-in-law went in my brother's SUV.  My brother, for some reason, took my car.  I didn't really need to go shopping, so I was cool doing whatever my brother was doing, or not doing.  But he said, "I suggest you go with them."

After walking around and finally finding the mall restroom, it occurred to me why my brother told me to go with them while washing my hands: He was in cahoots with my parents to dump my car.  It was so obvious: My folks recently bought a brand-new car, a Mercedes-Benz, and they put it in the two-car garage, ejecting another car to the outside -- a Mercedes-Benz SUV.  It was bought in 2000 and was going to be my sister's car until she decided to move out-of-state.  Nevertheless it's newer and has a lot less mileage than my car.  So, to move a car out and open up some driveway space, I imagined my parents telling my brother and sister to take me out on Sunday and separate me from my car so my brother would, like, sell it or immediately take it to the junkyard.  I'd come back home and the 'Rents would tell me that the M-B SUV was my new car.  And I would be apoplectic, so damn pissed off that I would never talk to them again.  And that contract that lets me stay home?  I'd rip that up and do whatever the fuck I wanted.  Because they had no right to just steal my car away from me, even if it technically is their car.

I was so certain that that happened that I kept my distance from the four people I was with, the people I believed were conspiring against me.  I wasn't the friendliest person that day -- this might not make any sense, but this weekend I realized that I get so fat I get angry, if you know what I mean -- but thinking I would lose my pet car forever just put me on bitch-face for the rest of the afternoon.

Of course, when we got to my brother and sister-in-law's place, my car was there.  He just went to his place to do something or other.  And then I remembered that my sister didn't tell me to go with them that morning, she gave me a choice and I decided to go.  So maybe my conspiracy theory was full of holes.  But trust me, I wouldn't put anything past this family.

Cousin's getting married this weekend.  Seems kind of strange.  We were close when we were young, but we drifted apart.  More important, the big thing I remember is his mom, my aunt, absolutely beating the shit out of him.  I hope he doesn't turn around and beat his soon-to-be-wife.  I've met her; she's an angel.

Saying Goodbye To Things In My Life For A Long Time

As is his wont, My Father has told us something on short notice.  Monday morning I was woken up by an unfamiliar voice.  Turns out it was a contractor.  I had heard rumblings from him that the house remodel isn't done yet, but from this guy's visit he had decided that the next phase, which is redoing the living room and gutting the upstairs/my bathroom, was going to happen.  And that night he told me that that happens starting this (Tuesday) morning.

Well, that's one way for me to wake up when my parents want me to wake up, that's for damn sure.

This morning I was woken up by a familiar voice: my Mother, who was busy making noise in the bathroom.  Well, if they're redoing the bathroom, stuff needs to be taken out of the bathroom.  Forgot that.  So I woke up and helped Mother take out the stuff I wanted to keep -- my toothbrush and toothpaste, the facial soap, the toilet paper roll.

My morning haze lifted when I realized that the bathroom I have known since birth will be gone.  I'm not one of those guys who thinks rooms need updating because I was totally OK with the purple tile in the tub and shower, the tile pattern on the floor, the towel rack above the toilet, and the toilet paper dispenser at the perfect length away from the toilet.  All of those fixtures I've remembered as long as I can remember.  I'm certain they've been here since my parents moved into the place back in the early eighties.  (The toilet is being replaced as well, but I remember when I was in, like, the second or third grade when they put a new one in.  My brother and I "christened" it by peeing into it at the same time.  Father and his friend who helped him install it watched while we did it.  I don't know what we were thinking.)

So before I left the bathroom and the house (I can't go back to sleep nor do anything now that there are two contractors to tear the rooms down and Father staying at home to oversee things), I do the same thing I do whenever I leave a hotel room at the end of a vacation: Say goodbye to the fixtures.  Farewell, toilet.  So long, towel rack.  Thanks, toilet paper dispenser.  Till we meet again in another life and time, tub and shower.  (Hold on ... I just remembered that Father has changed the shower head a couple times before, the last time being about 20 or 25 years ago.  So that's not an original fixture, just one that's been useful and trusty for a long time.)  I love you, purple shower tile.

(I will say that the spigot has leaked for a long time, so maybe it's good that's being taken out.  Oh, and for a long time the wires were somehow crossed or something, because the temperature dial on the tub sink was backwards: When you turn it counter-clockwise the water turned colder, even though the dial says it's supposed to get hotter, and vice versa.  If they fix that, that's good.  And one more thing: I've never been sure, but the shower pipes may be dripping.  Some times I hear drops coming through the walls, and it's possibly from the shower.  Or, it might be coming from the sink.  I don't know, but if the leaks stop because of this second phase of remodeling, I'm all for it.)

After that, I went off to Rosedale and a movie, forgetting that all of it will be gone by the time I come back.

---

When I did come back, not all of it was gone.  The toilet remains, so at least I can have my throne for one more day and shit in peace.  Tub's still there, too.  But the towel rack, toilet paper dispenser, purple tile and cosmetic features around the tub sink and shower assemblies have been removed.  Because of the walls, it still looks the same.  But then, it looks different, you know?

Meanwhile, the living room has changed a lot.  One side of the living room was made up entirely of brick facings attached to a wall.  I remember a long time ago when Father, his friend, and I think my uncle and aunt took turns building up that wall.  One time I woke up to a sound from that room, and when I went upstairs (long ago I slept in the same bed as Grandmother and my brother, which is now Father's computer room) I saw Father and his friend.  Father told me the equivalent of, "Nothing, go back to sleep."  And so I went downstairs to sleep.

Shit, I also remember a brick falling down and busting to pieces after they got done with it.  It happened a few times in the first, oh, several years after it was completed.  You'd be sleeping in the middle of the night and then crack! you'd hear a brick fall to its demise.  Occasionally Grandmother or I would have to sweep up the pieces from behind the piano.  To their credit, I guess, I don't remember hearing a brick fall since ... oh, since I came back from college.

The contractors ripped all those bricks down from that wall.  The spackle behind it, too.  All that work they put into it in the mid-80's, and now it's all gone.  It seems weird.  It feels like Father is undoing all that sweat and work I remember him putting into creating that wall 25+ years ago.  But maybe the loss of that is triggering a wave of nostalgia in me.

The wood stations in the half-walls separating what are now the living and dining rooms, the ones where we put the mail?  Gone.  They went so far as to saw off pieces of the half-walls, including one on the side of the narrow opening between the hallway and the kitchen.  I think Father had that part removed because a coupe weeks ago we had a hell of a time moving the refrigerator back into place after the first phase of the remodel, when the kitchen was redone.  The counter put in was bigger, so we couldn't move the fridge back through the passage between the kitchen and the dining room.  Father had to take out both its doors so we can shimmy it through that hallway-kitchen opening.  I guess so that it never happens again (?), he had the contractors slice off about three inches' worth off that half-wall.

The changes should continue.  If what I overheard is correct, they're going to re-do the floor outside and in the upstairs bathroom.  It's going to be fucking noisy, and then things aren't never going to be the same.

---

Because I've had to say goodbye to the fixtures I grew up with, and for many other minor reasons (I need to finish the half-gallon of 2% milk I bought and "expired" Sunday, I felt guilty for drinking Pepsi after taking a shower after my four-plus-hour nap this evening, I have other chocolates I'm saving because I can't those right now), I decided to make a change of my own, though a very, very minor one.  And it's also a strange one.

When I was a temp for Carlson Companies way back in, uh, I'd like to say 1999, my great supervisor gave me a gift: A piece of chocolate shaped in an early-version cellphone (you know, before flip phones you had that huge one with a three-inch penis antenna that had the same weight as a brick?) with "Sprint PCS" stamped on its display screen.  I like chocolate, but for some reason I haven't eaten it.  Till now.

Oh yeah, to "mourn" the "passing" of the bathroom and living room I grew up with, I thought I might as well get around to finally eating that chocolate.  Why haven't I eaten it before?  Don't know.  I guess I've never had the time to get around to it.  Why didn't I throw it away?  Dude, it's chocolate.  Besides, chocolate doesn't go bad, does it?  Does it turn toxic or something?

Well, if it is, it's a time-release poison, because I ate it just before 3:30 a.m., just as I was watching "The Mix" on World News Now, and I'm not dead.  But it wasn't really good, either.  When I ate the chocolate phone, I tasted graphite.  That's not a sign that it's spoiled, I hope.  It's just that I have stored this chocolate in my desk (I don't think I immediately brought the phone home from Carlson Companies and put it in my desk, I think it laid around on the floor of my bedroom for, oh, a couple years before I finally put it away for safe-keeping), in the long, center droor -- where I put my pencils.  I didn't know chocolate can absorb odor.  But I guess it can, especially after 12, 13 years of entrapment.

The chocolate wasn't bad, but the odor was enough for me to stop eating the chocolate two-thirds of the way through.  I was going to save the display part of the choco-cell (where it says "Sprint PCS") for, uh, when I can drink the last bit of 2% I still have, maybe as soon as tomorrow.  But then I thought, what the hell, I might as well eat the whole thing now and be done with it.  But after tasting it, I think I can wait.  It'll be gone entirely though.  Don't want a two-thirds-eaten chocolate phone in my drawer, 'cause that's nasty.  Besides, finish what you start.

And then I can say farewell to another thing that's been a part of my life before the turn of the millennium.

Paranoia, Paranoia, Everybody's Coming To Get Me

(I used to hate this song and video, in part because my junior-year RA said, when this was a new single in 1997, that this is one of the greatest songs of all-time.  That Harvey Danger became a one-hit wonder makes them ... small enough for me to reconsider.  And actually, the fact that the lead singer looks like a nerd [fuck, all of them do] makes me realize I'm a lot closer to them than I thought back in college.  In retrospect, their lyrics are pretty fucking insightful.  Like!)

Paranoia, or at least fear, is a constant companion in my life.  It motivates me to do things, but just as often it motivates me not to do things.  Most of the time I base my decisions on two things: 1) How will this put me at risk, and 2) Who will get mad at me as a result.

I don't like it.  I can't just say I don't live my life in fear because I can't really choose that, and anybody who says that they don't is fucking lying to you.  My life is ruled by fear.  That's just a fact.

Take, for example, My Fucking Father.  On Friday I think he fucking dropped the facade that he had to impress his son-in-law.  Although he made an excellent rib dinner for him, my sister and I (but not Mother, who had plans to go to a party that night -- a party???), the chit-chat, where he was as loquacious as Falstaff, was completely absent.  After about 45 minutes of polite conversation, we took the plates over to the kitchen counter, where he washed them.  And as my sister and brother-in-law were doing other things, and I retreated into my bedroom because I'm an introvert, Father finished cleaning up and then went downstairs, from whence he never came back up from the rest of the night.  I see this often from him, but not with "guests" around.

So to see him revert to his antisocial self in front of his new family, especially after rolling out the red carpet for him, makes me very, very afraid.  Is he just downshifting into his "real" self, or was he pissed off that day?  We spent it, BTW, at the Megamall, and because they had to buy so much, we didn't get back until 7:30.  Is it possible that he did not take in stride, like my sister said, and he's privately miffed at all of us for, in a sense, wasting his time?

That backdrop I took into account Sunday, when I spent time as the fifth wheel with my sister, brother-in-law, brother, and sister-in-law.  We went tried to go out to their place, and after getting lost, just decided to rendezvous at an outdoor shopping mall, where we proceeded to spend the next two to three hours shopping.  I didn't need anything, however, and to be honest, it's kind of hard to keep your interest up if you don't need anything to buy.  (I don't have money either, but that's a moot point.)

A part of me thought that we didn't need to just spend time there.  We could've just gone home and waited for the next big part of the schedule that my sister and brother-in-law needed done: Meeting up with my sister's best friend to buy stuff for their camping trip this week.  I know that it would have spent a lot of gas going there, then going home, then going back again to the same shopping mall and then back home again.  But if we were out too long, My Fucking Father would get mad.  And I hate considering his selfish feelings, but I'm paranoid; I'm not in a position to just dismiss them as the juvenile emotions of a man-child (which he is) because I live in his fucking house.  So I thought (privately) that us just dinkin' around and shopping on a Sunday was not the way to appease the 'Rents.

Because I probably was the only person holding this opinion, I kept it to myself.  I will say that the hours went by faster than I thought, and we did spend about half an hour at their place.  Plus, it was nice to finally meet my step-nephew.  Before I knew it, my sister, brother-in-law and I were hanging out with my sister's best friend, where they went to buy camping gear and then food while I was dreaming about porn and sex.

When we got home, we (plus my brother and sister-in-law, who beat us home) immediately ate dinner.  While My Father wasn't the life of the party, he was more talkative than Friday.  Was it because he wasn't angry?  Was it because Mother was home?  Or was he really still pissed off, and he was just putting on airs, waiting for some other time to let his true feelings about being "abandoned" out when my sister and I least expect it?

I'm paranoid, I tell ya.  But it's not ridiculous.  Trust me.

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On the other hand, maybe I court so much paranoia because, deep down, I like it.  There are some instances where it serves as a motivator, even as a crutch, like Linus's blanket.  I revel in the delight of what I just did, who might respond, and how I could get away with it.  The danger excites, even arouses me.

I'm talking about tonight, when I went to the party.  There were only three girls there: The host, *e**, my ATF, ***e*, and her friend, ******e.  I remember ******e when I was at her house for a party and I flashed her my dick in the bathroom after she jokingly asked to see it.  Well, even though there were six goddamn other guys at this party, somehow she walked into the kitchen while I was alone.  We traded pleasantries, then luckily for me she went to the table I was standing next to.

I turned around -- away from the opening, where people could come through.  Just as I was about to take myself out, she asked, "Do you remember me?"  Perfect line!  I said, "Yes.  Do you remember ... this?" and I whipped it out.  And she nonchalantly said, "Yes, you showed me at the party the last time."  Then a guy came in, but I was able to hide myself before he noticed.  I think.

***e* came in shortly thereafter, and I saw ******e whisper something in her ear at the other end of the kitchen.  Later, when ***e* was giving me a dance, she told me that she told her that I took "it" out.  Now, I would be mad because I was ratted out, but I didn't care.  In fact, I was so fucking glad she told.  Now my perverted exploits were known, and I didn't have to hide anymore.

Shit, while I and all three of them were in the upstairs landing giving dances, ******e told *e** that I exposed my cock to her.  Now, I was told a long time ago by ***e* that this is supposed to be a "clean" party because we could get busted otherwise.  But that's just bullshit, thankfully.  Extra shit happens all the time.  For example, after I got my 2-for-1 from her, ***e* untied my pants and put her hand down it to give my cock a quick squeeze!  We can finally stop lying to each other.  Wish I got a handjob from her, but I'll take it.

What I was really looking forward to was a plan thought up by ***e* when she was on top of me: After we were done, I'd escort her and ******e to their van (they came together).  ***e* would say to ******e that I had something to show her, and then I'd whip it out, right there on the dark street.  I would add something like, "So, you outed me to *e**, I might as well out myself again.  And then she'd give my main vein a squeeze, and then all three of us would make out in the van, and then we'd go to their house and have a three-way.

But it was not to be.  I was having a polite conversation with *e** at her porch when I saw those two get ready to leave.  The plan was in motion, and I was getting left behind.  As I raced to the front door, I called out to them: "Do you need an escort?"

No answer.  I said again: "Do you need an escort?"  But both of them ignored me.  Well, ******e just said "No thanks!" in a mean-girl tone, and somehow they bolted out of their like they were running.  Huh?

I tried getting my shoes on and running after them, but then I thought that'd be weird, if not psychopathic.  OK, I guess I was fed some stripper shit.  Don't compound the problem by acting like a stalker.

But I did want to leave the party, so I slowed down and left.  I had to go by their van because I was parked behind them.  I gave the strippers a wave instead of my penis as they drove away.

But they didn't drive away.  ******e was behind the wheel and she drove into the cul-de-sac where the townhouse was, and then ***e* got out and went back into the (now-done) party.  And then, ******e put the minivan in reverse out of the cul-de-sac and sped away.  Did she just leave the person she went to the party with?

I texted ***e* just in case she needed a ride.  Guess that meant that she didn't.  Bizarre.  And then I thought: Wait a second, she never responds to me unless she's working and sees me as a guy who can give her money.

And then I shoved that thought to the side when I wondered if I made them mad.  Was it because I told ******e I wouldn't get a dance from her after she groped me?  Did it stem from refusing ***e*'s crazy (though I kind of like it) request to expose myself in front of them and a guy who was getting a dance from both of them?  (See, this is why I want to be alone when I do that: It's for strippers' eyes only.)  Was she in fact upset that I took myself out at the kitchen?  Or, is it because I took the opportunity when both girls joined me and *e** out in the patio and I finally fulfilled my dream of taking out my penis in front of three women (only ***e* I knew saw; *e** probably didn't witness my pink thing)?

I have no fucking idea.  Moreover, the weird events that took place in front of my eyes after talking to *e** at the patio implant potentially worrisome consequences in my head.  Are the girls really mad at me?  Did ***e* run back inside to rat on me?  Are they asking one of the guys there to kick my ass?  Would they use my personal information to shame me?  I won't lie: I was afraid one of those guys at the party was tailing me as I was driving to the coffeeshop, ready to hunt me down and kill me for not being a "gentleman."

But you know what?  I'm not as anxious about these paranoid fears as I was about the ones concerning My Fucking Father.  Why?  Probably because they all arise from me finally doing what I want to do: Showing down-and-dirty strippers my dong.  I might not be analyzing all the bad things that could happen to me, but I think about them while being tantalized at what I have just done tonight.

Hopefully this all makes sense.

(By the way, although they are known for "Flagpole Sitta," I think their follow-up single, "Sad Sweetheart Of The Rodeo," is an even better tune, if only for the "ah-hoooooooo-hooooooooo!"):