Three Good Things (Followed By A Not-So-Good Epilogue)

1) So I told you about my car, right?  I couldn't wait any longer, so I decided to drive it to the mechanic (not to The Mechanic Around The Corner, who I can't trust anymore) Tuesday to fix the vicious shaking that happens after I'm stopped on the off-ramp.  I told him to diagnose it, but since this bucking hasn't happened since I made the reservation (I made it in the car, so I think the car heard it and decided to behave, even though I heard the engine rearing a bit on the way home tonight), I told him that if it's minor, I'm going to ride it out, at least until I get some more money.  Truthfully, if I was in the hole for eighty bucks (their hourly rate), and if it's, oh, $300 or something, I'd tell him to fix it.

Went to Overflow hoping to say for an hour.  But after I reached into the second hour I got nervous.  What's taking them so long?  My God, do I have to pay $160?  And what happens if they find nothing?  Worse, what happens if they've found a lot of things?  I had some writing to do, but as the second hour was winding down (and, admittedly, with the first day's showing of A Good Day To Die Hard coming up soon I wanted to know if I could get my car back to get to the theater in time), I bolted and walked back to the shop.

And they found ... nothing.  He cleaned out the distributor cap for moisture, which is a possible cause of the misfiring.  The problems described would be an engine thing, but besides the cap, nothing was wrong -- no vacuum leaks, no bad fuel injectors, no spark plugs.

Honestly, those two hours of imagining that I was liquidating my stocks willy-nilly just so I can pay him for his time was gone.  At that moment I was so happy to just know my car was OK, and that it probably was just the weather warming up.  I'll take it; now, how much do I pay you?

"Just tip me," he says.

Whoa, just tip you?  First of all, what does that mean?  And second, once I realized that he wasn't going to charge me for the time, how much do I pay him?  I wound up emptying my wallet.  I wanted to keep some money on me, but if that is what he's going to "charge" me in lieu of a full two hours, I'll give him everything in there.  Unfortunately, it was only $19.  I would give him, oh, $40 for his time, but that's all I had, and luckily, he seemed at least OK with it.

Nineteen dollars for a clean bill of health when it could've cost me $160?  I'll kill for these guys.  Van's Automotive Service, close to the U.  Even though it's in a huge strip mall of car repair shops, I recommend them highly.

---

2) After wondering if I should go all the way to St. Paul and check out the clearance items at Macy's, I did the right thing and spent the entire afternoon, almost six hours, at the library just a couple miles from me yesterday.  Dug into all those receipts that ask you to complete customer satisfaction surveys in exchange for a chance to enter drawings to win money or gift cards.

While doing that I received a phone call from someone whom I've spoken to but has never called me, in fact someone I never expected would ever call me: ******e, ***e*'s friend, the one in whose those two doubled teamed in what I am coining The Best Fucking Day Of My Goddamn Life.

I pick up and say hello, but I hear no answer.  Instead, I think I hear ***e* talking -- not to me, but to someone else, maybe a friend, maybe someone she asks for something.  Great, she butt-dialed me, again.  ***e* has done this once, maybe twice before.  I actually once "received" a voicemail from her, and all it was was, no joke, more than 20 minutes of eavesdropping on faint voices, hers the only one I could discern.  But I had time; I didn't mind listening in to a life being lived if she didn't know she called me and didn't hang up the phone.

But all of a sudden I hear, "Hello?"  And it wasn't ***e*.  I asked, "Who is this?''  And the other end of the line went, "Who is this?" and hung up.  That must've been the friend, ******e.  She sounded pissed.  Oh well.

But a minute later I see my phone light up again.  "Who is this?" the voice on the other end asked.  I gave her my name and addressed her by her real name, "[name redacted], is that you?"  And she didn't freak out, she said, "Yes."  Then I made sure she knew who was, reminded her that I'm ***e*'s friend, we hung out at her place about five months ago, blah-blah-blah, and she sounded like she knew who I was.  And, lucky for her and for me, this was a great time to tell me that she is hosting another party at her place.  And, unlucky for her and for me, I told her I probably wouldn't make it because I'm still broke.  But ******e sounded cool with it.

And then she gave the phone over to ***e*.  Missed that girl and her booty for so long.  Turns out they're running errands ... while high, of course.  So we talked for a little bit before they ate lunch.  She apologized for not having a phone number even though I've asked for it, but she does have it memorized.  I asked her if I could hang out with them the next time they do this.  And then something I've been meaning to ask her for some time -- where are the pants she volunteered to sew?  She accidentally ripped them even further when she tried to stitch them up.  They're somewhere in her place, and she'll try again.  "I like those pants on you," she said -- "And I like them off you."

She's a pervert like that; that's what I love about her the most.  She sounds like she means it.  And even if she doesn't, she knows what I like.  I have no one like her in my life.  That sentence got me so hot, I masturbated to thinking about that tonight.

---

3) For some fucking reason My Fucking Father wants me to watch television out in the open a little more, instead of inside my room, even though there's a fully functional TV in my room.  I used to do that, but a long time ago, while I was watching a music countdown show featuring radio DJ Scott Shannon (a guy who I just saw on this show called Dish Nation), My Fucking Father marched up the stairs, feet stomping, and yelled at me for watching TV right there in the living room so the show could filter down and vibrate the master bedroom door.  I'll never forget how he fuckin' yelled at me; I don't think I ever watched TV late at night outside since.

Till now.  Things have changed, or rather, My Fucking Father decided he was going to feel something different.  And, what the hell, I need to continue to have a roof over my head.  So in time for the 10 o'clock news, I go outside to the living room, the same living room where My Fucking Father went off lo those many years ago, and watched the TV.

About 40 minutes later, while trying to watch Letterman through the sketchy reception, My Father comes up.  And, so quietly as to make me think he's talking only to himself, he says, "Good."  And for good measure, as he put both feet on the top step, he repeated it again: "Good."

I have to be honest: Hearing Father say that about me watching TV outside made me happy.  I'm happy that he's happy.  All I've wanted from him was approval, that's all.

---

So maybe I should not have risked the good vibes when I opened the downstairs refrigerator door and saw that My Father drank a part of the can of Sierra Mist I put in there without putting another one in there.  I whispered, "Goddammit!" probably loud enough for Mother, who was in her office this late in the night (it was past midnight), to hear.

Fuck You, Father (I've Been Thinking This A Lot)

You know, all I asked you, My Fucking Father, was to repeat yourself because you were muttering again.  And I walked into yet another one of your fucking traps when you felt you had to shout, in that whiny goddamn tone of voice, "You know how to make your own schedule!"  Man, I was just fucking asking, asshole.  And I know that asking, just asking, you to repeat it makes you suspicious that I won't "make my own schedule."  I saw that stupid fucking look on your ass face when I came back home from the gym.  You're just waiting till tomorrow morning, aren't you?  Well, if I'm not going to wake up at a time you think deem reasonable or "responsible," then you're just going to have to do it for me, aren't ya?

I'm tired of being scared when you wake me up.  I just have to remember that you hate it and that you can't fucking help yourself.  Bring it, he-bitch.

The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey

#-1: Gopher wrestling (Re-Entry!).  Congratulations apparently are in order for the University of Minnesota wrestling team because, for the second year in a row, they have won the National Duals Finals, not just beating but dominating Virginia Tech, Iowa and Oklahoma St.  The semifinal and final victories avenged the team's only two losses this year.

That's great, right?  Um, I don't think so.  They won these Nat Duals last year, and you'd think they'd be a great momentum-swinger for the conference and NCAA Championships, but they finished fourth.  And look at those scores again: They beat Iowa 22-15 after the Hawkeyes beat the Goofs on a tie-breaker last month, and they crushed the Cowboys 28-9 even though they handily defeated the U. in early December at the Sports Pavilion 22-15.  What I'm asking is: Were these teams really trying?

Minnesota is third in the polls, and at least they have the top-ranked individuals at 174 pounds (Logan Storley) and at heavyweight (Tony Nelson).  I just doubt this means that they'll vault over Penn St. and Okie St. to win anything really important.  We'll soon get to find out, for the B1G Tourney takes place at the University of Illinois the ninth and tenth of March.

#-2: Gopher men's hockey (Last Week: -1).  The final series against Minnesota-Duluth as members of the WCHA ends with a win and tie over the hated Bulldogs.  Second in both polls and the all-important PairWise rankings behind Quinnipiac, who continues to sport the best record in college hockey and who continues to fail to convince me they can win the title.  They can't ... they're from the ECAC!  By the way, they're still in a dogfight for the conference regular season, two points behind leader St. Cloud St., only a point ahead of third-place Nebraska-Omaha and North Dakota and two points ahead of Minnesota State-Mankato.  And the U. is only four points ahead of the next rival they'll miss once they start the Big Ten Men's Hockey Conference: Denver, this weekend, at home.  It'll be the team's final home games of the regular season.

#-3: Gopher baseball (Last Week: -3).  Like UCLA, which responded to their season-opening loss at home to the U. with a pair of ass-kickings, the Gopher Nine answered a 2-0 shutout in the second game of their four-game series against Western Michigan (Saturday afternoon, part of a doubleheader) with a resounding 15-1 dick-smack that was over at seven innings because of the mercy rule.  Well, maybe it's the mercy rule, maybe it had something to do with the fact that it was a double dip.  I wanted to go to Friday's home opener, where the Gophers beat the Broncos 7-1, but even though there wasn't a whole lot of snow and it all ended that morning, I figured it was best to keep off of the downtown streets that evening.

They also won Sunday's series finale 9-2.  So right now we know they're better than Western Michigan but not as good as UCLA.  We will continue to suss out how good this team is in the big scheme of things when they host their annual Dairy Queen Classic this weekend at the Metrodome.  I hope to go to either Friday's game against Dartmouth or Saturday's against Utah.

#-4: Wild (Last Week: -4).  Won at Edmonton 3-1 Thursday, lost at Calgary 3-1 Saturday.  Still can't score.  Still very close to a playoff spot despite sporting a record of 8-7-2.  Eh.  They have four games this week after (and I didn't notice this until a sportscaster said it on TV) having four days between their win at home vs. Detroit and the victory over Edmonton.  The Flames and Oilers make return engagements in St. Paul, bookending the Mild's quick trip to Phoenix and Anaheim.

#-5: Swarm (Last Week: -7).  A home-and-home series against the Edmonton Rush results in both teams winning on the road, surprisingly.  But this .500 week on balance became a loss when the team revealed yesterday that Captain and National Lacrosse League Transition Of The Year Andrew Suitor is out for the rest of the year after tearing an ACL during Friday's win in Edmonton.  (The Swarm lost at the X Sunday afternoon.)  The club's currently fighting with Colorado to stay out of the bottom of the Western Conference and thus out of the playoffs, but losing Suitor, their team leader and a guy whom I've seen drop the gloves and fight guys the past two games I've seen in person, is going to be a huge loss.  They visit Washington Sunday.

#-6: Gopher women's basketball (Last Week: -6).  An indicator of how this is yet another nothingburger of a season for the Gopher vagina ballers, the squad somehow completes a season sweep of Ohio St. by beating the Buckeyes in Columbus by a point Thursday before coming home and getting shellacked by ranked Purdue Sunday.

Rachel Banham, who is really good but appears to be a one-woman show, drained a jumper with two-tenths of a second left to defeat Ohio St.  The Buckeyes were once good, especially when they had Jantel Lavender, who's now in the WNBA.  But, believe it or not, the school has a worse record than the Goofs.  Purdue is good this year; they're ranked in the bottom of the Top 25.  And they lost handily in front of the home crowd, whatever's left of it -- despite the fact that, embarrassingly, Minnesota Public Relations characterized their 75-63 defeat as a "close contest."  Oh, drop it, you're fooling no one ... at least no one who's paying attention.

The club finishes the regular season this week: Home to Penn St. Thursday, in Indiana Sunday.

#-7: Timberwolves (Last Week: -5).  I'm basically done with this team after listening to the Woofie Dogs blow yet another late lead Sunday afternoon at home and lose to Golden State, 100-99.  Yet another instance of a young team (mischaracterized as a good team with clutch attitude by Wolves brass) pissing down their collective legs in the face of not a good team, but a team that has a really good player in Stephen Curry -- a player David Kahn could have drafted.  They did beat Philadelphia at home (completing the season sweep) but lost in Oklahoma City.

Curry was drafted the same year as Ricky Rubio; man, that could have been a dynamite show to watch.  I haven't been impressed with Rubio, I'll be honest; if he was so good, he would be the transformative player that could carry a team on his back to wins, and the Timberwolves obviously aren't doing that.  Maybe I'm being too hard on him, though, because Rob Mahoney of SI.com thinks that not only has he come all the way back from his ACL tear but is learning to expand his game.  In particular, Mahoney has noticed lately that he has worked on what scouts considered to be his weaknesses coming in to the league -- scoring (especially in the paint) and defense.  I'll defer to his observations and hope that this team can be the playoff squad they were supposed to be this year.

Minnesota, currently twelfth in the Western Conference, visit Phoenix, the Lakes and Portland before coming home Monday and hosting the defending champion Miami Heat.

#-8: Gopher men's basketball (Last Week: -2).  Yeah, this season's over.  Sweet Sixteen?  With this team?  After putting their heads in the sand and holding up their asses so Ohio St. can put their feet up their assholes (they lost in Ohio St. Wednesday 71-45)?

And the damndest thing of all of this is, Tubby Smith did at least one important thing right.  Knowing he had a veteran-laden team, he scheduled extremely tough -- tops in non-conference strength of schedule, in fact.  And so, even though they've gone 3-8 in their last 11 games, they still -- still! -- have an RPI (the metric that the NCAA Selection Committee uses to pick and seed teams for the Big Dance) that is third-best in College Basketball Nation.  So it looks like, even if they lose every single game from here on out -- and they start the screening week tonight hosting the #1 team in the nation, Indiana -- they will back into the tourney.  I don't know how you can do that in college b-ball, but apparently the experts cannot see any way they miss the NCAAs even if they lose out.  Now, they might fall into the play-in games, but according to the NCAA (though not to anyone with common sense) they're still in.

It might be interesting to see if the Gophers can somehow pull off the upset.  Time and again I see squads that are apparently overmatched against a great opponent, but because they play that team at home they win.  The conditions are there.  The players, and the coach, capable of winning, are not.  And I wonder if the crowd will get behind the team at the beginning of the game or turn on Smith, regardless of how the game starts off.  No one believes they can win.  Very few believe they can even make tonight's very important match, one that could cement the Goofs' place in the tournament, a close one.  It's weird to write off a team even though they're going to make the Big Dance, but we can read the tea leaves.  Oh yeah, they finish the home portion of their regular season Saturday against Penn St.

Parents Fighting For Dinner

Weird fucking night tonight.  Mother seems not be talking to My Fucking Father because she was giving him the silent treatment at dinner.  He reacted by yelling for me to clean up the fucking stairs -- "Lazy ... always going back into his room," he muttered to himself -- but then he told me to stop when he went back upstairs to mop up the stairs.  (For the record, the stairs are dirty.  However, the contractors are working the downstairs bathroom, so I don't exactly know why the stairs are dirty.  At any rate, My Fucking Father is going crazy with his cleaning OCD again.)

I had to blog about my car, and a Saturday Night Live special was on on Channel 11, and Channel 11 wasn't getting through in my bed, and yes, I wanted to ... I hate saying this word, but it's correct ... appease My Fucking Father and his wish to watch TV outside more, whatever the fuck that means, so I took my laptop out to the dining room to kind-of watch the Oscars there.  And then My Fucking Father came up to talk to me real quick about his stocks.  I thought he didn't want to talk to me.  But it seems like, maybe, he wanted to get away with what's going on between him and Mother.  After all, she did speak to me while My Fucking Mother was on one of his cleaning jags.

---

Woke up by My Fucking Father this morning, a bit past 9:30 when I was truly in the middle of sleep.  He just told me they were about to shut the water off.  He wasn't angry at me that he "had to" wake me up, he was very calm.  If being in trouble with Mother wasn't on his mind, maybe he'd be yelling at me.  Who knows, maybe he'll yell at me tomorrow.

Said goodbye to Mother before leaving.  Didn't see them talking to each other before I left.

I need to worry about my car instead of this shit.  But I'll say this: I'll take Mother's side, at least for now.

And Now My Car Goes To Shit On Me

This weekend I was an extra for a short film.  Yesterday I had to drive to St. Paul, this afternoon to Bloomington, kind of close to the Megamall.  Didn't think it was a big deal for my car, at least beyond taking my fuel gauge down to nearly empty way before Double Gas Coupon Tuesday.

But as I was stopped on the off-ramp home, my car started to shake violently.  Like, really violently.  Like a bull being ridden by a rider being held back before the gate opens.  I don't ever remember my car shaking that violently.  Ever.

I don't know what the deal is.  My fuel gauge was close to empty, but I've risked driving my car with that little gas before and I was fine.  Are things different now?  Do I not have that cushion anymore?  Maybe it's the fuel pump?  It can't be the spark plugs or the wires or the distributor, can it?  I had all those fucking things replaced the past year already -- twice!  Or is it the transmission?  I haven't checked it, let alone filled it with fluid, in a long time, but the last time I did check it it was full.  I mean, it wasn't as if it was shifting bad, but the car has been slow to accelerate from low speeds lately.  I just chalk that up to winter.  And maybe this rearing up is because of the winter.  Or maybe because it's old.  Or maybe it's all of those things but it's temporary.

Whatever it was, I felt unsafe in my car again.  I got it home, but the damn contractor's truck took up two of the three available spaces so I couldn't just wedge my car in there.  That was frustration added on top of my anxiety, so I figured that I had to put something into the car to make it better, something.  So I went to the gas station, where, after I parked it, it started shaking like a goddamn motherfucker again.

Another reason I didn't want to put gas in my car today was I would have had to use my credit card, and I've been charging things up the wazoo every day for the past week.  But I was desperate to stop this goddamn shaking.  So I put in $15 worth of gasoline in it.  Also, I checked the transmission.  Again, it was beyond full.  But just in case, I threw in 200 mL more of tranny fluid.  I'm risking overfilling the transmission, but goddamn, my car was shaking!!!

I turn the car on -- the car is humming fine.  I drove it the half-mile home and parked it behind my parents' minivan because the contractor truck was still there.  Parked it; the car continued to idle peacefully, not at war.  OK, so it's either the gas or the transmission or the weather or it's old or it just got on a bad idling cycle and it was all gone when I turned off my car, or it's all of those things or it's none of those things.

Fuck if I know?  What if it comes back again tomorrow?  That might be the only good thing about not working now: I don't need to miss work to get this fixed if I need to.  I just don't have the fucking money.

My car was the one thing I had going for me, and now I don't even have that.

Being Judged At Mini-Med

As if I haven't been disrespected enough at home, I had to face some humiliation at "school" -- all because I decided to eat some loud food.

I don't care if everybody knows it: The "class" I told my parents I'm taking is a seminar open to the public (you have to pay, however) given by the University of Minnesota's medical school, also known as "Mini-Med."  It's a short multi-week (and one day a week) class featuring two presentations by faculty working at the U.  There is a seminar every fall and spring semester, each having an all-encompassing and very broad theme.  The one I'm in is called "Through The Ages," where each week we listen to two topics for every stage of life, increasing from conception through old age.

OK, one of the best parts of these things -- and don't get me wrong, I'm learning a lot of interesting stuff -- is that they offer snacks to eat.  Water and coffee, small candy bars ... and vegetables with dip as well as snack mix -- you know, Gardetto's.  Man, I love Gardetto's.  I don't know how I ever ate them the first time, but once I did, I was hooked for life.  If I could afford to, I'd buy a bag right now.  Oh, and the vegetables are great, too.  I hated eating them as a kid, obviously, but not only do I understand its nutritional value now, I think they're quite tasty.  And since all of this is free, shit, why not stuff my face?

The first two Mondays I had a plate between speeches.  But this past Monday I was able to get there a little earlier, so I had time to begin my night with food.  And I loaded up -- one plate for veggies and one for the party mix, baby!

---

Most of the people there, and I'd estimate there's close to a hundred souls looking to dip their toes into a little education, which is great for this beautiful blue state, are old and, therefore, not good-looking.  The only woman I could remember seeing as halfway decent took up a spot on the right side of the auditorium, about a few rows up from where I usually sit.  This past Monday, however, the only free row I could find on that side was one just above the one where she was sitting now, which wasn't her usual spot; it looked like she moved down a few rows.

Whatever.  She had long blonde hair and wore her work badge.  Nothing was coming of it; this wasn't a freshman class where you had half an eye on hooking up with a girl.  I, as a heterosexual male, just noted this.

I start eating.  Hey, I say to myself, this food is loud.  And hey, I continued to say to myself, I don't remember eating so much while the professor is talking.  But who cares, I finally say to myself, my mouth is closed, I'll continue to chow down.

This blonde looks off to my side, once.  It's one of those what-the-hell-is-going-on-there-yeah-it's-exactly-what-I-thought-it-was-but-I-don't-want-him-to-catch-me-looking looks.  I don't remember for sure if that was enough for me to stop eating, or to try and be quiet while munching on the celery and pretzel sticks.

So it's halftime break and, dammit, I can't resist, I get more food.  As I sit back down I see the blonde getting up.  Oh great, I thought, she just saw that I'm reloading on my loud food and decided she couldn't take that shit anymore and is moving.  But then I saw her pick up her coat.  Oh, I assured myself, she's just going to the bathroom and taking her coat with.  Phew!

I quickly looked down to my plate and started eating.  How quickly did I survey that blonde's actions, because as soon as I looked up, she was gone from her seat.  And then I looked to my left.  Sitting there, the same row as I but in the middle section (and in the middle of that middle section) was that blonde bitch, getting the fuck away from me and my attention-getting, concentration-breaking mastication.  She was bothered by my eating, she saw that I was going to continue, and she moved away from me in order to enjoy the Mini-Med.  And if anyone saw, they new that blonde bitch judged me, and therefore humiliated me.

A part of me shrugged it off and continued like I wasn't going to be stopped.  But I was eating during the second presentation and a woman in the row below where this blonde judger was also looked up in my general direction after biting down on some loud food.  I ate a lot slower after that.

The other part of me ... well, the other part of me is blogging about this.  Because it's in my mind.  And it kind of hurts to remember her doing that to me.  And it infuriates me, too.  And so I wonder what the fuck she's going to do on Monday.

Halfway through a quiet dinner My Fucking Father, man, he went in on me about setting up a schedule and getting up early, myeh-myeh-myeh-myeh-myeh-myeh.  Seriously, if he keeps this up, I'm going to go off on that motherfucker, I seriously will. ...

Man, I Boxed Myself In Tonight

From my last blog post ... felt the tension coming back home tonight.  And I didn't appreciate My Fucking Father taking the rice I so nicely and dutifully (like a good son!  See?) gave him and putting it aside.  That was a power play: I will trick you into believing I accept your gesture, but then I'll disregard it, and you, and shove it in your face.  Asshole.

I had to relieve the tension.  I had to.  I wasn't a chatty Cathy -- I think I transmitted through my body language that I was not going to be the loquacious type after what happened this morning -- but I knew I wasn't going to be belligerent and raise holy hell.  I have no job and no future; why at am I going to do, move?

My Fucking Father set me up, and I had to cut the tension with it.  His lead-in, dip-his-toes-in-the-water question came to clear up what he was seeing on Undercover Boss, namely what does the company feature on the show sell?  I answered clothes, not with an easy tone, but not with a hostile one, either.

That was good enough for My Fucking Father to come after me again, but he soft-pedaled this time.  No overt mention of me "sleeping late" (I didn't, remember that).  Instead, with a smirk indicating he thinks he's got one over me, he asks me, "You don't want to make money, do you?"

"I'm desperate to make money," I replied.

"Why don't you like to go into business?" My Fucking Father asked.  And this is where I thought I had to diffuse what I thought was a ticking time bomb serving as the centerpiece of the dining room table.

I launched into a compliment.  And, I want to be clear, this is something I truly feel about my parents.  "Do you know the one thing I admire about you two?"  (They didn't know what "admire" meant, but they let it go.)  "You made your own business, and you have no boss except your customers."

Those words didn't get them on my side per se, but they didn't yell at me.  I don't think they would've yelled at me tonight anyway.  They said something slightly condescending, and so I laid out another concession: "I need to go back to school."

"For what?" My Fucking Mother asked.

In the past months they've said I should go into business or pharmacology, but of all the things I've been thinking about -- and again, I haven't been thinking about this seriously -- this was the time to stake out a little latitude for myself.  "Accounting."

"Why?" My Fucking Mother asked.  Damn, her and her stupid questions.  And I so I laid out some "facts" -- that it's a growing industry and that the starting pay is good.  Never mind that I heard a radio report saying that robots could take accountants' jobs in the future.

"You've got to go to class as soon as possible," My Fucking Mother said as my parents cleared the table.  My Fucking Father, by the way, didn't say a peep after I told him my plans.

So, yeah, now I'm down in it, aren't I?  I made them a promise, so now I'll have to keep it.  Oh, sure, I've made promises before and broken them without any serious consequences.  But things have changed.  My folks are moving on.  Moreover, the environment I'm now living in doesn't make stalling a hospitable outcome.  I don't have any money.  I don't have many prospects.  And I'm still yo-yoing between temp and seasonal jobs.  You know, maybe I really should go back to school.

Oh, who am I kidding, I'm not.  I'll just disappoint them and justify it by going to bed at night knowing it's a cruel and unfair world, please don't kick me out because I won't survive out there.  I would probably waste the tuition money anyway.

I should've shut my mouth.  I can't deliver on this fucking promise.  Besides, My Fucking Father will just yell at me some other time. ...

My Fucking Father was good for a day.  But then the snow came.  The storm, which a week ago was supposed to knock this area on our ass, then was going to swing a glancing blow because it was headed further south, punched us in the mouth -- a few more inches than I thought.

The contractor came early this morning.  Didn't matter; I was so tired after cashing in my free popcorn slip to watch Django Unchained last night I basically went to bed after I got home, so I had a good night's sleep.  I still didn't want to get out of bed at 9, even though I set my alarm for that time.

In retrospect I don't know why I just didn't get up at 9.  Maybe I just didn't want to.  But My Fucking Father decided I would be getting up, even though it was a bit past 9.  I heard him call up from the front door to My Mother to wake me up.  When she called for me, I told her I was already up, like that would mitigate or help things.

So My Fucking Father and I cleared the driveway even though it was still snowing.  That bastard actually got the snowblower working for the first time all winter.  Don't know how he did that, and this might be pride talking here, I don't think it was all that necessary because not only was there not enough to plow (even though estimates were greater than the meteorologists forecast), it's the powdery, low-moisture snow that fell.  Anyway, we didn't talk.  He didn't scowl or yell.  The only time he spoke to me was when I had to tell him the minivan was still running.

I wish things were well between us after clearing the driveway, but it's not, it never is.  I will guarantee you that within the next week My Fucking Father will come down on me about waking up early in the morning, and my fucking God, I can't goddamn stand it anymore.  I WORK GODDAMMIT, AND I WON'T WAKE UP EARLY JUST BECAUSE YOU FUCKING WANT ME TOO!!!  I'M NOT GOING TO LIVE MY DAY THE WAY YOU DO, BECAUSE YOU'RE A ASSHOLE, A CROTCHETY, DEAF ASSHOLE!!!  I think I'll go off if yells at me tonight, or tomorrow night, or the next night, or the next.

---

My whole fucking day was ruined.  I had a research study at the U. this afternoon.  Got a $15 gift card from Target for it.  These days, that counts as income.  And yes, I'm going to need to use it.

Needed to do something Saturday night, so I went all the way to the Electric Fetus in order to purchase a ticket to the North Star Roller Girls.  I bought a ticket to a concert last week, and just like then the store tacked on a fee of $1.50, therefore cutting the discount I got for paying in advance to, like, 49 cents.  Add gas for going all the way out to the record shop, and it was a wash, maybe.  Hell, why am I even shelling out money for this?  Can I afford it?

I went to Noodles And Company for lunch -- great food, but twice as much as I would pay at Mickey D's.  Then I got to the experiment.  Fifteen minutes later I was done, and I was, well, lost.  Went to the U. library to read magazines and forget my troubles.  And now I'm here.  I could look for jobs, but I did that all week anyway.  Such a bad day today.

---

I just want to be left alone.  Everything is bullshit, yet people won't just leave me alone.  I hate all of this.  I can't even do nothing without feeling bad about it.  Fuck all of this.

Goddamn, I thought I could be fuckin' angry at My Fucking Father for getting on my case this morning, but now I so fucking regret just not waking up and avoiding all of this. ...

Now I'm At The End Of My Rope

I had been meaning to talk to you about latching back onto the hearing lab, the experiment I've had an on-again off-again relationship since 2000.  The current iteration, with someone I had worked the last time I was on-again with these guys (which was about a year and a half ago, I think?), was one of the hardest to understand and get right.  I had to pick from two series of signals the one that sounded like it was moving in and out of my audio range.  Think of having two speakers right in front of you.  Now move those speakers to where your ears, move them back in front of your eyes, then back to your ears.  Match one of those two signals to the sound you heard from that.  That was my objective.

And it was hard, so goddamn hard to do.  In fact, the person heading this experiment eventually warned me after a few days of inconsistent data that if I don't give her the results that she's looking for -- isn't that illegal? -- she is going to drop me from the lab.  Essentially, she was threatening to fire me.  And as you know, I don't respond to threats well.

But then I remembered seeing my wallet when I put my wages, twenty bucks, into it.  And then I saw myself being surprised at how much more money there was in my wallet, not less.  And then I imagined that there would be money basically growing in my wallet, and that was a good feeling -- a feeling that would be lost if I didn't get the runs right.

Well, it was a struggle, but eventually I did well enough to stick around.  And that was a huge relief for me.  I'm paying my way around town during the days I was getting the fuck away from my parents, who I think are just about, gulp, done with The Store, and I have been using my ATM and checking account to fund the food and entertainment I've been using to while away the minutes.  I wouldn't need to do that anymore if my "income" comes from the U. hearing experiment.  Instead I could protect my account, letting it grow, albeit slightly, from the unemployment I'm collecting.  I might manage to pay off my credit card bills and, in April, my taxes after all!

Fuck all that because it all came crashing down today.  At 4, the supposed end of my session, she told me to go back in and do two last runs of signals.  I did it because, and I'm not that proud of it, I fell asleep.  I think all these mornings of waking up at a decent hour have gotten to me, because this is not the first but in fact the second time I fell asleep in the lab, like, dead asleep, something I had never done before until I came back to the lab.  I felt so stupid doing it -- OK, I felt stupid to get caught; she was monitoring me with a second monitor right at her desk -- that I profusely apologized and went back into the sound booth to finish them.

But I didn't know I was finished, period, until I bolted out the booth once I got done, 15 minutes after I was supposed to be over.  And the way she said it was weird: "You are now free to not come back Thursday or Friday.  We will call you if we need you."  I am "now free to not come back?"  Obviously you're not getting your Ph. D. in grammar because that doesn't make fucking sense.  Don't sugarcoat this -- you're letting me go.  At least have the decency to say so, fuck.  A few weeks after I was afraid I was going to lose my job, I actually lose my job.

I guess I should have seen it coming.  For a long time, almost a decade ago, the experiments I participated in were basically open-ended.  My work at the lab was done not because all the data was collected but because I found another temp job.  That's not the case the past few years; I've just been told, we're done.  I just haven't been told that so abruptly like I was Wednesday.  So because of that, missy, I don't feel bad for falling asleep during the middle of "work" anymore.

So now what the fuck am I supposed to do?  Seriously, I have depleted my account to nothing.  Next I'll have to liquidate my Certificate of Deposit.  And if that's not enough to pay my taxes, I'll have to start dipping into my stocks.  Not to mention that there is a trip to Kansas City I have to take (more on that later), and I still want to visit Detroit next month.

This is it for me, guys, I am at the end of my rope because I have nowhere else to turn to make a living.  I'm saddened and frustrated and angry.  Combine that with My Fucking Father nagging on me fucking again to wake up early in the morning like he wants to, and my trigger is about to be pushed.  I'm going to get up whenever the fuck I want to tomorrow morning, and if My Fucking Father wants to bitch about it, or worse, tries to wake me up, I swear to fucking God, I don't give a shit about no goddamn contract, I will fucking lose it.  Goddammit, don't fuckin' set me off, 'cause I am close to the edge, mutherfucker.

I knew when I heard footsteps outside my bedroom door at 3 and 4 in the morning that he'd say something about it, but goddamn I didn't expect it tonight till he tried to soften me up with his usual easy entry question, "Are you going to work tomorrow?"  And then he asked me, "When do you go to sleep?"  And then he ordered, the motherfucker ordered me, to wake up at 9.  Fuck you, make me.  I'm so fucking tired of his bullshit.

Haven't Taken Out My Dick In A Long Time

Didn't plan on going to *e**'s house party, and frankly, I wasn't going to go back for a long time, if ever.  Her new place is so far away from her previous one (which was a lot closer to me than the one before).  Also, the LD area is the dining room, and it's right beside the dining room and kitchen, the two places where the partygoers and dancers congregate and talk whenever they're not getting dances.  The atmosphere is a lot more crowded, and there is little if any opportunity to pull aside my girl and show her my dick.  Lastly *e** told me on a prior visit that the party now must promptly end at 11 because she now lives with her brother.  Ew!!!

However, I've been nesting at home since I have no money right now, and so I haven't seen my ATF, ***e*, in a long time.  And when *e** and then ***e* both told me they were working a party at *e**'s place on a Monday, I decided I could at least show up and get a dance from ***e* real quick.  I'll then be good for, oh, another month or so.

When I get there there was no ***e*.  Luckily, there weren't a whole lot of guys there, either.  Just *e**, one other girl working there, *****a, a buxom blonde who seems really nice and from whom I still haven't gotten a dance from, and another guy.  As soon as I make myself comfortable, *****a and the other guy get a lapdance.

I thought that would mean that it was just *e** and me, and that's cool.  Moreover, there is a partition, what looks to be a Chinese folding wall, separating the living and dining rooms.  That's still pretty flimsy when it comes to privacy, but that's enough where there's only four people for me to feel things are quiet enough for me to do stuff that I like -- pulling out my dick in front of *e**, for example.

And then, as luck would have it, both ***e* and a stripper friend of hers, the same girl who teamed up with ***e* to double-team me in that super-awesome double-handjob session last year, came through the door! Fortune hadn't smiled on me like that in a long time, so my head was spinning.  I really was thinking that hey, maybe those two could do me like that again!

They said hi real quick -- actually they blew right past me -- and went into the end of the hall, which serves as the dancers' changing room.  Luckily, no other guys were coming in, and *****a and her man were still preoccupied.  That's when my mind seized the opportunity and totally went into id mode.

***e* and her friend kept the door open while they were changing.  I didn't know whether to just barge in and take my dick out, so I made sure the couple in the LD room were still preoccupied with each other behind the barrier and, while hanging out in the hallway, uh, all by myself, I took my dick out there, waiting to see if any of them, including host *e**, would notice.

Uh, they didn't.  Both ***e* and her friend were too busy digging through their luggage to see what they would wear for the party.  I think I went in there, out (though not hard -- hey, would they have noticed and/or touched my cock if I were erect?  Was that the problem?), but they didn't notice.  I was standing just outside the ajar door when *e** came out of the bathroom.  She saw my dick before and even gave me a handjob, but I was too afraid to see her see me out in front of other strippers, so I quickly squirreled myself away before she saw my fuck stick.

The only time any of the girls might have noticed is when I took myself out again inbetween the dining room and kitchen, back still turned to the couple getting the LD.  ***e* came out to either use the bathroom or get a drink from the kitchen.  She kept looking at me before either going into the bathroom or passing me by, but not once did she look down at my package.  Was she avoiding me or completely oblivious to my little man ... or high?

My quest to get one of the girls to touch my pee-pee, or at least look at it and get freaked out, ended when I heard the front door open.  Two games, one of them *e**'s nice but hovering "protector," burst through with alcohol for the party.  Welp, time to put myself back in.  I got a dance from ***e*, pussy as smelly as fuck, and then I left.

Some day, I'll get my dick wanked.  But at least I took it out so it could breathe a little.

The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey

#-1: Gopher men's hockey (Last Week: -4).  In a very bad week for local teams, when no one finished above .500, let's give the top spot to the team that managed to remain ranked second in the polls despite splitting against Wisconsin.  The Goofs traded 3-2 games away from Mariucci, but if I had to pick either glass half-full or half-empty, I'll take half-empty because the 3-2 decision they dropped was the Hockey City Classic, the game they played outdoors in Chicago's Soldier Field Sunday.  Big stage, memorable occasion, and what they did was fall behind 3-0 to the Badgers.  Credit to their offense for almost catching up, but they still lost -- and because they lost outdoors, God and the heavens above got to see it.

The U. had a great chance to re-take the top spot after #1 Quinnipiac lost to St. Lawrence on Friday, but the team couldn't follow up their 3-2 victory in Madison the same night with a sweep in ChiTown.  Moreover, they are now tied for fourth place in the WCHA, behind St. Cloud St., Nebraska-Omaha and Minnesota St.-Mankato.  Only three points separate Minnesota (and North Dakota, whom they're tied with) from the top, but this shows that their lofty reputation nationwide does not translate to the MacNaughton Cup.

The Gophers' Farewell Tour of the WCHA continues with yet another final series against a bitter rival.  I for one have always had a unique, seething hatred of Minnesota-Duluth.  Don't exactly know why, although I think that when I was young it always seemed as if the Bulldogs beat the U.  They're in town one last time as conference-mates for a series this weekend.

#-2: Gopher men's basketball (Last Week: -7).  What a fucking embarrassment Sunday.  They raced out to a, get this, 21-5 lead at Iowa.  I saw the score online and heard it on the radio and I thought, Good, this win could cement their spot in the NCAAs.

But then, while I wasn't listening nor paying attention to the score, the Hawkeyes went into a zone.  And goddamn, it was as if these fucking Goofs couldn't even dribble the fucking ball.  For the rest of the game the club was outscored by Iowa, get this, 67-30.  Let me repeat that disparity again: 67-30.  The Hawkeyes suck; no one projects them in the field for the Big Dance.  And yet they and the U. are tied in the B-1-G standings at 6-7 records.

And yet, somehow, the Gophers still are thought to be in the Field of 64+4.  They are slipping, but they are still out of the "Last Four In" danger zone.  How and why?  At least Tubby Smith, seeing that he has a veteran squad, scheduled extremely hard in his team's non-conference schedule.  And since he came out of that portion with only one loss (to Duke, still highly ranked), their RPI is strong and high enough to buoy them through disappointment after disappointment.  Only an utter collapse, where they lose every single game from here on out, could shut them out of the tourney, and even then it's still a definite maybe.

It helps the team's cause to eke one out against Wisconsin, whom they beat earlier in the screening week at home in overtime.  The game was the Badgers' to win, and yet they bogged down and got stupid, allowing the U. to come back and somehow win the game.  Afterwards, Tubby Smith, in an effort to spur his team on through the rest of the regular season (IMHO) did something I've never seen him do: dance:



I should dock the team lower after seeing that.  But after they got the shit beaten out of them by 21 points in Iowa City, after they were up early by 16 -- fucking 16!!! -- I have to wonder where did all the good vibes go.  You were dancing after a big win and you follow that up with this shit?

Luckily for them, the end of their schedule appears to be favorable.  On the other hand, I also thought they could win in Iowa.  And they still have to face Ohio St., which got clobbered at Wisconsin (after they in turn lost at the Barn to the Gophers), Wednesday in Columbus.

#-3: Gopher baseball (Re-Entry!).  Hey, the other b-ball is back!  John Anderson's crew did the same thing Tubby Smith did and scheduled hard, or at least hard to start the year: Three games at #2 (or #12, depending on which poll you're using -- wait a second, how can a team be ranked ten spots from each other?!  What kind of a fucked-up disparity is that?!) UCLA.

And I'll be goddamned, they won the first game of their year!  They broke open a 2-2 tie with four runs in the top of the tenth Friday.  That has to account for something.  But the Bruins answered back decisively with -- fuckin' ouch -- wins the rest of the weekend by scores of 14-0 and 14-1.  So maybe UCLA underestimated the Goofs and learned their lesson.  And maybe the U. remains nothing more than a middle-of-the-pack squad in the Big Ten and an afterthought in College Baseball Nation.

There's supposed to be a sizable snowstorm blowing through Thursday night.  It could be so bad that a snow emergency may be called for downtown Minneapolis.  That might make the free meters where I try to find a spot to park unusable.  And that might preclude me from seeing the team's home opener, at the Metrodome, against Western Michigan Friday.  It's the first game of a four-game series there, their home base for the non-con portion of their schedule before they play all of their conference games in the new Siebert Field.

#-4: Wild (Last Week: -3).  The good news is the Mild are still only a point behind eighth place in the Western Conference playoff chase.  Yet the feeling that this team, while talented, is still at least a year away is becoming reality after a frustrating 1-2 week.  They lost both games by a goal (and one of them, at home to The Bastard Quebec Nordiques, was in a shootout), and they extended a streak of games decided by only one goal to five, but it's those close losses that show the club doesn't have that killer instinct, that will to finish off opponents or climb back to force overtime.

But then, goddamn you, Jason Zucker!



I'm a fan of hockey, yet I find it hard to break down plays.  But even those not fans of hockey can appreciate what Zucker, a University of Denver product, did there.  What speed!  Michael Russo of the Star Tribune said he hadn't seen a Wild score like that since Marian Gaborik.  Man, if Zucker can be the offensive sparkplug and provide more breathtaking goals like that, the bumps and bruises of witnessing this maddening year may be worth it in the future.

Another thing I could give the squad slack for: They are in the middle of their longest stretch away from the Xcel Energy Center.  Starting from the 11th, they are going to play eight of their next twelve games on the road, including the two games they have this week, at Edmonton and Calgary.

#-5: Timberwolves (Last Week: -5).  Sorry, I was wrong about no Woofie Dogs participating in All-Star Weekend.  Ricky Rubio and, somehow, Alexey Shved were both selected to play in the Rising Stars Challenge, the NBA's rookie and sophomore All-Star Game.  They were on the same team -- the winning team, Team Chuck (as in Barkley), which blasted Team Shaq, 163-135.

Maybe those two can go back to Minnesota and tell the team what winning feels like.  OK, that's not true -- the Woofs did win last Monday.  But they lost their only real game this past week, at home to Utah Wednesday, 97-93.  And since they won't play until this Wednesday, when they host Philadelphia, it'll have been nine days since they were victorious.  Then again, nine days between wins is something this squad has had a lot of experience in.  OK, never mind.  The Wolves also visit Oklahoma City and host Golden State this week.

#-6: Gopher women's basketball (Last Week: -6).  On Sunday they played their annual "Pink" game, and unfortunately they were beaten black and blue by Northwestern -- Northwestern!!! -- after leading by one at the half.  The worm turned at the midpoint of the second half when the Wildcats, down 49-48, outscored the Goofs 19-5 and never looked back.  Final score: 70-63.  This pretty much ends any chance the team has of making the NCAA Tournament.

This team is 15-11, so fuck it, this team's boring to even follow.  At Ohio St. and home vs. Purdue this week.

#-7: Swarm (Last Week: -2).  The Smarm lost at the X to Calgary Saturday night by only one point.  The margin of loss would justify placing this team above the U. women ballers and the Timberwolves.  So why am I throwing this at the bottom of the WMNSS?  It's the way they lost.  Well, that and the fact that I saw this shit in person.  Plus, I stayed to watch the Minnesota RollerGirls, ranked eighth in the world, get upset by the Old Capitol City Roller Girls of Iowa City, Iowa.  One of the people associated with the MNRG said it was their B team out there.  If so, wouldn't that be some information that I would like to know?  So I'm just pissed, really pissed that I had to see two home teams lose in the same building on the same night.  The stench of failure still sticks to me.

This was a total cock-up from the start.  Swarm Goalie Evan Kirk was pulled 4 1/2 minutes into the second quarter after allowing the Roughnecks to fire eight goals past him.  It's not totally his fault; the defense sucked in front of him, and when Tyler Carlson replaced him, the Smarm somehow got back into a game it had no right to compete in.  They tied the game in the third quarter, where they outscored Calgary 8-4 to finish the period at 13.

But -- and this really pisses me off -- they had a power play late in the game but allowed two, two fucking shorthanded goals to seal the loss.  If you've never seen lacrosse, one of the conventions you'll see is that once a goalie stops and picks up a shot on goal, chances are he'll fire deep to a teammate trying to outrace the defense on a breakaway.  Everybody does this, so what the defense does is quickly change the lines, pulling their offense players into the bench and getting their defensemen out onto the defensive zone.  For some goddamn reason, the Smarm are unable to do that, and they were caught flat-footed on breakaways by Roughneck Forward Curtis Dickson twice.  They also failed to score on a 5-on-3 power play in the second and gave up another shorthanded goal.  Now that I look at the play-by-play, that third shorthanded goal was also tallied in the decisive fourth quarter ... and it was also scored by Dickson.  He scored a shorthanded hat trick in the same fucking quarter.  What kind of a professional outfit allows that shit, especially at home?  I'm looking at a bunch of goddamn amateurs here.

Oh, and by the way, the atmosphere for Swarm games has always been over-the-top, but both the music and the PA have never been more obnoxious than they were Saturday night.  But I have to commend the season-ticket holder who was sitting two seats away from me.  I didn't really see the reason to stand up every time the club scored a goal, but I appreciate his enthusiasm and hope I didn't dampen his experience.

A home-and-home with Edmonton this weekend: There Friday, here Sunday.

Addendum To: Fuck You, Father (Again)

He wasn't done cleaning out my sister's bedroom.  Got back home about an hour ago and I peeped inside.  He may or may not be done, but he still moved around many of my things that I left in there.  Some I still have -- bags, headphones, a hat that I kept in a box but he took out because I don't fucking know why.

But there's a camera, a really old camera but it still works and it's still in a very good, tight case, that I can't find.  I swear I left it in my sis's room, and I hoped it would have been OK, but I looked everywhere, and I can't find it.

I actually took my parents' car keys and looked through their minivan outside, in the blowing cold and snow, but I couldn't find it in there.  My Fucking Father noticed that the front door was open and yelled out to me while I was out going through his car.

His easygoing attitude is the last thing that makes me think that he didn't take a special trip to throw it away, which was my initial, paranoid, pissed-off belief.  He must've put it somewhere I haven't seen.  Because it would be really, really stupid to just throw away a camera, even if it's old, when he left behind other, less "useful" items.

Then again, I don't know if he did, so he could have thrown it away, that duplicitous dumbass.

Fuck You, Father (Again)

I knew something was up the minute I heard My Fucking Father tool around in my sister's old bedroom, the one where we threw all the shit (most of it mine, admittedly) so the contractor could re-tile my old bedroom. He hasn't told me, but apparently the contractor's done, so it's time to start moving things back.  I did some of that a couple days ago, but per usual, that wasn't good enough for My Fucking Father.

He's putting up this martyred, fine-I'll-do-it bullshit that he always has pulled on us.  It's on him; he doesn't have to clean things that don't need to be cleaned and won't be used, but he has to because ... well, either he's anal, he's crazy, or he's getting as mentally deranged as Grandmother did the last few weeks she was here.  Whatever it is that consumes and drives him, all I heard was banging in that room.  Then, I heard him (I was my bedroom/Grandmother's old bedroom through all this) go out to the minivan, ostensibly to throw something away.  I made a mental note to myself: Check my sister's bedroom, just in case.

I went to a concert tonight.  A Silent Film; heard their song "You Will Leave A Mark" on satellite radio and I wanted to see them.  They were great.  Good people.  Anyway, my ears were ringing to the point of giving me fatigue.  I almost forgot that I wanted to see what My Fucking Father did in my sis' bedroom.

Good thing I did.  Going between the rooms I swore something was missing.  And then I figured it out.  My alumni club president wanted me to hold a box of club stuff for him.  I threw it in my sister's bedroom because it was out of the way.  I even told My Fucking Father this.  He either forgot or he didn't care, because it wasn't in either room.

So that's what My Fucking Father was putting in his minivan to haul away in the morning!  I had to reopen the deadbolts from the front door, grab my parents' car keys and opened up the power doors to see if it was there -- and it was, as well as a lot of other stuff.  Four bags' worth, all junk to him, more than to me.  Man, if I just told myself I was too tired and fell immediately to bed, like I wanted to, my president would have been pissed at me.

Instead, I was pissed at My Fucking Father.  Still am.  The fatigue evaporated from my body.  I was so keyed up that I have stayed up ever since.  Got stuff done, too -- folded all my clothes, put my day planners in my old bedroom, I'm blogging about the shit My Fucking Father pulled by writing this, etc.

In the meantime I thought about how to explain to My Fucking Father of the boxes that disappeared from the minivan.  My first thought was to really lean into him, accusing him of intentionally throwing away the club's stuff because he wanted to be an asshole: "You have no respect for my stuff, I know that, but you don't have the right to throw away other people's stuff!  That's why I did that!"

But I can't afford a full-blown fight.  Tomorrow morning, I just won't bring it up, act like it's no big deal.  If My Fucking Father asks, I will "remind" him that the boxes he put in his car were not his, and I was holding it for him until my president ... uh, got home from family issues out of town, and if he really wants them out of here, I'll just find a place at work to hide them -- "And by the way, it was so dark outside I thought I saw other things that belonged to my president in the other two or three or four other bags you wanted to toss, and I took those, too.  Don't you worry about them; I'll take care of it."

I hope that defuses things.  As much as I want to pick a fight over the bullshit he pulled this afternoon, upon further reflection this is the way to go.  Although I also am passive-aggressively defying him by not taking a shower tonight.

Expenses Without Receipt

From tonight, Saturday, February 16:

• Caffetto, coffee with tip: $1.75.
• Got back from the Xcel Energy Center to see both the Minnesota Swarm and the Minnesota RollerGirls lose.  Real fun, especially knowing that I spent money scalping a ticket, buying a souvenir-sized Coke and a hot dog for the "privilege."  Total cost: $27.75.
• To Friday the 15th: Caffetto again, this time for a mocha because I felt kind of flushed with cash.  Increased my tip more than the usual quarter ... to two quarters.  Total: $3.50.
• The experiment, which gave me an Infusion of: $20.
• Thursday the 14th ... Experiment, Infusion: $20.
• Tuesday the 12th ... Saw Silver Linings Playbook.  It was ... good.  Hear some who said they went into the film not knowing whether they'd like it and loving it.  I am not one of those people.  B+?  Movie, popcorn and pop: $9.25.
• And before the movie I went to "work" at the hearing lab.  Infusion: $20.
• To Monday the 11th.  My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Edition) to unwind after "class."  Coffee and tips: $10.
• I think I told you about the coffeeshop at the mall closest to me, the one that closed?  No?  OK, the story, quick and dirty: It was a place that had the cheapest coffee around, but it was closing because it was about to open up a new place closer to the U.  So I hadn't gone to the mall in a while, and during this time, which was a bit after Thanksgiving (I think) they had closed up, so when I went to the mall I say that they either were closed or quickly converted to an Asian nail salon.  Anyway, I had overheard that they were planning to open in Dinkytown for the holiday season.  Well, they opened on the 7th instead.  And they're great, even though their prices are a lot higher now.  I need to cut back on going here.  I cut back this past Monday -- coffee with tip: $2.25.
• Hearing lab.  Infusion: $20.
• Back to Friday the 8th ... and the U. experiment, and Infusion of: $20.
• Thursday, the 7th, where, once again, the only EWR I have is my paid job at the U.  Infusion: $20.
• Wednesday the 6th -- yep, same thing.  Experiment: Infusion of: $20.

I have no idea if I'm caught up, but I'll just say I will.  This continues to be an exercise in frustration.

Not My Proudest Moment

Felt like I wanted to eat something (even though I'm fat and I ate something at Xcel tonight to watch both the Swarm and the Minnesota RollerGirls lose), but I had no money.  However, I had 50 cents to eat a donut from the gas station across the street from the coffeeshop I'm blogging this from, Caffetto.  At least that's what it said on the ... price thingy.

But when I go up to the counter, the guy tells me the cake donut I have in my hand, the one I thought was 49 cents plus tax, is actually $1.19.  He said the donuts with holes are 49 cents.  But the card in the donut said it's the other way around: Donuts with holes are $1.19, ones that are not are 49 cents.

I wasn't paying that much money for the donut I have, so I volunteered to put it back.  But I guess that isn't the cleanest thing to do, even if I was holding the donut with a cookie sheet.  So he told me to put it on the counter, off to the side.  I did.  Hope the two people in line behind me didn't judge me.

But for God's sake I swear the donut I had was 49 cents!

Can Somebody Invent A Better Nail Clipper, Please?

My fingernails were getting so long that when I typed, my left index nail was hitting the keyboard on my laptop so much that it was hurting my finger.  Does that ever happen to you?  I hate when that happens, hurting as you type.  That's why clipping my nails feel such a relief; it's a pain-free joy to be able to type without that suffering afterward.

I wanted to do it earlier, but my parents are now using the upstairs/my bathroom because the contractor they hired is now in the middle of completely gutting their master bathroom: Taking out the old sink, the old toilet, the old shower, the maligned shower walls, the old walls with the 70s wallpaper, and the ceiling, behind which was a water leak from a pipe that needed to be replaced for at least a decade.  A couple days ago I finally saw the old bathroom naked, down to the wood.

And all I can say is, Fucking finally.  I have no goddamn idea why they would remodel the upper bathroom when everything -- and I mean everything -- in the lower bathroom had to go.  There is very little in the remodeling of the house that I agree with, but at least they've decided to change a room that actually needed changing because everything in there wasn't working.

Anyway, I would have trimmed my nails sooner, but I had time to do it when I came back home late last night.  (I also waited because I'm suspicious; I read in a book somewhere when I was young that it's bad luck to cut your nails on a Friday.)  And once again, even though I could see the light at the end of the nailbed-groomed tunnel, the means to get there are still a pain-in-the-ass.

First of all, to trim my toenails, I can't use the tub because my shadow gets in the way.  So I leap onto the sink counter and dangle my foot over the edge.  That used to be fine with the old counter, but the new one, sleek as it looks, is a lot higher.  Therefore, it's always a bit of a struggle for me to climb on top of it.  Reminds me of all the instances where I tried to pull myself up the pipe I was playing on for recess when I was a kid.  (This is another of the remodels that I hate; when am I going to get around to blogging about all the new things around the house that I dislike?)

Then I have to deal with trimming the nails.  I have the standard nail clipper, the one everybody uses, the one that's small enough to put into your keychain.  And it sucks, it's a flawed design:

• I generate no torque from it, and sometimes I have to push down on the thing twice before it breaks through the nail.  My fingers hurt after I try and trim them;
• The handle is at an angle, and I don't know about you, but my finger slides down that handle when I pushing down, so I have to reset and try it all over again;
• Both ... teeth? ... are too small to fit around the ends of the nailbed, the very edge, the part where, if you don't get around it, the nail just kind of hangs on at the sides of your nails, you know?  But it's a goddamn pain to slide that thing through the edge there;
• And it's so small that I just drop the damn thing from time to time.  Did that last night; went all the way down to the floor, so I had to say a prayer, leap all the way off the counter, retrieve it, then climb all the way back up.  It's too much fucking work!

You know what I once had?  This.  I grew up using this.  Grandmother and my parents used this.  In fact, this is what I thought of as a "normal" fingernail clipper, even though just this moment while I was looking up Google Images I see that it's referred to as a toenail clipper.  I use it for all my limbs because it's stronger, easier on the hands, and can fit in and under anywhere you need to take out a nail.  Actually, I used it because My Fucking Father threw the one I had somewhere when he so rudely moved all of my shit from my old bedroom into Grandmother's bedroom.

I really could use that.  I miss my nail trimmer.

Nightmare

Oh, man, a couple weeks ago I had a whale of a nightmare featuring My Father.  About what, however, I forgot as soon as I got up out of bed.  Why do you forget nightmares so quickly after waking?

I think, however, I've still got this one from this morning, although I'm short on details.  It concerns Mother, and her wanting my help putting up what I figure out posts long enough to be used for mailboxes (although I don't think she was putting up mailbox posts ... you know what I'm saying?), and her yelling at me to the point where she, somehow, found out that I'm not actually working.

That's all I remember.  But that's enough for me to classify it as a nightmare.

Man, what does it mean??

A Milestone

Since my last post was just into the new day, I thought I'd swing by here to freshen up WAF by blurbing about something.  But I didn't know what to talk about.

Thank Buddha I now have an excuse to blog when I saw that this site has just crossed 30,000 unique pageviews!  Wow, 30,000 is probably the number that hit, say, ESPN.com a second.  But for me, reaching that number shows that at least someone out there cares.

If there is anybody reading this who's trying not to hack into my account or spamming me, thank you, from the bottom of my heart.  I am blogging for myself, but I truly appreciate you stopping by here.

The Goddamn Researcher Reeled Me In!!!

So I'm calling and e-mailing all these research studies to see if they need anybody, all in an effort to raise money for myself.  (The more I think about it, the more I'm glad I've been able to stick with this new hearing experiment.  Should blog about that soon.)  Several fish bit, including one from this navigation study that, frankly, I don't remember specifically contacting anyone about or even remember, seeing that I've been doing so many of these.

And I don't remember if we've had one back-and-forth via e-mail, because the e-mail I remember reading from the researcher says that I appear to be eligible.  Great.  Do you know your way around the building where the experiment will be held?  Yes, absolutely, it's the one where the hearing lab is, in fact.

That's where she fucking baited me like a fish!!!  She quickly replied, "Oh, for this navigation study we need people who don't know their way around the building.  Sorry."

Are you fucking kidding me?!?!?!  Oh my fucking God, I was assuming that she wanted to know if I knew my way around a building that is kind of funky (each floor zigs and zags and aren't numbered in order, plus this particular building is two towers, and if you don't know if you need to go to the north side or the south side you could be confused for some time).  But she actually was looking for people who didn't know.  Answering in the affirmative was a deal-breaker, something I've never had to deal with before.  It was all a fucking trap!!  She took money out of my wallet by tricking me!!!

Although, from her perspective it's kind of necessary.  And kind of clever, too.

I Got A Job?!

So I'm just innocently calling the temp agency because, let's be honest, I need the money.  But I didn't think anything of it.  I'm calling basically because I want to let them know I'm still alive and I care about employment.

So I give the girl my name and she just says, "OK, thank you, we don't have any jobs right now, but if anything comes up, we'll let you know."  Wait a second ... no, she didn't say that!  She actually said, "There's a job for you!"

Holy shit, really?!?!?!  When the fuck did calling in ever get me a job?

But I did.  And unfortunately it's not data entry, like I wanted.  "It's a customer service job," she continued, "And it's going to be downtown," so I'll have to pay money to park to go to work.  My first thought to myself was, "Shit, I have to fucking talk to people?  I thought I told these guys that's not what I want.  And I'll have to pay for parking, too?  Fuck that, I'd rather stay jobless."

But then I remembered: Continuing to receive unemployment is contingent on not refusing work.  Shit.  I had no choice but to say yes.  This is a shitty job where I would have to get yelled at by strangers, and I have to take it or else I will have no income.  Welcome to The Real America, ladies and gentlemen.

I will try and be positive, however.  There is a script, so all I'll have to do is recite the words in front of me -- brainless work is what I do best!  Also, there are some test dates coming up, and if they are in conflict with this job, I'll take the tests instead.  At least that's a job I'm good at and I like.

There are two problems with taking this job instead, however.  The place where we score tests is a lot farther away than downtown, and even though it's the suburbs and therefore it's free, does the gas I spend going out there substitute for parking fees?  And the job pays a bit more than the testing position, plus it's going to be five weeks compared to who-knows-how-long-it'll-be for the tests.  Shit, I love scoring tests, but ... wouldn't it be better to take this job anyway?

And how about my trip to Detroit?  I want to go to Detroit, but that'll be right in the middle of this assignment.  But I won't be able to even afford to go if I don't have money, which I'll get working this job.

Goddamn, this is so fucking complicated now.  I just wanted to make a fucking call, for God's sake. ...

The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey

#-1: Gopher wrestling (Last Week: -1).  An underwhelming week overall, but I have to give the top spot to the U. grapplers, who finished the regular season by immolating cross-border rival Wisconsin Sunday, 34-5. They finish the year 13-2 overall and 7-1 in the B1G, which is good, but they put up those records every year.  What I think reveals this team more are the losses, which are to Oklahoma St. and Iowa (both, by the way, at home; they finish a perfect 5-0 on the road and 2-0 at neutral sites).  Both schools are ranked ahead of the Gophers, as is top-ranked Penn St., whom Minnesota managed somehow not to play this year.  Unless they surprise me -- and surprises on the team side rarely happen in wrestling, I hypothesize -- their ranking of fourth is probably where they'll finish.  Again.

I don't know if there has ever been a National Dual Finals before.  If so, I don't know if the U. has ever hosted it.  But they are in two weeks.  The format?  Beats the hell out of me.

#-2: Swarm (Last Week: -5).  The Swarm and the Toronto Rock were tied after two, three and four periods -- tight game.  In overtime, Transition Tyler Hass registered a hat trick and earned the team its second of the season, 13-12.  Getting outscored in the fourth quarter has been an early bugaboo for the Smarm, so seeing them score in lockstep with the Rock in the final stanza is a good thing.

One game this week: Their annual doubleheader with the Minnesota RollerGirls, which means their game against Calgary will begin at the special time of 6 o'clock.  I've thought about going, but last year I was really tired sitting through the doubleheader.  Maybe I'll just skip the lacrosse game and somehow snag a ticket for the roller derby nightcap. ...

#-3: Wild (Last Week: -3).  Well, the first game after a hastily-arranged players-only meeting was a listless, troubling, awful 4-1 dicksmack by the Vancouver Canucks at home.  However they ended the week with a pair of 2-1 wins.  Sure, they needed extra time to win both those games, so they still only have three regulation victories (the last one coming Jan. 29), but the shootout win in Calgary was their first on the road.

Unfortunately they are still having trouble scoring goals.  And now it looks like backup Goalie Josh Harding might be sitting for awhile; reports are that he told higher-ups that he felt "odd" the past few days.  Is he feeling the effects of his Multiple Sclerosis?

This week: At Vancouver, then hosting Colorado and Detroit.

#-4: Gopher men's hockey (Re-Entry!).  A split at St. Cloud St., the second game of which featured a rare 4-1 deficit before scoring two goals in a too-little comeback, dropped the Gophers out of the top spot in both national polls, being replaced by ... Quinnipiac.  Quinnipiac???  They're a small school in the ECAC, derisively called the "EZ-AC" because it's a conference generally regarded as no better than Atlantic Hockey.  That leavens my heart from being disappointed over the Goofs dropping to #2; this should mean that the ... Bobcats, if they keep this up, will be prime upset material when the tournament begins in a month.

Meanwhile, the squad has a very special road trip this weekend: Friday they visit Wisconsin, and on Sunday, both teams travel to Chicago's Soldier Field to play, the first time in the modern age that Minnesota has played under the gaze of Mother Nature and God.

#-5: Timberwolves (Last Week: -6).  The final game of the Woofie Dogs' week, a 100-92 victory on the road over Cleveland (snapping an eight-game road losing streak) also snapped a four-game losing period streak.  Beating Kyrie Irving isn't going to wipe away the bad taste losses to San Antonio, New York and Memphis crammed into my mouth this screening week, however.

I saw parts of the defeats to the Knicks and Bastard Vancouver Grizzlies, and the club once again exhibited how, uh, diverse they are in losing.  They took the lead over New York Friday between the end of the third and the beginning of the fourth quarters, but because the Woofs have no one and the Knickerbockers have Carmelo Anthony (who has played less like a bitch since Head Coach Mike Woodson has convinced Amar'e Stoudemire to come off the bench), New York made the shots in the clutch.  That was dispiriting, yet it was nothing like seeing them get behind early against Memphis early Sunday evening.  As one of the rare persons not a fan of the current iteration of the Grammys ("Let's throw these two guys together!  And then let's throw these three people together!  And then let's push all four of these bands together to make one supergroup, and they'll do snippets of each of their songs, and then they'll do a song from a dead guy!  Ain't this a celebration of music or what?!"), I needed to see something compelling, and that sure as shit wasn't it.

Oh, one other thing: Derrick Williams is nothing, absolutely nothing, without Ricky Rubio.  His career will die on the vine if and when he gets traded.

The only thing to look forward to is the fact that, after Wednesday's home game against Utah, the entire team is off for All-Star Weekend.  No one on the team is participating.  As it should be.

#-6: Gopher women's basketball (Last Week: -4).  Won at home over Iowa, lost at Illinois.  I have nothing else to add besides, uh ... the team is 12-3 at home.  They have one game this week: Sunday at home vs. Northwestern in their annual "Pink" cancer fundraising game.

#-7: Gopher men's basketball (Last Week: -2).  OK, now this team is in big fucking trouble.  The Big Ten is a beast this year, and 19 wins might be enough for these Goofs to get into the NCAA Tournament.  But they look like shit, and they played like shit in going winless at Michigan St. and home vs. Illinois.

It's the Illini loss that is particularly gruesome because the old weaknesses with this team appeared again: No one moving on offense, turnovers, poor decision-making at the end of the shot clock, shitty defense around the perimeter, mediocre free-throw shooting.  That all adds up, again, to a supreme lack of gumption at crunch time, and Illinois managed to hold off the Goofs, 57-53.

The only good thing I can still see out of this group is that, according to Kenpom, the U. is still pretty good, the 13th-best team in the land when it comes to tempo-free combined efficiency.  Remember, however, that they are sliding down that list; they were once as high as 8th.  They host Wisconsin and visit Iowa this week.

#-8: Gopher volleyball (Re-Entry!).  I bring this program back on the WMNSS for something disturbing that I found.  Last week Head Coach Huge McCutcheon hired a guy by the name of Erich Hinterstocker as assistant coach.  He has head coaching experience, being the lead guy at North Dakota St. from 2006 to 2010.  He turned around the program, leaving with an overall record with the Bison of 95-38, the school's first appearance ever in the NCAA Tournament, and back-to-back undefeated Summit League championships in 2008 and 2009.

But notice that his last year was 2010.  The U. of M. press release does not fill in what he's done since then.  But then I found this eye-opening article from Tom Pantera, managing editor of a company called Extra Media, Inc.  He said Hinterstocker was "coerced" into resigning in the fall of the 2010 season after reports that he verbally and physically abused his players.

If this is true, and I believe it to be true, this pisses me off.  And Hugh McCutcheon has made a terrible, terrible mistake.  I'm very sensitive to stuff like this because I was bullied as a child, and I find it indefensible that he would hire a bully onto his program.  I don't care that he's not Head Coach, he's going to yell and, unimaginable as this may sound, beat the players.  Is that what Cutch is going to allow?  What kind of message is even hiring this asshole sending?  The damage may already have been done.

My interest in going to volleyball games at the U. has just been dampened.

My Fucking Father's Hypocrisy

Just remembered: Last night I woke up at 11:30 without any bitching from either parent, just the soft-shoeing of what I believe to be Mother out at the kitchen.  I wanted to wake up so I could clear snow from the storm that's been blowing through today and yesterday, so I, you know, actually woke up.

When I went out to the living room, My Fucking Father wasn't there.  I heard him downstairs, talking to someone, while I was putting on shoes to go outside to work.

This is the same man who, about the same time one week ago, threatened me through my bedroom door, "He still isn't up?!?!?!"

The only difference I can think of is yesterday was Chinese New Year's.  He might have wanted to take it easy, plus it's bad luck in at least Chinese lore (don't know if My Fucking Father follows it) that you don't clean your house that day because all you'll do is sweep out the good luck for the year.

But that's bullshit.  And he's full of shit.  Goddamn hypocrite.

I Love You, Store, I'll Miss You ... PLEASE DON'T GO!!!

When My Fucking Father got done with doing his shit at the courthouse (and nagging at me to buy a new pair of shoes -- I'm wearing new ones I was saving so he can finally SHUT THE FUCK UP ABOUT IT!!!), I took him back to The Store.  Wow.  Another opportunity to see The Store.

I was surprised to see their minivan there.  I thought Mother had to stay home to let the contractor in (I was going to take My Fucking Father home to he can take the van to The Store), but I guess he said he wouldn't come in.  I also noticed there was another vehicle in the parking lot and a man going into the back door.

My Fucking Father invited me in; don't know why, maybe he noticed I was sentimental about The Store.  Initially I thought against it; it was a bit past 10:30 at the time and I told the 'Rents I had to be "at work" by 11.  But after he went inside I thought about it.  Seriously, like I've written before, he might know that I'm lying about work but he doesn't really care.  Why would he invite me to come in if he thinks I should go to work?  He seemed cool if I did.  More importantly, despite my fear of what I would see inside, I owed it to The Store to see her again, if this suddenly becomes ... The Last Time.

So I changed my mind, even though delaying that decision meant I could say to myself that I choose to come in on my own instead of at the coercion of My Father, even though that would not be true at all.  I turned off the car, got out and walked, slowly, towards the (open) door.  I didn't want to waltz in not thinking it'd be a big deal.  For all I know, nothing would be what I thought it was.  So I approached cautiously, hoping that any drastic change to The Store I could process if I saw it inch by inch.

As the inside of The Store slowly came into view, it looked the same ... mostly.  My mind might be playing tricks with me, and the lights still mostly off aren't helping, but I noticed that there were less things on top of the shelves in the aisles since last week, the last time I dropped by.

Seeing as how it's mostly the same, I proceeded to go through my OCD way of paying homage to The Store: Walking all three aisles in both directions.  I did that, slaloming up and down until I was pointed to the exit, where I would quickly go back into my car and drive off.

But I looked to the back of The Store, the business end, through the open door on my way out.  That's where I saw all the hubbub, as well as where that stranger I saw going in was going.  He was on top of one of the freezers, the last one my parents were keeping operable, in fact.  I don't know what he was doing, but my paranoid guess?  He's dismantling the freezer from the top.  There were other things on top of that freezer, but when I looked it was totally bare.

There was another stranger on the ground floor, doing something.  Meanwhile, both my parents were busy ... doing things.  No specifics and I didn't dare ask, but it looked like they were all actively ... this is hard to type ... tearing down The Store.  And with that, I was too heartbroken to stay a second longer.

And for Chinese New Year's Eve Dinner tonight my sister-in-law asked my folks about when they were going back to Las Vegas.  Seemed like an innocuous-enough question.  Unfortunately it elicited the kind of answer I was dreading: "We're not leaving until we're all done with The Store."  Great -- I'll have to endure them for a little while longer, and when they do leave for their "retirement home," that means there's no Store left.

I'm all helpless and depressed again.

Questions I'll Hear For Chinese New Year's Eve

Came home today from "work" (well, actually work, if you count working at the hearing lab at the U. again work, and my wallet tells me it is) to see that my parents pulled apart the dining table to add the extension in the middle.  That means that we in fact won't be going out for Chinese New Year's Eve tonight (Saturday night) and instead will invite my brother and sister-in-law here.

Oh great, a lot of questions my sister-in-law will ask.  The only I don't want to hear that she will inevitably say: "So, when are you closing The Store?"  Once I hear that I will bolt up and run into my bedroom, plugging my ears and saying "BLAH-BLAH-BLAH, I'M NOT HEARING THIS!!!!!!!!!"  Well, I won't, but I will want to.

There might be other questions she'll ask.  One I'm kind of dreading: "What are you doing these days?"  And then I'll remember that I'm lying to my parents and that I'm not working right now, and that I'll soon turn 37 and will still be living at home with them, which is pathetic, even though it's a cruel world out there.

And since it's Chinese New Year's I get to it this vegetarian shit for the next month.  Don't tell me your mouth ain't waterin' after you take a look at this!

Happy Fuckin' Chinese New Year's.

My Fucking Mother Flipped Out

All I wanted to do was get a Coke from downstairs.  With My Father taking a shower, I could smuggle up a Coke to my room without him admonishing me.

Too goddamn bad for me that I was ensnared -- ambushed even -- by My Fucking Mother.

"Come here, I want to talk to you," she said, innocently enough.  She's been good lately, not batty like Father.  She showed me a letter from my parents' accountant about renewing their limited-liability company's license in Minnesota, and he billed them $300.

Then, here comes the boom: After we went back-and-forth about how long the license was renewed, a silly questions since it didn't matter and, more importantly, she didn't look at the date correctly and saw it was for two years instead of one, she finally came around to what she wanted to do, which was yell at me.  She was angry at me for not being on top of renewing the license.  And then she really started to insult me: "Talking to you is like talking to a baby!"

Usually after such a gutless comment like that I would just let her have it.  Unlike My Fucking Father, who seems to have his spats every other day, My Fucking Mother usually holds it in until it comes bursting out in an avalanche of threats and shit-talking, and I try to match her intensity, especially since she holds a grunge even worse than My Fucking Father.  But given the poor situation I am in, I just had to shrug and stumble away to Father, who also wanted me to do something.  I guess she ain't talking to me for the next month.

I felt my blood boiling only once when My Fucking Mother was berating me, when she called me a baby.  The rest of the time I was stunned, maybe even confused.  As I was laying upstairs trying to catch the first episode of Scandal I've ever seen (and to see what the hubbub was all about -- OK, I can see the show has potential), I was thinking.  I told My Fucking Mother that the fee was going to be the same whichever state they incorporated in, a point she seems to be angry with me for.  I have no idea about that, but I was worried about something else when I looked up Minnesota license fees online: Turns out that the reinstatement fee is a lot more expensive than a renewal fee.  However, assuming that you can renew for two years, and that the license lapsed all the way back to 2008, and that the renewal rate is ... wait a second ... oh, fucking Christ, never mind, it's a hell of a lot less than $300.

I wasn't aware.  OK?  I was not aware that the Minnesota license had to be renewed.  Some day several years ago My Father and I just went to some place to set up a corporation, and that's it.  Yes, I have done the same thing to corporations that have established in Nevada, and I was always aware that they had to pay money to renew there every year.  Should I have thought the same thing had to happen here?  I guess so.  But I didn't.  Why?  I'll trot out the excuse that real estate ain't my fucking business, and it's wholly goddamn unfair that My Fucking Mother thinks I should be on top of it.

On the other hand ... I feel a little guilty for not being on top of it.  My Fucking Mother says it was one thing she entrusted me to do.  And because I "forgot" about renewing for about four years, my folks now have to pay $300.  I didn't mean to make her pay $300.  This is all foreign to me, this corporation stuff.  And I don't think they were using this license until the thing with The Store.

There are a lot of things my parents tell me that I forget.  With this flap I reminded of another: Instructions My Fucking Father told me to write down regarding ... something about another corporation.  I wasn't told to do anything right away; if so, I would've bitched and complained and then I would've done it.  But it has been sitting in my hip pocket since I wrote it down.  Actually, I don't really know where it is now, but since last night I guess it's important.  Hell, it might have something to do with what My Fucking Mother was talking about.  And if so, that was, for lack of a better word, a warning sign that I missed.

When My Fucking Mother gets into these bad moods, she can get so angry that she can actually plan something -- in this case, because I'm "useless" to her, she probably is thinking up ways to get me to leave the house for good.  I've been up for a half-hour now completing this blog post with my parents working just outside the bedroom door.  I have no idea what's in store for me once I walk out.  No fucking idea.

Nag, Nag, Nag, That's All They Fuckin' Do

Tuesday after dinner Mother told me I had to take Father downtown yesterday morning for some court stuff, something to do with The Store.  Dammit.

I dreaded spending time with My Father because he always condescends to me whenever we're alone together.  But what can you do?  Move out?

So it began once we got to the city department.  He was lecturing me on how I should take real estate classes to help out with their properties.  Then he looked at my shoes, that have a couple holes in them, and he goes, "Why don't you buy some shoes?"  And I had to sit down and get the fuck away from him.  I'm not going to spend $40 I don't have to buy new shoes when I can still walk in my old ones.  Pestering dumbfuck.

He brought that shit up again over dinner last night and volunteered to buy me new shoes: "Do you have any money?" he fuckin' asked.  That bastard put me in a box.  Now, I said yes, I have money and no, I'm not going to buy new shoes because the ones I have aren't broken.  But that just invites him to nag about it all over again.  But if I say yes, I might get money, but he'll say, "So why don't you go get a new job, or go back to school?"  He'll found a way to nag at me, every single fucking day.  That's what he does.  Or that's what he'll do until I leave home.

And then My Fucking Mother got into the nagging act, although she is never as bad as My Fucking Father.  He called me out after dinner because Mother cut oranges.  I like oranges and they were sweet, I just could have done without them.  Most of the slices I retreated back into my room.  One time while I was poking my head out she gestured to the pile of bananas and apples on top of the toaster oven and said, "Why don't you ever eat that fruit?  I never see you eat that fruit!"  And like with My Fucking Father I just averted my eyes and nodded my head.  I had taken a banana or an apple with me in the morning when I was actually working.  Guess I should've kept up that ruse because she noticed.  But those fuckin' two have baked dumplings for me every single goddamn day.  Why am I going to eat that then eat fruit?  I don't need much to get me going every morning, and I sure as fuck don't want to leave full.  I'll just fall asleep.

By the way, oh my fucking God, you should see all the goddamn oranges they bought.  Was there a guy on an off-ramp selling these?  Because we got a fucking sack of them.  How the hell am I going to eat all those? Fuckin' A, why should I even start?

These shitty parents -- nag, nag, nag, that's all they fuckin' do.