OK, so the good news is is that I actually got the job from the scoring center!!! It was in the mail dropped off yesterday (Wednesday); I just refused to leave the house to check the mail until this (Thursday) morning. I opened up the mailbox, looked at the logo on the envelope and went, "Oh, shit!" then I went inside and immediately called them to confirm I'm working on the project. Yippee!!! They don't hate me for being slow after all!!!
So that's the good news. The bad news was how I so royally fucked up my plans for this evening.
I had to shake down my parents' customer who consistently borrows money from them. OK, not shake down, per se, I don't have a gun, but this is money, a lot of money, and they have always taught me that it's important. So I can't take this lightly, even though I went there wearing my Cophenagen Hard Rock Café t-shirt and waved goodbye to the woman who gave me the check in the amount she owes the 'Rents. I need to back up ... this was important for me to do, and they wanted me to collect the money yesterday, and that is what I did.
However, work and my stupidity intervened. I stayed up so late (part of it was to talk to my sister, part of it because no one was fucking here to bitch at me to go to sleep) that I checked my e-mails before going to bed at a quarter to 8 saying that I did get that MRI session that afternoon. Then, after I woke up at 1 I went out to get the mail and see that I am indeed working next week. I still squeezed in a quick jaunt down to Sonic to take advantage of that day's 1/2-off on their tasty shakes, but I went back home to check on my e-mail before picking up the invoices I needed to take the restaurant.
In anticipation of unemployment, I had lined up some experiments to do this week. But because of this project, I had to cancel them. One of them was the one in the West Bank I was debating whether or not I even had time to make it after I got finished with the previous test scoring project. Since I was about to cancel on this guy for a second time, especially after he was so nice to e-mail me back telling me about special make-up times, I thought it was only fair that I call him up and tell him that I chose to accept the project. He was really cool about it, even though it was the last week they were conducting this study, and the fact that I had no-showed would still stick in my account because I wasn't going to come in.
I then left to get to my car so I could reach the U. on time. But shit, I forgot something -- my sunglasses! So I had to open the door and turn off the alarm to retrieve my sunglasses from my bookbag. I was able to make it just in time for my session.
After I got done with "work" I was ready to continue my late afternoon trip to the restaurant, then maybe up the street to try these Glam Doll Donuts I've heard so much about, maybe even stop by the pizza place at Uptown to see the hot waitress, a girl I've known a long time when she was a stripper. But then I realized another thing: I have forgotten the invoices. Jesus Fucking Christ On A Cracker, I forgot the fucking invoices!!! So instead of being around town to swing by to Eat Street before being finished driving in time to see Game 7 of the NBA Finals (hell of a game, by the way), I had to drive all the way the fuck back home to get the invoices.
When I opened the front door (without turning off my car, in a signal to myself to get moving), I passed by said invoices -- which I had lain on the stairs so I could just bend down and pick them up after my phone call and bolt out the door. How stupid of me: I planned this out so I would go downstairs to check on my parents' computer (I was giving my laptop a rest) and make this call, then just pick up the invoices and leave. Except that I totally forgot and totally blew past the invoices on my way out. I then had a second chance to pick up said invoices -- still on the steps!!! -- but went all the way up those steps to get my sunglasses, and blew past them a second fucking time. What a goddamn waste. I hate being me.
Compounding all of this was that I took the wrong way to the restaurant. I had written down directions from the U. to this restaurant, but obviously those instructions, which I wrote in my day planner, fucking alongside the invoices. So the directions were no longer good and I had to rely on memory. Well fuck my memory, it's always bad, especially when it comes to directions, because I decided I needed to take 35W when I should have taken 94. I thought I had to take the long way, and I unduly punished myself. So for the next, oh, 30-45 minutes I was taking side streets and punishing my car in stop-and-go afternoon traffic to try and figure out where I needed to go. I thought I was way east of where I needed to be, but the street this restaurant is on dead-ends at a KMart going north. So I was shit out of luck and just wandering around till I finally figured out that I was far too south as well, and that this place is on the same-named street, but north of the KMart, so what I had to do was get around the Kmart to continue on this street.
So I finally did reach my destination and shook down the restauranteurs for money -- well, they paid one outstanding loan but did not give back any money for the other, which Mother thought she would at least partially repay. Whatever; I had little time left to get back home to watch the game (pizza was out), but Glam Doll Donuts was at least on the way and two blocks north, and so did I have the time to stop and pick up three donuts to see what the fuss was all about. Their big draw is that all their donuts are gluten-free ... and that's why all of them tasted kind of funny. Not a fan, especially since those three donuts plus milk and tip came to ten bucks.
But I did get home in time to see the entire game. at least it's over. Well, the memory of my failings remain, but what actually, physically happened is over. Because I got a job to start this bad day! Although it'll be over very soon. ...
Sunday, June 30, 2013
Leader?
I was afraid of stepping up. But others had to step down because of term limits, and everybody else who could not only did not say they wanted to do it, but didn't even show up.
I could see that coming. I wanted to help out any way I can to keep the club going, and if it meant leading the whole thing ... well, that is what must happen then. But goddammit, I'm a charlatan. I have no leadership experience. Plus I'm a goof-off. And what happens if they learn about my baggage?
The few days up until the election I was girding myself with a speech. Why do I want this job, and what will I do if I get it? And all I could think of was being afraid -- of not having a good-enough opening statement, of being unable to answer questions, of being exposed as incapable, of not getting the job, and, finally, of being ashamed that I might actually be relieved that I did not get the job. All that responsibility, and if I fail, if the club is run into the ground because I can't get enough people to support it, that would be my failure.
Well, not getting the job was not a worry after all. As I expected/feared, very few people cared to show up. And since there were more positions available than candidates, there wasn't a selection so much as a divvying up of jobs. Ladies and gentlemen, you are looking at the new president of his alumni club.
Great. I have not thought about this job for more than ten minutes since the "election," and I have not done a single fucking thing, even though, in transition periods like this, the leader usually gets out and at least makes an announcement. If I can't do this, how am I going to fundraise, or look all presidential when making speeches and stuff? How am I going to pull this off without ruining everything?
I could see that coming. I wanted to help out any way I can to keep the club going, and if it meant leading the whole thing ... well, that is what must happen then. But goddammit, I'm a charlatan. I have no leadership experience. Plus I'm a goof-off. And what happens if they learn about my baggage?
The few days up until the election I was girding myself with a speech. Why do I want this job, and what will I do if I get it? And all I could think of was being afraid -- of not having a good-enough opening statement, of being unable to answer questions, of being exposed as incapable, of not getting the job, and, finally, of being ashamed that I might actually be relieved that I did not get the job. All that responsibility, and if I fail, if the club is run into the ground because I can't get enough people to support it, that would be my failure.
Well, not getting the job was not a worry after all. As I expected/feared, very few people cared to show up. And since there were more positions available than candidates, there wasn't a selection so much as a divvying up of jobs. Ladies and gentlemen, you are looking at the new president of his alumni club.
Great. I have not thought about this job for more than ten minutes since the "election," and I have not done a single fucking thing, even though, in transition periods like this, the leader usually gets out and at least makes an announcement. If I can't do this, how am I going to fundraise, or look all presidential when making speeches and stuff? How am I going to pull this off without ruining everything?
Saturday, June 29, 2013
Giving Money To A Hot Girl ... For Charity, You Pervs!!! And There's A Twist At The End Of This Blog!!!
Two Saturdays ago I was driving from Burger King to working out at the community center. On my way to BK from home I saw a bunch of kids holding up signs from the sidewalk for a charity car wash.
I remember seeing them a few times and participating only once, and that was for a bikini car wash. These were high schoolers by the way, although there were some guys as well as girls. Obviously I gave $5 to see underage girls in swimsuits wash my car -- well, "wash" it; an older, more level-headed guy (with his son, I think) was hanging back and looking at the young girls and boys and noticed that while they were soaping up my car, they weren't too fast in rinsing it off, so he kind of admonished them to wash my car down quickly. Maybe I should have been a little more on the ball, but I was so enthralled by the entire tableau -- the scantily-clad girls there to whom, if they and I were the only ones, I would have whipped it out so quickly; that, unfortunately, there were guys in board shorts helping out the girls with the big stuff, like carrying buckets of water and soaping up the tops of the cars; and that these high schoolers were being helped by their parents, who were also participating (though, unlike their children, they, thank Buddha, were not in their swimsuits) Seriously though, there were parents there endorsing this whoring. This was a crime-to-be, but there were parents there.
But I digress ... no swimsuits here, however the girl-to-boy ratio was much better and the chicks, as underage as they are, were still cute. The babes did manage to wear those Daisy Duke white jean shorts, which apparently is the fad nowadays. For that reason I was tempted to donate money.
As I was turning I got a closer look at the sign one of the girls was holding. The charity was for Sudan or Africa. OK. I feel bad, but once I saw that, I kind of decided not to give money. I don't know why, I'm just an asshole. That did not stop one of the girls to come up to the passenger side of my car, whose window I partially rolled down, to ask for money. I said no and drove off once the cross-traffic was free.
But then I relented. You know, it's for a good cause, and they were pretty. Plus I felt bad that I lied. Yeah, I had a buck I could give, so I made a U-turn at the next light so I could swing around and give the group loitering around the sidewalks and crosswalks, and hopefully that girl I dissed, a dollar.
And so I did and I was able to get the exact same young woman. "Sorry, I actually did have a dollar." And once I threw it in her plastic bucket, she goes, "God bless you."
Not to say I regret giving her a dollar, but I did not expect that. And now I feel bad about lusting for her. Then again, what is a God-fearing girl doing wearing short shorts like that?
I remember seeing them a few times and participating only once, and that was for a bikini car wash. These were high schoolers by the way, although there were some guys as well as girls. Obviously I gave $5 to see underage girls in swimsuits wash my car -- well, "wash" it; an older, more level-headed guy (with his son, I think) was hanging back and looking at the young girls and boys and noticed that while they were soaping up my car, they weren't too fast in rinsing it off, so he kind of admonished them to wash my car down quickly. Maybe I should have been a little more on the ball, but I was so enthralled by the entire tableau -- the scantily-clad girls there to whom, if they and I were the only ones, I would have whipped it out so quickly; that, unfortunately, there were guys in board shorts helping out the girls with the big stuff, like carrying buckets of water and soaping up the tops of the cars; and that these high schoolers were being helped by their parents, who were also participating (though, unlike their children, they, thank Buddha, were not in their swimsuits) Seriously though, there were parents there endorsing this whoring. This was a crime-to-be, but there were parents there.
But I digress ... no swimsuits here, however the girl-to-boy ratio was much better and the chicks, as underage as they are, were still cute. The babes did manage to wear those Daisy Duke white jean shorts, which apparently is the fad nowadays. For that reason I was tempted to donate money.
As I was turning I got a closer look at the sign one of the girls was holding. The charity was for Sudan or Africa. OK. I feel bad, but once I saw that, I kind of decided not to give money. I don't know why, I'm just an asshole. That did not stop one of the girls to come up to the passenger side of my car, whose window I partially rolled down, to ask for money. I said no and drove off once the cross-traffic was free.
But then I relented. You know, it's for a good cause, and they were pretty. Plus I felt bad that I lied. Yeah, I had a buck I could give, so I made a U-turn at the next light so I could swing around and give the group loitering around the sidewalks and crosswalks, and hopefully that girl I dissed, a dollar.
And so I did and I was able to get the exact same young woman. "Sorry, I actually did have a dollar." And once I threw it in her plastic bucket, she goes, "God bless you."
Not to say I regret giving her a dollar, but I did not expect that. And now I feel bad about lusting for her. Then again, what is a God-fearing girl doing wearing short shorts like that?
Friday, June 28, 2013
MRI Guy Is Bullshitting
So after work today I decided to eschew watching the NBA Draft (considered one of the weakest of all-time, if not the weakest, and that may be why it turned into the most surprising in a long time, if not ever) to help out with the guy I work with at the U.'s MRI lab the most. Haven't seen him in a while, but it's kind of a good thing. He still doesn't understand American nuance, so I did not miss him not knowing what I mean when I ask for something. Plus he's kind of a flibbertigibbet, and that kind of got annoying when he would keep in the tube for, say, an extra half-hour into what would turn out to be a five-hour session.
Tonight there were two changes. This guy usually concentrates on special scans below the head, so I would usually have this plate on my hips so he can scan my kidneys or prostate. This time it was a simply brain scan. Also, this lasted only 4 hours and 45 minutes, with a 10-minute break inbetween, which to him is akin to a smoke break.
But I got bored in the middle of it, shortly after I woke up shortly after I was put into the MRI. Normally the researcher expects me to listen to the radio while I'm being scanned, and normally I refuse. But this time I wanted to hear any draft picks or news about the Timberwolves' draft picks and the draft itself. So I ask him to turn on the radio. But fuckin' A, he refused! I couldn't understand him through his goddamn thick Chinese accent, but something about "reactions" that might affect the scans he wants. OK, I have never heard any researcher demand radio silence because of how my blood might screw up the scans, and he has never complained about it, either. But now it's a problem? Whatever.
What I am going to do about it? Nothing, because this is an easy way to make money and he apparently likes me (as a subject). Plus he was kind of nice to me tonight, so I exchanged pleasantries with him. Again, whatever.
Tonight there were two changes. This guy usually concentrates on special scans below the head, so I would usually have this plate on my hips so he can scan my kidneys or prostate. This time it was a simply brain scan. Also, this lasted only 4 hours and 45 minutes, with a 10-minute break inbetween, which to him is akin to a smoke break.
But I got bored in the middle of it, shortly after I woke up shortly after I was put into the MRI. Normally the researcher expects me to listen to the radio while I'm being scanned, and normally I refuse. But this time I wanted to hear any draft picks or news about the Timberwolves' draft picks and the draft itself. So I ask him to turn on the radio. But fuckin' A, he refused! I couldn't understand him through his goddamn thick Chinese accent, but something about "reactions" that might affect the scans he wants. OK, I have never heard any researcher demand radio silence because of how my blood might screw up the scans, and he has never complained about it, either. But now it's a problem? Whatever.
What I am going to do about it? Nothing, because this is an easy way to make money and he apparently likes me (as a subject). Plus he was kind of nice to me tonight, so I exchanged pleasantries with him. Again, whatever.
Thursday, June 27, 2013
Wednesday, June 26, 2013
The Store Is Getting Beaten Down
Father told me over dinner tonight that the cracks for The Store's ceiling, emanating from that big chunk that fell to the floor Sunday, was getting so bad that he himself decided to break off even more big chunks of the ceiling. Otherwise, he says, the water that has warped that would weaken it to the point that it'd fall anyway.
He showed me a picture of it. A huge, I mean huge, part of the exterior layer of the ceiling was torn down, leaving the dark brown base wood. And there are huge beams of neon lights that go from one end of the aisle to the other, so when Father tore of the ceiling around some of those beams, he had no choice but to bring down the neon lights too.
Yeah, I guess The Store won't be reopening. But damn, I wish something could be done for her, and cheaply enough, too.
He showed me a picture of it. A huge, I mean huge, part of the exterior layer of the ceiling was torn down, leaving the dark brown base wood. And there are huge beams of neon lights that go from one end of the aisle to the other, so when Father tore of the ceiling around some of those beams, he had no choice but to bring down the neon lights too.
Yeah, I guess The Store won't be reopening. But damn, I wish something could be done for her, and cheaply enough, too.
Tuesday, June 25, 2013
The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey
#-1: Lynx (Last Week: -1). Well, their 28-point ass-kicking at Los Angeles Friday shows The New Reality for the Jynx: They won't be able to roll over opponents like they did the previous two years. While the club decided to keep the nucleus intact, other teams in the West got better, which means there will be nights where they just flat-out lose. Fortunately they sandwich this loss inbetween victories in Phoenix Wednesday and home against Tulsa Sunday. The win over The Bastard Detroit Shock was a good barometer of how this veteran squad bounces back. Maya Moore has become increasingly vocal, and it was her drive over the embarrassment of the defeat at the hands of the Sparks that helped the Lynx respond with a nine-point win.
Leaders in the Western Conference, they host a rematch with L.A. Friday.
#-2: Twins (Last Week: -2). Yeah, I wish I was able to tuck this WMNSS before I fell asleep early this morning. But for the last two days my laptop has been on the fritz. I could turn it on, but I couldn't connect with the modem downstairs. I tried my tablet but it too couldn't find the wireless connection, so I just assumed the modem wasn't working. Well, maybe it was the rainy weather we've had lately, but tonight I tried my computer again and now there is no problem.
Too bad it came too late; now I have to include the Twinks' 4-2 loss in Miami that just completed. I thought the Marlins were going to be the worst team in the National League after Owner Jeffrey Loria sold off all their best veteran players. They beat the Twins? Actually, on second thought that may not be such a far-fetched idea.
The loss to Miami aside, I think I'm getting a clear picture as to where this franchise stands in the Major League Baseball hierarchy. Midweek they swept the White Sox, the last-place team in the American League Central at home, but then went to A.L. Central second-place team Cleveland and lost two out of three. So that's how good they are -- right smack dab in the middle of the division.
The big news coming out of Twins Territory is the long-awaited call-up of Pitcher and Latest Savior Kyle Gibson. After weeks of speculation, a back strain to Mike Pelfrey finally opened up a spot in the big league roster for Gibson, who will make his major league debut Saturday at home vs. Kansas City. And you just know that in front of Target Field, against a young and mediocre ballclub like the Royals, there's a very good chance Gibson goes, 7 2/3 innings and strikes out 11 batters. Maybe I should pick him up on my fantasy roster for a spot start. Sandwiched inbetween this four-game series with K.C. is the second and final game against the Marlins early tomorrow afternoon and the first of four games against those goddamn New York Yankees Monday night.
Leaders in the Western Conference, they host a rematch with L.A. Friday.
#-2: Twins (Last Week: -2). Yeah, I wish I was able to tuck this WMNSS before I fell asleep early this morning. But for the last two days my laptop has been on the fritz. I could turn it on, but I couldn't connect with the modem downstairs. I tried my tablet but it too couldn't find the wireless connection, so I just assumed the modem wasn't working. Well, maybe it was the rainy weather we've had lately, but tonight I tried my computer again and now there is no problem.
Too bad it came too late; now I have to include the Twinks' 4-2 loss in Miami that just completed. I thought the Marlins were going to be the worst team in the National League after Owner Jeffrey Loria sold off all their best veteran players. They beat the Twins? Actually, on second thought that may not be such a far-fetched idea.
The loss to Miami aside, I think I'm getting a clear picture as to where this franchise stands in the Major League Baseball hierarchy. Midweek they swept the White Sox, the last-place team in the American League Central at home, but then went to A.L. Central second-place team Cleveland and lost two out of three. So that's how good they are -- right smack dab in the middle of the division.
The big news coming out of Twins Territory is the long-awaited call-up of Pitcher and Latest Savior Kyle Gibson. After weeks of speculation, a back strain to Mike Pelfrey finally opened up a spot in the big league roster for Gibson, who will make his major league debut Saturday at home vs. Kansas City. And you just know that in front of Target Field, against a young and mediocre ballclub like the Royals, there's a very good chance Gibson goes, 7 2/3 innings and strikes out 11 batters. Maybe I should pick him up on my fantasy roster for a spot start. Sandwiched inbetween this four-game series with K.C. is the second and final game against the Marlins early tomorrow afternoon and the first of four games against those goddamn New York Yankees Monday night.
Monday, June 24, 2013
Addendum To: Store's In Bad Shape
Things got worse for The Store. Went there yesterday morning to wipe up all the wet spots there, and I got both bored and tired, so I took a break, ate out for lunch, got chicken for my parents and went home to take a nap before heading out yesterday evening to do more mop-up work on my way to the airport to pick them up.
When I came back to resume mopping, I saw a bunch of pieces of something in the middle aisle, right in the middle of the puddle of dark water I was cleaning up. The only place it could have come from was above, so I looked up, and there I saw a huge patch of dark material, which used to be covered up by a piece of the ceiling, which was now on the ground. The impact was so big and bad that a (for lack of a better word) diorama of Chinese lutes was shattered when a piece of the ceiling fell right on top of it.
I didn't know what to do. My first priority was to continue mopping up all the water pooling on The Store's floor. And I wasn't able to finish that before I ... well, to be honest with you I treated myself to an hour at My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Edition) before going to the airport.
When I came back to resume mopping, I saw a bunch of pieces of something in the middle aisle, right in the middle of the puddle of dark water I was cleaning up. The only place it could have come from was above, so I looked up, and there I saw a huge patch of dark material, which used to be covered up by a piece of the ceiling, which was now on the ground. The impact was so big and bad that a (for lack of a better word) diorama of Chinese lutes was shattered when a piece of the ceiling fell right on top of it.
I didn't know what to do. My first priority was to continue mopping up all the water pooling on The Store's floor. And I wasn't able to finish that before I ... well, to be honest with you I treated myself to an hour at My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Edition) before going to the airport.
Sunday, June 23, 2013
Another Staycation Of Not Doing What I Needed To Do
Bagging Entertainment Weeklys? Nope. Going through my papers? Nuh-uh. Correcting this year's tax return? I remembered I wanted to do that just now.
Yet another week/opportunity while my parents were gone where I failed to do all the things I wanted to do. And unlike the last time they went on a cruise, this was worse because I had no job this week that took up my time. I was totally free, save for the MRI session I picked up Thursday. I had all the time to do what I wanted to do, and again, I didn't.
Where did all the time go? Well, Monday afternoon I had that doctor's appointment ... I went out stripclubbing and movie-watching Tuesday ... I probably would have been on the Internet if not for the NBA Finals games Tuesday and Thursday ... as well as the Stanley Cup Finals games Wednesday and last (Saturday) night ... and I had this alumni club thing to go do this afternoon. There's always tomorrow, but that day is for cleaning up around the house and putting stuff back where they were before they left.
OK, so I got all the excuses out of the way ... maybe it was that Wednesday, my Do Nothing Day. Maybe I should have done something. Otherwise, the rest of my time was spent dinking around the Internet and sleeping. The former I will do regardless. The latter ... you know, I remember when I was young and I had boundless energy. I would come home from, say, the strip club and I would hop back on the computer. Nowadays I would immediately fall into bed. With the cats (my parents) away I would make hay while the sun's shining. Now I don't care, and sleep is the things I lust for the most.
One other thing: Cleaning up The Store has dominated the past 48 hours. If there were no leaks, or no rain as we have had, it would not have been necessary for me to go. That might have freed up some time. Tomorrow (Sunday, which technically is today) would have been a day for me to largely take it easy at home. Instead I'm looking at going back to The Store, maybe twice, to clean up from all the rain that has fallen and might fall between now and sun up. Plus I have to clear some of the debris that fell here from Friday night's storm.
And then my folks will be home. Fuck my life. They need to take a two-week vacation.
Yet another week/opportunity while my parents were gone where I failed to do all the things I wanted to do. And unlike the last time they went on a cruise, this was worse because I had no job this week that took up my time. I was totally free, save for the MRI session I picked up Thursday. I had all the time to do what I wanted to do, and again, I didn't.
Where did all the time go? Well, Monday afternoon I had that doctor's appointment ... I went out stripclubbing and movie-watching Tuesday ... I probably would have been on the Internet if not for the NBA Finals games Tuesday and Thursday ... as well as the Stanley Cup Finals games Wednesday and last (Saturday) night ... and I had this alumni club thing to go do this afternoon. There's always tomorrow, but that day is for cleaning up around the house and putting stuff back where they were before they left.
OK, so I got all the excuses out of the way ... maybe it was that Wednesday, my Do Nothing Day. Maybe I should have done something. Otherwise, the rest of my time was spent dinking around the Internet and sleeping. The former I will do regardless. The latter ... you know, I remember when I was young and I had boundless energy. I would come home from, say, the strip club and I would hop back on the computer. Nowadays I would immediately fall into bed. With the cats (my parents) away I would make hay while the sun's shining. Now I don't care, and sleep is the things I lust for the most.
One other thing: Cleaning up The Store has dominated the past 48 hours. If there were no leaks, or no rain as we have had, it would not have been necessary for me to go. That might have freed up some time. Tomorrow (Sunday, which technically is today) would have been a day for me to largely take it easy at home. Instead I'm looking at going back to The Store, maybe twice, to clean up from all the rain that has fallen and might fall between now and sun up. Plus I have to clear some of the debris that fell here from Friday night's storm.
And then my folks will be home. Fuck my life. They need to take a two-week vacation.
Saturday, June 22, 2013
Store's In Bad Shape
The Store has a bad roof, and it leaks water. I first discovered this over holiday season, when I was just waltzing through The Store's aisles, making sure she knows I love her, when I looked down and saw this shallow but wide pool of dark brown water in the second and third aisles. I had to spend an entire evening cleaning that up, and I wasn't even done, so I had to go back after work (I was working for the flu biller, if I have the chronology correct) the next evening and clean up the rest of it.
My parents warned me that this would happen again while they were gone. We even went the day before, after having an early Father's Day dinner, back to The Store to empty the pails, jugs and plastic receptacles catching all the water from the many leaks coming through the attic. To make sure, after dropping them off Sunday morning I went back to The Store to make sure everything was OK. It was, so I hadn't dropped by during my Week Staycation.
But then it rained really hard overnight Thursday. I had to check out The Store Friday morning, and sure enough, the attic floor was wet in a lot of places. Plus the two big pails, catching the water for the two biggest leaks through the roof, was overflowing. I had to empty them with this small pail, pour them into these white jugs, put them on this cart, them haul them across the way to the stoop, where I could pour it down two floors out the side. Took me more than an hour, but I did it.
Unfortunately it then rained even heavier Friday evening. (I was driving to get credit for some beer bottles I washed, then I was going to the Megamall before finishing up at My Favorite Stripclub [Cover Version]; it was worst on my way to the brewery place, where there were times I didn't think my car was going to make it across standing puddles of water on the highways.) I felt guilty about not cutting my night short and checking on The Store instead, but I waited till this morning, where it was even worse. Water was everywhere, including a part of the attic where it wasn't leaking through the ceiling, the rain just came in through the flimsy windows.
I got there too late to clean it all up before I had to this alumni thing this afternoon, so I did what I could, went down, talked to a friend about picking up a Windows 7 key, then came back to The Store. I still didn't have enough time because I wanted to come home to watch the Stanley Cup Final Game 5 (well, after I went to the grocery store to pick up chicken for my parents, who are coming home tomorrow), but I wanted to do some stuff because it's so bad, it looks like I have to go back tomorrow to finish up.
After emptying all the buckets I started mopping up the floor. Father had a mop upstairs but not a bucket? I had to use the conveyor belt to bring those up. While mopping that wet area with the good ceiling, I noticed that the broom was not aligned. So I took a few breaths' break to disassemble it and move the mop to its right place, so that the threads on both sides are equal. Well, Father was using an old and shitty mop apparatus because the bar that holds the mop in the handle had broken off. He wrapped the strings around it so that it would work, but I apparently undid all that. So I couldn't mop anymore because the damn thing's broken. And there isn't another mop at The Store. How can these guys not have another mop?
So I had to leave with a puddle upstairs. Oh yeah, there are not just one but several puddles at the Store floor, too, and I hadn't even begun to touch those. Finally, there's rain in the forecast for tonight. Yippee.
My parents warned me that this would happen again while they were gone. We even went the day before, after having an early Father's Day dinner, back to The Store to empty the pails, jugs and plastic receptacles catching all the water from the many leaks coming through the attic. To make sure, after dropping them off Sunday morning I went back to The Store to make sure everything was OK. It was, so I hadn't dropped by during my Week Staycation.
But then it rained really hard overnight Thursday. I had to check out The Store Friday morning, and sure enough, the attic floor was wet in a lot of places. Plus the two big pails, catching the water for the two biggest leaks through the roof, was overflowing. I had to empty them with this small pail, pour them into these white jugs, put them on this cart, them haul them across the way to the stoop, where I could pour it down two floors out the side. Took me more than an hour, but I did it.
Unfortunately it then rained even heavier Friday evening. (I was driving to get credit for some beer bottles I washed, then I was going to the Megamall before finishing up at My Favorite Stripclub [Cover Version]; it was worst on my way to the brewery place, where there were times I didn't think my car was going to make it across standing puddles of water on the highways.) I felt guilty about not cutting my night short and checking on The Store instead, but I waited till this morning, where it was even worse. Water was everywhere, including a part of the attic where it wasn't leaking through the ceiling, the rain just came in through the flimsy windows.
I got there too late to clean it all up before I had to this alumni thing this afternoon, so I did what I could, went down, talked to a friend about picking up a Windows 7 key, then came back to The Store. I still didn't have enough time because I wanted to come home to watch the Stanley Cup Final Game 5 (well, after I went to the grocery store to pick up chicken for my parents, who are coming home tomorrow), but I wanted to do some stuff because it's so bad, it looks like I have to go back tomorrow to finish up.
After emptying all the buckets I started mopping up the floor. Father had a mop upstairs but not a bucket? I had to use the conveyor belt to bring those up. While mopping that wet area with the good ceiling, I noticed that the broom was not aligned. So I took a few breaths' break to disassemble it and move the mop to its right place, so that the threads on both sides are equal. Well, Father was using an old and shitty mop apparatus because the bar that holds the mop in the handle had broken off. He wrapped the strings around it so that it would work, but I apparently undid all that. So I couldn't mop anymore because the damn thing's broken. And there isn't another mop at The Store. How can these guys not have another mop?
So I had to leave with a puddle upstairs. Oh yeah, there are not just one but several puddles at the Store floor, too, and I hadn't even begun to touch those. Finally, there's rain in the forecast for tonight. Yippee.
Friday, June 21, 2013
Can't Eat At My Favorite Late-Night Italian Place, At Least Not During The Hot Months
Ate at My Favorite Late-Night Italian Place Sunday and Monday this week, and I was reacquainted with the fact that mosquitos bite me in there. I love the food, but during the summer (and really in the spring and fall as well) I leave with at least a few insect bites and scratch myself all over the place.
Monday made it crystal clear to me. I left with a bite on each arm. I thought I got a little more tolerant of insect bites, but I've scratched it enough since that the bites have turned into red welts.
I, however, tried to brave it one more time. I wanted to watch ESPN's coverage of Game 7 of the NBA Finals. (Hell of a game, and a series, huh?) The only place I know I could listen was the TV at the Late-Night Italian Place, so I decided to brave it one more time -- but this time, I'd be ready: I brought bug spray with me. So before I went -- I decided to start work on my NBA Finals article at Caffetto before having a bite to eat -- I sprayed myself down. They'd never bite me now, those skeeter bastards!
Welp, they did. Just as I was finishing up I felt this twinge on my back. Oh, shit. Then I felt the urge to itch on the back of my shoulders. Then I remembered: The damn things can bite me through my clothes!!!
How do they do that? Well, maybe I have to look at this from a mosquito's perspective. Not that they are bloodthirsty, though they technically are. It's just that they don't see a shirt; they see strands of fabric, and if you look closely enough, I think you can see spaces inbetween from which to touch down and suck my blood. Fuck me.
So now I can't go this place until November??? I'm annoyed by all the scratching I need to do, so, yeah, I guess so. At least I can save money that way, right?
Monday made it crystal clear to me. I left with a bite on each arm. I thought I got a little more tolerant of insect bites, but I've scratched it enough since that the bites have turned into red welts.
I, however, tried to brave it one more time. I wanted to watch ESPN's coverage of Game 7 of the NBA Finals. (Hell of a game, and a series, huh?) The only place I know I could listen was the TV at the Late-Night Italian Place, so I decided to brave it one more time -- but this time, I'd be ready: I brought bug spray with me. So before I went -- I decided to start work on my NBA Finals article at Caffetto before having a bite to eat -- I sprayed myself down. They'd never bite me now, those skeeter bastards!
Welp, they did. Just as I was finishing up I felt this twinge on my back. Oh, shit. Then I felt the urge to itch on the back of my shoulders. Then I remembered: The damn things can bite me through my clothes!!!
How do they do that? Well, maybe I have to look at this from a mosquito's perspective. Not that they are bloodthirsty, though they technically are. It's just that they don't see a shirt; they see strands of fabric, and if you look closely enough, I think you can see spaces inbetween from which to touch down and suck my blood. Fuck me.
So now I can't go this place until November??? I'm annoyed by all the scratching I need to do, so, yeah, I guess so. At least I can save money that way, right?
Thursday, June 20, 2013
Nothing Day
Once I figured out how I would spend my week with my parents away (I wanted to write it down, but I never did, I just mentally figured out what I was going to do), last night, Wednesday, was going to be my Nothing Day. Not that I was going to just sit in bed, although I did a lot of that. Doing nothing, to me, means not feeling obligated to do anything if I didn't want to. Specifically, days like this I plan on not spending money and not only not going out, but making sure I did not even step out of the house. The night before I even closed all the windows in anticipation of the building heat and humidity outside. Although the upstairs is a bit hotter, I'm sure I succeeded in keeping even the weather from coming in. I wanted to keep the outside away from me, just for one day.
I was afraid that some telemarketer was going to call and wake me up early; I fell asleep around a quarter to 5 and hoped to revisit The Good Ol' Days of being able to sleep till noon, or even 2:30. I woke up, naturally, just before 1 -- just in time to hear Common Man's "5-3-4" on KFXN. Perfect timing, and I was totally refreshed when I got up.
Could have worked on my health insurance application, but I decided it can wait. Could have worked on the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue review -- which, I know, I know, should have come out at least three months ago -- but shit, if I'm already this late now, what's another day? My parents called home today; they said to water the vegetable plants outside; I did so the past couple days, so I think I could skip today, right?
What I did was listen to the Common Man till the end, where I kind of conked off until I heard his show ending. That woke me up, which sucked because I otherwise could've slept for another few hours. What I did next was one of the few chores I chose to do, continuing to wash the laundry. Because my folks are away, I feel I have the room to do what I really want to do with my dirty clothes, namely follow the directions on how to wash and dry each piece of clothing to a T.
When I came back home from dropping my folks off at the airport Sunday I started this task. That meant separating them into whites and colors, then by temperature of wash and temperature of dry. I laid out all my dirty clothes in the room between the dining and living rooms. I imagined a chart of the temperatures of both cycles, hot-medium-cold wash up top, medium-low dry down the left-hand side, and I drop all the clothes (whites and clothes) into its particular square. I then took each square, re-separated between whites and colors, and took them down to the laundry room to wash. Oh, and if it said "gentle cycle" on the tag, that was a separate cycle for them, too. I think I've used the washer at least eight times, and I'm not done yet. For one cycle I had one t-shirt in there, one. Yes, it's a massive waste of energy and water. Please don't tell my parents.
It would have helped, by the way, if I included all my dirty clothes. But today I realized that there were a couple t-shirts I forgot to put into my laundry matrix. Forgive me, but I'm going to wash the black shirt cold wash, low dry, even though the clothes for that particular mix I did last night.
---
I put it in another good nap around the dinnertime hour, between 6:30 to 8. Unfortunately this rejuvenating sleep came through a nightmare. For some reason I dreamt I was a judge on So You Think You Can Dance, a show I have to reacquaint myself with because the past two Tuesdays I've watched the NBA Finals instead. We were in this hotel, and I was holding everyone up from selecting who amongst the contestant dancers we were either going to choose or eliminate (which I forget). Don't quite remember the reason, but from how I was feeling in my nightmare, I was afraid I was too slow in doing something -- making up my mind, physically going up to the hotel to make the decision, something -- and people were waiting for me.
This has nothing to do with the fact that I didn't get selected for the test scoring job because I was slow, was it? Nahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.
---
When I woke up it was 1-all late in the first period of the Stanley Cup Finals game. Decided to try and knock out more of the seafood leftovers. We brought home no meat; it is just rice, vegetables, oysters, tofu and fish. It looks like I can get this done in three meals, the first of which was yesterday, when I decided to tackle the fish head my sister-in-law included, just to make sure there was something I could eat up in there. I did, maybe a couple bits of insides.
The trouble with eating fish, of course, is the bones. It's the fucking reason for My Fucking Father melting down at me, but I should be the one pissed off, because I have to keep removing those goddamn things both out of my plate and out of my mouth. I can't just chow through my meal, I have to pick at it with chopsticks to make sure I don't accidentally swallow a bone that will slice through my esophagus and kill me. Now I remember why I hated to eat fish when I was young.
Oh, and I could use a fucking burger right about now.
Oh, what a game by the way, wasn't it? I grew up a North Stars fan, so I am kind of rooting for the Bruins against the Blackhawks, but really I want to see close games and a long series.
---
I am finishing this just as I see dawn breaking over the neighbor's massive trees to the northeast. I don't want to go to bed just as the sun is streaming through my sister's bedroom (since my parents are gone I have slipped back into my sister's room, which I like more), but it's probably inevitable since I slept about nine hours in the past 24. Besides, there is a certain kind of freedom being able to type this in the dining room, satellite radio blasting, only wearing my underwear, all my shit strewn all over the dining room table, not really needing to do anything through the afternoon. I could live like this forever.
Some people, particularly My Father, would say that I wasted a whole day. Some others would say that opportunities were wasted. Not so. Disappointments were avoided. Problems were pushed outside and back another day. Judgments by others were not rendered because I stayed inside. Best of all, safety, security and a certain, nebulous level of peace were attained and enjoyed. This was a day where nothing was accomplished. And that is excellent, because I experienced nothing bad.
Oh and I also just realized that I did not jerk off once today! ETA: Never mind this. Suddenly felt horny, so I'm going to Vintage Erotica Forums (which probably will from now on be known on Wailing And Failing as just VEF) to jerk off and then call it a day/night. First time I've been on VEF in eight days, four hours and 19 minutes.
Wednesday, June 19, 2013
Wanted To, Tried To, But Couldn't And Didn't, Twice
Done with work this past Thursday. Unfortunately, there was more work than our supervisor indicated. It was supposed to be a couple hours, but because he says the state sends papers throughout the project, he profusely apologized that we stayed longer than he first thought. He did give us an extra 90 minutes' worth of pay while sending us out early, at 1:30. Unfortunately, this research project at the U. was at 2.
This was the worst of all possible worlds. I was faced with limbo. If we were told to leave after just a couple hours (like I thought), I'd be bummed that I stopped making money, but at least I would have gotten to the U. with plenty of time to spare. If we had to work a full day or almost to it, I would have to send yet another e-mail to the guy doing the study to apologize, but at least I would have known I had no time to get to the U. It's the uncertainty I faced that pissed me off: It wasn't early enough where I could clearly say that I had time to get to the research study on time, but it wasn't late enough where I know I wouldn't make it.
So I hauled ass out of work in an effort to get there on-time. Too bad traffic leading from 394 East to 94 East is bad at all times of the day. I also ran into another problem. I didn't have time to do what I planned to do, which was to park on the East Bank and walk a half-hour to the West Bank, where the Carlson building and the experiment was. Unfortunately I neglected to look at a map in case there was a parking ramp right next to the building so I could get in, park, get up to the fourth floor, do the experiment and leave (and hopefully not pay an exorbitant price to park while doing so). Turns out there is a parking ramp right next to Carlson; I just took the wrong exit. Getting lost for ten minutes took me to 2 o'clock, and I failed. And so of course, while I was driving away, I thought to myself, "Why the hell did I waste time and gas just to try to get to this study?"
---
The other thing I wanted to do was go this computer place to pick up the solid-state drive I've been thinking of putting into my laptop. Of course, that thing didn't go quite as planned, either.
My computer hasn't been able to boot up normally for much of this year now, and because I had found enough work I decided to take the advice of the guy at the Microsoft Store and get a solid-state drive. I had questions about how many gigabytes I should get (these SSDs are faster and use a lot less energy than regular hard drives, but are quite expensive and very short on memory), however, and I was hoping this independent computer place would live up to its reputation as a place whose workers are very knowledgeable and helpful.
So I go there and compare prices for a 256 GB vs. a 250 GB SSD (why a $20 difference for just six gigs?) at a locked display. Apparently people would steal these solid-state drives, like they would iPads or really good cold medication. After a while staring and figuring out what I would get, a guy finally came up to me and asked if I needed help. From there, it was a slow roll down the mountain of Getting A Solid-State Drive.
These concerns I had were of backing up the files already on my laptop, figuring out how to reinstall everything, such as the operating system (I also planned on upgrading from Vista to 7), and more importantly, can everything that's stored into the memory of the HD be put into the SSD with room for future programs and software? And that's where the guy, without complete mastery of the topic, made me think buying a solid-state drive isn't the best thing in the world. He admits it's hella stable, but he is extremely worried that 256 gigs won't be big enough for all the papers I have stored and all the other stuff I would need to operate my computer. It would have helped if the lap had a second drive bay, but I brought my laptop in (I wasn't sure if it had two bays or only one) and he said there was only room for the SSD, if I was going to buy it. For my files and stuff, he recommended an external drive, and that alternative was so new to me that I decided not to buy it -- thereby wasting a trip to this computer store. One other thing: The Microsoft guy said that after I bought the solid-state and got a key for Windows 7, there was a chance that after they backed everything up and put a new Operating System on it their diagnostic would reveal that the reason my laptop can't start up like normal isn't because of the drive, but because of something else. And I won't spend $150, $175 on a Solid-State Drive if that doesn't solve anything.
Great, that afternoon I was running around like a fucking chicken with my head cut off. And I didn't have a damn thing to show for it. What a waste of an afternoon.
---
One thing I've realized: If I hadn't dashed out so quickly out of work, I probably would have spoken to my contact at work to make sure what the correspondence was in receiving word I'd be doing the next project. And maybe that way I would be assured that I in fact would be doing the next project. Did I fail to butter up to a person who held my future employment fate in her hands? Would thanking her again make up for my slow times on this last project? Whatever, it's too late now.
---
The other thing I wanted to do was go this computer place to pick up the solid-state drive I've been thinking of putting into my laptop. Of course, that thing didn't go quite as planned, either.
My computer hasn't been able to boot up normally for much of this year now, and because I had found enough work I decided to take the advice of the guy at the Microsoft Store and get a solid-state drive. I had questions about how many gigabytes I should get (these SSDs are faster and use a lot less energy than regular hard drives, but are quite expensive and very short on memory), however, and I was hoping this independent computer place would live up to its reputation as a place whose workers are very knowledgeable and helpful.
So I go there and compare prices for a 256 GB vs. a 250 GB SSD (why a $20 difference for just six gigs?) at a locked display. Apparently people would steal these solid-state drives, like they would iPads or really good cold medication. After a while staring and figuring out what I would get, a guy finally came up to me and asked if I needed help. From there, it was a slow roll down the mountain of Getting A Solid-State Drive.
These concerns I had were of backing up the files already on my laptop, figuring out how to reinstall everything, such as the operating system (I also planned on upgrading from Vista to 7), and more importantly, can everything that's stored into the memory of the HD be put into the SSD with room for future programs and software? And that's where the guy, without complete mastery of the topic, made me think buying a solid-state drive isn't the best thing in the world. He admits it's hella stable, but he is extremely worried that 256 gigs won't be big enough for all the papers I have stored and all the other stuff I would need to operate my computer. It would have helped if the lap had a second drive bay, but I brought my laptop in (I wasn't sure if it had two bays or only one) and he said there was only room for the SSD, if I was going to buy it. For my files and stuff, he recommended an external drive, and that alternative was so new to me that I decided not to buy it -- thereby wasting a trip to this computer store. One other thing: The Microsoft guy said that after I bought the solid-state and got a key for Windows 7, there was a chance that after they backed everything up and put a new Operating System on it their diagnostic would reveal that the reason my laptop can't start up like normal isn't because of the drive, but because of something else. And I won't spend $150, $175 on a Solid-State Drive if that doesn't solve anything.
Great, that afternoon I was running around like a fucking chicken with my head cut off. And I didn't have a damn thing to show for it. What a waste of an afternoon.
---
One thing I've realized: If I hadn't dashed out so quickly out of work, I probably would have spoken to my contact at work to make sure what the correspondence was in receiving word I'd be doing the next project. And maybe that way I would be assured that I in fact would be doing the next project. Did I fail to butter up to a person who held my future employment fate in her hands? Would thanking her again make up for my slow times on this last project? Whatever, it's too late now.
Tuesday, June 18, 2013
Addendum To: Rejected By My Work For Being Too Slow
I have to confess I was holding out hope that the company was just really late and the mail asking me to come work for them again starting next week would arrive today. Well, after I walked all the way home from the movie theater (more than 3 1/2 miles, and Google Maps was right -- it took about 46 minutes in all) I open up the mailbox and see nothing.
Testing season is over. I have to find work again.
I admit, I'm sad, I'm crushed, and I'm really, really scared. What happens when my parents come back and they find out I'm unemployed again. And what about my unemployment insurance? I need to renew, and maybe I'm not going to get money this time around. I don't know what to do.
I needed this job, I really did. And I don't because I can't work as fast as the others?
Testing season is over. I have to find work again.
I admit, I'm sad, I'm crushed, and I'm really, really scared. What happens when my parents come back and they find out I'm unemployed again. And what about my unemployment insurance? I need to renew, and maybe I'm not going to get money this time around. I don't know what to do.
I needed this job, I really did. And I don't because I can't work as fast as the others?
The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey
#-1: Lynx (Last Week: -1). Won both games this week, and in convincing fashion: A 15-point win at home Tuesday over San Antonio, followed by a nine-point victory in Tulsa, their first road win of the year. Like the previous two years, there is no set #1 scorer; Maya Moore, Seimone Augustus and Lindsay Whalen continue to be the Lynx's "Big 3" with anyone stepping up at any time. Whalen, in particular, was essential for the team to get through cold shooting in the first half against the Silver Stars before her teammates found their scoring touch. Janel McCarville continues to make a difference without making buckets, something I'm afraid can't continue if the squad is going to contend for another WNBA championship. This week they finish their three-game road trip with contests in Phoenix Wednesday and Los Angeles Friday, then they come home to face The Bastard Detroit Shock Sunday.
#-2: Twins (Last Week: -2). Chopping at 3-3 this screening week; won the series against Philadelphia but dropped the final game, depriving them of a sweep, then the organization lost the series versus Detroit. What has now happened is the offense drying up; this week the team scored 3, 4, 2, 0, 6 and 2 runs. And this is coming as the pitching, especially the starting rotation, finally straightened itself out. Man, first the bats are there but the pitching isn't, and now it's vice versa. They finish their long homestand playing three against the White Sox, then hitting the road for a quick five-game, six-day road trip beginning with a weekend series in Cleveland.
#-2: Twins (Last Week: -2). Chopping at 3-3 this screening week; won the series against Philadelphia but dropped the final game, depriving them of a sweep, then the organization lost the series versus Detroit. What has now happened is the offense drying up; this week the team scored 3, 4, 2, 0, 6 and 2 runs. And this is coming as the pitching, especially the starting rotation, finally straightened itself out. Man, first the bats are there but the pitching isn't, and now it's vice versa. They finish their long homestand playing three against the White Sox, then hitting the road for a quick five-game, six-day road trip beginning with a weekend series in Cleveland.
Monday, June 17, 2013
Rejected By My Work For Being Too Slow
Was expecting a letter in the mail offering the next project today. Got the mail. Didn't get it. Maybe there's tomorrow. But the project starts next Monday. Come to think of it, if the project starts in a week, why wouldn't they just call us? That makes much more sense. Which they have ... and since they haven't called me asking me to come on board, that means that they have decided not to hire me. Two weeks' worth of pay I could have used -- gone.
I'M SORRY, OK?! I DON'T FUCKING KNOW WHY I WAS SO SLOW!! I DON'T THINK I WAS SLOW, YOU GUYS JUST HIRED FUCKING ROBOTS THAT BLAZED THROUGH THOSE GODDAMN PROBLEMS WITHOUT GIVING IT A SECOND THOUGHT!!! I'M THOROUGH, ALRIGHT?!?! AND MY HAND HURTS FROM CLICKING SO MUCH, AND MY HEAD HURTS FROM SEEING THE SAME FUCKING PROBLEMS EIGHT HOURS A DAY, SO I GET UP AND STRETCH, OK, I DO IT SO I DON'T GO INSANE!!! I JUST CAN'T WORK THAT FAST!!! AND IT'S NOT GOOD ENOUGH FOR YOU, WHY?!?!?! I'VE BEEN GOOD TO YOU, AND NOW YOU'RE JUST GONNA SAY GOODBYE LIKE THIS, JUST REJECT ME LIKE THIS?!?!?! FUCK YOU!!!!!!!!!!!
Goddamn, I need to work on this fucking résumé now.
I'M SORRY, OK?! I DON'T FUCKING KNOW WHY I WAS SO SLOW!! I DON'T THINK I WAS SLOW, YOU GUYS JUST HIRED FUCKING ROBOTS THAT BLAZED THROUGH THOSE GODDAMN PROBLEMS WITHOUT GIVING IT A SECOND THOUGHT!!! I'M THOROUGH, ALRIGHT?!?! AND MY HAND HURTS FROM CLICKING SO MUCH, AND MY HEAD HURTS FROM SEEING THE SAME FUCKING PROBLEMS EIGHT HOURS A DAY, SO I GET UP AND STRETCH, OK, I DO IT SO I DON'T GO INSANE!!! I JUST CAN'T WORK THAT FAST!!! AND IT'S NOT GOOD ENOUGH FOR YOU, WHY?!?!?! I'VE BEEN GOOD TO YOU, AND NOW YOU'RE JUST GONNA SAY GOODBYE LIKE THIS, JUST REJECT ME LIKE THIS?!?!?! FUCK YOU!!!!!!!!!!!
Goddamn, I need to work on this fucking résumé now.
Thoughts On Kansas City, Part One
Great city, very nice people. Then again, that's true of just about every city I've ever visited:
- Can't help but compare K.C. with St. Louis, the other big city in Missouri. To me, it feels like Kansas City is a bit more progressive than the Loo. Maybe it's because I saw a few more pro-Obama bumper stickers when I don't remember seeing any at all in STL. But I don't remember seeing hipsters in St. Louis, nor finding out the cool places where young twentysomethings hang out. I didn't hear a whole about Kansas City either, but I heard some, and that's a lot more than St. Louis.
- Guess that is an extension of each city's origins. St. Louis is known as "The Gateway To The West," where pioneers seeking a new life west of the Mississippi stocked up on their provisions and said goodbye to civilization. That's why St. Louis has so much tradition; remnants of its place in U.S. history as the jumping-off point to America's Manifest Destiny, let alone its beginnings as a river town as well as the headquarters of many old corporations, not the least of which includes Anheuser-Busch, are everywhere you see, and although you feel its importance in the maturity of this country, you sometimes feel that it's wedded, even shackled to its past. Not to say that K.C. doesn't have a vivid history; after all, it's considered the nerve center of jazz and barbecue, not to mention the place with a whole shitload of fountains. But that leaves a lot for the city to make its own history. Maybe it was because I was in a booming suburb just southwest of K.C. proper, on the Kansas side, but things that are booming. And even though the boom manifests itself in huge stripmall after huge-ass stripmall, things are modern, or at least newer. So Kansas City is the flip-side to St. Louis in that regard; the city can reshape itself to fit the times, but they have no history to fall back and show the world what it really is at its core.
- The week I was there the latest issue of that city's alternative weekly, The Pitch, had as their feature story a debate on whether Kansas City needs a new terminal. All I can say, from what little time I had to walk in, through and outside the place, is that I can see why it needs to be blown up and why it should stay. On the one hand it looks very old (it may be the most 70's-looking airport terminal in the world) and the haphazard way they have cordoned off the inside to accommodate the gates, security and concessions make it look very, very crowded and messy. (For example, when I got off the plane and wanted to catch the bus to the Museums At 18th And Vine, I was following the signs to "Ground Transportation." No joke, I saw one sign making me continue my way around the circular terminal, and the very next sign pointed me in the opposite direction. I took a few seconds to stand inbetween these two signs, pointing "Ground Transportation" at each other. And the only thing I saw were these half-partitioned security gates with no exit whatsoever. Finally I went up to a security guard on one of those high swivel chairs, who looked so bored he looked like he wanted to spin on the chair he was sitting on like he was a kid again but had to look professional. Apparently, the way out of the gate for those on arriving flights is to go through one of the series of emergency exit doors manned by Transportation Security Administration officials. You're never supposed to go through emergency exit doors, but I guess that's Kansas City International for you.) Then again, the Hooters girl I chatted it up with the early afternoon on my flight back home said that, for some reason, there has to be room in this cramped footprint for security lines every three to five gates, not three or four huge ones that serve the whole terminal, such as Minneapolis-St. Paul International. Therefore, even though the check-in gates are going to be just as long as any other airport, once you reach security it's virtually a cakewalk because there can never be too many people at a security line. Moreover, and also confirmed by my observations before my flight back, because the airport is separated into three "C" shapes clustered together as if you're tracing the outline of a three-leaf clover (well, kind of), the Hooters girl says that the time it takes from either parking your car or getting off the bus or shuttle to reaching your gate can be counted in seconds, not minutes. Add the fact that airlines have reduced the number of flights to all airports but especially not-too-big ones like Kansas City's, and I think it should be lickety-split using that to catch or come back from flights. Some officials promise that a brand-new terminal will bring in new flights and revenue, but if it means more time waiting in lines, I'll deal with the leaking roofs and tacky decor and keep what they've got instead, thanks.
- Oh yeah, speaking of Kansas City airport ... guys, there can be only one fucking airport code. I tried figuring out a bus schedule once I hit town, and so I used Google Maps for that, but when I hit what I thought was K.C.'s airport code, MCI, the site said its code is actually KCI. After being corrected one too many times, I checked what it really is, according to the Internet Bible, Wikipedia. I don't know why the International Air Transport Association gave Kansas City Airport MCI, but they did, and officially, it still sticks. Besides, an airport in Indonesia has been assigned KCI; I guess that Kansas City figures that Indonesians don't give a shit, probably don't even know where the fuck Kansas City is, so they're going to take KCI as their own, even though they have MCI, because hey, they're K.C. I understand how natural it seems, but hey, Kansas City, a lot of cities have airports that don't have the same abbreviations as their cities. Deal. Otherwise you fucking confuse people.
- The bus is only $1.50 one-way, compared with $1.75 in the Twin Cities (which bumps up to $2.25 for all buses during rush hour). So there's that.
- As I kind of guessed, the Museums On 18th And Vine seem to be subsidized. I walked from the closest stop to the post office (to mail something that had to be sent that day), down the street to Arthur Bryant's, which sits in the middle of an industrial area. I then had to walk eight, nine blocks west to get to 18th and Vine, which wasn't the most revitalizing stroll (I was walking with a heavy bag, but still) to this beautiful are whose preservation, considering the area surrounding it, probably has been heavily subsidized by the city. I don't blame them; from what little I learned from the history of the city, this area is vitally important to the origins and identity of Kansas City. Nevertheless it still feels like a part of the town modern residents have forgotten. With the caveat that this was a Wednesday, I think I was the first person to go through both the Negro League Baseball and Jazz Museums (which are housed in separate wings of the same building) that day. (The NLBM was buoyed by a class of 60-some elementary school kids on a field trip. Man, I miss field trips.) I sometimes wonder if museums are worth it; the artifacts those places hold are important, but they come at a monetary price, and if so many people hold it in such disregard, why even bother?
- According to the AAA guide, the Negro League Baseball Museum should take at least a half-hour. I took about three and I don't think I got halfway through. The museum is very compact, yet I still read every blurb and stared at every old uniform and reprint of photographs they had. I'm a huge baseball fan, which may explain why I went through it so thoroughly. But the treasure trove of a part of America that was ignored by so many Americans for so long fascinates me. I was very bummed out that I didn't think I could devote more time to it, so along with the strip club situation (which I should blog about another time), the NLBM is another reason I want to go back to Kansas City and make things right.
- AAA said that the Jazz Museum would take at least an hour to get through. I had about two, 2 1/2 hours and I almost got done. I love jazz as well, but I got through nearly all of it, for many reasons; I think the Jazz Museum is a lot smaller than the Negro League Baseball Museum; the museum was mostly photographs; and, this being a museum dedicated to an aural outlet, there were a lot of listening stations where you just listen to jazz greats such as Dizzy Gillespie and Louis Armstrong. I didn't have time to sit down and watch the looping presentation nor see the window panels featuring what I think was jazz on the radio, but other than that, I was good. I am not saying that because I got through it I hate jazz more than baseball. I love both equally.
- There's a coatroom in the atrium between both museums. I sure as hell did not want to lug my bag around both museums, but I could not afford to have the bag stolen as well. In the end, I took a risk, mostly because I was one of the few people that was there. Just in case, I stood up my bag in the corner, then re-positioned the folded-up wheelchairs so they were kind of in the way so that it wasn't so obvious from someone just looking into the dark and unattended coatroom that there was a bag in there. Maybe I got lucky, maybe I was too fearful, but I did check back on my bag a few times around lunch -- I went to Arthur Bryant's after going to the Negro League Baseball Museum and before heading into the Jazz Museum -- and it was there, untouched, every single time. Want to credit the staff of the Museums At 18th And Vine for all their help, or for not doing anything. Either way, thank you very much.
Sunday, June 16, 2013
Changes To Social Media: RIP, Old MySpace And Poker Palace On Facebook
Shit, I should have written this down: I tried logging onto the old MySpace -- not the new MySpace, the old MySpace -- probably Wednesday evening, though I'm not absolutely sure. I wanted to make sure I got my day's free card for my poker hand on Mobsters ... or is it Mafia Wars? But when I hit www.myspace.com, instead of getting a choice of which version of MySpace I wanted to go to, I was immediately shunted to the new MySpace. And I don't know where or how I can get to the old MySpace. I think it's gone -- the babes I've friended, my guy on Mobsters/Mafia Wars, the betting picks I made, all of it. And I don't think I can get it back.
Yeah, some warning would have been nice. Not that I was the most on-the-ball with MySpace, old or new. Hell, I forgot if the game I was playing was Mobsters of Mafia Wars. I think it's Mobsters, but now that my character's been erased, who the fuck cares? But I'm sure I was the only person who continued to use its blog feature. Shit, disregarding musicians and entertainment professionals, which, according to this article, were the only people still actively using MySpace at all, I may have been the only civilian still using fucking MySpace period. I think I was entitled to a heads-up.
Oh well. This new MySpace is tailored towards music. Unfortunately a lot of people are bitching that (again, according to the article I'm linking to) all the artists that built their friends/fan bases before facebook came and Red Wedding'ed their asses had all their numbers wiped out upon this conversion (either when they had both sites up and running a few months ago or when they closed down the old MySpace a coupld days ago). Moreover, not only are those bands and singers starting from zero fans, they even would have to register with the new MySpace. Starting all over again, you might guess, is alienating, and with so many other social media with which to connect with old and new listeners, MySpace basically, according to my supervisor at my grading project a couple weeks ago, gave itself a "Smith & Wesson pedicure."
---
Meanwhile, another change, this time on facebook, has happened recently, and at least these guys were professional enough to give all of us advance warning. The game Poker Palace was shut down some time yesterday/Saturday. For the past, oh, two months when I signed onto the game I saw a message warning all of us that Poker Palace would be put down June 15. I technically was able to get onto it in the early morning Saturday, but I tried again when I was at the library in the afternoon and I got a message essentially saying it was all gone.
While I was able to get to the game, I didn't actually "sit down" at a table and play it. Haven't done that in weeks; in fact, most of the time when I "got on" Poker Palace I did not play. So why did I go on? As an enticement to play, I got free chips every time I did hit the link, regardless of whether I then started playing. And the chips increase if I come back on successive days. I think you hit the maximum after "playing" a week straight, but I remember coming back on early Saturday afternoon to collect my bonus, which I believe was for the eighth day, and I thought it was a little higher than it the day before.
Linking to Poker Palace every day to get the escalating bonus chips became sort of an OCD obsession for me. I never did it before, and I never really cared about the game, but they introduced this feature a long time ago, and whenever I came back to the game after several days (or even weeks) off, I felt like I missed, and even wasted, free chips offered to me. I felt bad, though not enough to do anything about it until I learned that the game was being shut down. Then it became important.
I had a more intense fleeting compulsion/short-term memory problem with the poker hand on Mobsters/Mafia Wars on MySpace v.1.0. Like with the bonus chips, this game gave a hand's worth of cards for a hand of poker every week. The better the five-card hand you eventually got (although you could trade in bad cards if you had enough, what is it, points?), the better prize you would get. I think I got a straight once, which gave me either a good weapon or a bad-ass motorcycle. Anyway, I kind of got obsessed with the poker hand, much moreso than the free chips. I think it's because if you missed a day, you missed the card, and when you did get back onto the game, you would see the hand and a spot of the missed card, which would shame you by spelling out "Missed Day 'x.'"
I didn't want to miss days; I didn't want holes in my poker hand. So I did my damndest to login to MySpace every day to get my Mobsters/Mafia Wars poker card. But even though I tried hard, I often still missed it. I get busy, I forget, the modem at home doesn't work, but honestly, since the game started with these playing cards, I think I filled up a week, oh, four times in total. Much of the time I would see my hand and be surprised that I missed a day, and really, I got very sad. I would get really depressed if I missed the first card of the week, because then they would keep that first card for you, but push out the beginning of that week until you logged in and played the game. Because of that I was determined to make sure I would get all seven cards from Day One, but nearly every week I would trip up at some point and see that damned "Missed Day" sign.
Well, with both old MySpace and Poker Palace on Facebook both shut down, I won't have to worry about feeding my OCD issues with those two issues.
Yeah, some warning would have been nice. Not that I was the most on-the-ball with MySpace, old or new. Hell, I forgot if the game I was playing was Mobsters of Mafia Wars. I think it's Mobsters, but now that my character's been erased, who the fuck cares? But I'm sure I was the only person who continued to use its blog feature. Shit, disregarding musicians and entertainment professionals, which, according to this article, were the only people still actively using MySpace at all, I may have been the only civilian still using fucking MySpace period. I think I was entitled to a heads-up.
Oh well. This new MySpace is tailored towards music. Unfortunately a lot of people are bitching that (again, according to the article I'm linking to) all the artists that built their friends/fan bases before facebook came and Red Wedding'ed their asses had all their numbers wiped out upon this conversion (either when they had both sites up and running a few months ago or when they closed down the old MySpace a coupld days ago). Moreover, not only are those bands and singers starting from zero fans, they even would have to register with the new MySpace. Starting all over again, you might guess, is alienating, and with so many other social media with which to connect with old and new listeners, MySpace basically, according to my supervisor at my grading project a couple weeks ago, gave itself a "Smith & Wesson pedicure."
---
Meanwhile, another change, this time on facebook, has happened recently, and at least these guys were professional enough to give all of us advance warning. The game Poker Palace was shut down some time yesterday/Saturday. For the past, oh, two months when I signed onto the game I saw a message warning all of us that Poker Palace would be put down June 15. I technically was able to get onto it in the early morning Saturday, but I tried again when I was at the library in the afternoon and I got a message essentially saying it was all gone.
While I was able to get to the game, I didn't actually "sit down" at a table and play it. Haven't done that in weeks; in fact, most of the time when I "got on" Poker Palace I did not play. So why did I go on? As an enticement to play, I got free chips every time I did hit the link, regardless of whether I then started playing. And the chips increase if I come back on successive days. I think you hit the maximum after "playing" a week straight, but I remember coming back on early Saturday afternoon to collect my bonus, which I believe was for the eighth day, and I thought it was a little higher than it the day before.
Linking to Poker Palace every day to get the escalating bonus chips became sort of an OCD obsession for me. I never did it before, and I never really cared about the game, but they introduced this feature a long time ago, and whenever I came back to the game after several days (or even weeks) off, I felt like I missed, and even wasted, free chips offered to me. I felt bad, though not enough to do anything about it until I learned that the game was being shut down. Then it became important.
I had a more intense fleeting compulsion/short-term memory problem with the poker hand on Mobsters/Mafia Wars on MySpace v.1.0. Like with the bonus chips, this game gave a hand's worth of cards for a hand of poker every week. The better the five-card hand you eventually got (although you could trade in bad cards if you had enough, what is it, points?), the better prize you would get. I think I got a straight once, which gave me either a good weapon or a bad-ass motorcycle. Anyway, I kind of got obsessed with the poker hand, much moreso than the free chips. I think it's because if you missed a day, you missed the card, and when you did get back onto the game, you would see the hand and a spot of the missed card, which would shame you by spelling out "Missed Day 'x.'"
I didn't want to miss days; I didn't want holes in my poker hand. So I did my damndest to login to MySpace every day to get my Mobsters/Mafia Wars poker card. But even though I tried hard, I often still missed it. I get busy, I forget, the modem at home doesn't work, but honestly, since the game started with these playing cards, I think I filled up a week, oh, four times in total. Much of the time I would see my hand and be surprised that I missed a day, and really, I got very sad. I would get really depressed if I missed the first card of the week, because then they would keep that first card for you, but push out the beginning of that week until you logged in and played the game. Because of that I was determined to make sure I would get all seven cards from Day One, but nearly every week I would trip up at some point and see that damned "Missed Day" sign.
Well, with both old MySpace and Poker Palace on Facebook both shut down, I won't have to worry about feeding my OCD issues with those two issues.
Saturday, June 15, 2013
Temper, Temper ...
I shouldn't have thrown a fit; things have been good between my parents and I lately, and that should have meant I would give them some latitude in case something happened. I will explain and not excuse, and ultimately nothing came from it, thank Buddha, because My Father didn't react to it. But I still need to talk about it because I didn't like what I did.
Last night I wanted to exercise, but My Father wanted help figuring what to do at the three ports of call on his cruise next week. No problem; I wanted to help. But while I was on the computer, I slowly started to feel my energy drain from me. I was able to sleep a little later because I was not working (please don't tell my parents that). But I got tired again, and I wasn't able to take a nap before I had to eat dinner. So my fatigue crept back. And unfortunately, when that happens, I get crabby.
Meanwhile, my parents remained upstairs after cleaning up, and I was getting a little testy that My Father wasn't coming down and asking me if I found anything. I did, although the things Wikitravel and Fodor's recommend wouldn't exactly be things that I would like to do for 11-13 hours while docked. Eventually I had to go; while I later was fighting my body over exhaustion -- seriously, more than once on the elliptical I thought that I would just quit because I was too tired -- I wanted to go because this was going to be the last Friday this community center was going to be open Friday evenings, and I wanted to, for lack of a better phrase, "send it off" by being there for the last Friday evening in, oh, a month.
So I went upstairs and grabbed My Father, who was plopped down on the couch, just as lethargic as I was feeling. And from the moment I showed him the recommended things to do, he got on my nerves. He kept asking me what cities they were going to, and what dated, even though the itinerary, which he printed, he gave me. So when I pointed out where in the printouts was the itinerary, he had trouble looking at it. His eyesight isn't the greatest, but there was nothing stopping him from bringing the papers closer to his eyes and squinting.
Then, he kept asking which city the attractions I'm pointing out on the computer is it for. And then when I said that, he kept asking which day of the month it was, even though he could, at least theoretically, see it on the sheet of paper he was holding. My Father was unsteady mentally. He was as jumbled as, dare I say it, Grandmother was, and that just ignited some bad feelings when he, this guy who's acting as confused as Grandmother did, threw her out (with Mother's help). If you're going to act like this, why don't I send you to a nursing home, I thought to myself as he continued to look at his itinerary and not putting two and two together. He has been doing this more and more, but I thought he could at least see this and understand what I'm telling him to do on his cruise, or at least not worry about where to go, or what fucking day it was, just know what the attractions are. It was bizarre, both what he was concerned over and what he couldn't comprehend.
Finally, when I continued to tell him what experts recommend he do in Alaska, he gave me the sheet of paper and said, "Why don't you write it down." And that sent me over the edge. All this time herding him around a schedule any fool could see, and then he needs even more help from me, thus wasting my time helping him help himself. Why didn't I just write this down in the first fucking place? So I took this paper, shoved the keyboard out of the way, threw the paper down and wrote down all the places he and Mother could go to. This was typical me throwing a tantrum, although -- again, explanation, not excuse -- this came after a lot of frustration over Father. For his part, he didn't react. Sometimes he would say, "Son!" and get angry I threw a fit. But he did not this time. Maybe he couldn't see me doing it, although, like the printout of the itinerary, it was right in front of him.
So I wrote it down and printed out another bus schedule for them. In Seattle they needed to get from the pier to the closest light rail station, and there are two buses that could take them there, and I had only printed out one, and I wanted to make sure they had the second so they're aware of it. And after trying to take a nap for five minutes, I was gone.
---
Yeah, I thought about quitting exercising. I wanted to go to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Edition), then grab some ice cream and coffee. But I knew that this was the last Friday evening this place would be open for a while, plus I had to say and fight the good fight for my health. Good thing I powered through my 40 minutes.
Last night I wanted to exercise, but My Father wanted help figuring what to do at the three ports of call on his cruise next week. No problem; I wanted to help. But while I was on the computer, I slowly started to feel my energy drain from me. I was able to sleep a little later because I was not working (please don't tell my parents that). But I got tired again, and I wasn't able to take a nap before I had to eat dinner. So my fatigue crept back. And unfortunately, when that happens, I get crabby.
Meanwhile, my parents remained upstairs after cleaning up, and I was getting a little testy that My Father wasn't coming down and asking me if I found anything. I did, although the things Wikitravel and Fodor's recommend wouldn't exactly be things that I would like to do for 11-13 hours while docked. Eventually I had to go; while I later was fighting my body over exhaustion -- seriously, more than once on the elliptical I thought that I would just quit because I was too tired -- I wanted to go because this was going to be the last Friday this community center was going to be open Friday evenings, and I wanted to, for lack of a better phrase, "send it off" by being there for the last Friday evening in, oh, a month.
So I went upstairs and grabbed My Father, who was plopped down on the couch, just as lethargic as I was feeling. And from the moment I showed him the recommended things to do, he got on my nerves. He kept asking me what cities they were going to, and what dated, even though the itinerary, which he printed, he gave me. So when I pointed out where in the printouts was the itinerary, he had trouble looking at it. His eyesight isn't the greatest, but there was nothing stopping him from bringing the papers closer to his eyes and squinting.
Then, he kept asking which city the attractions I'm pointing out on the computer is it for. And then when I said that, he kept asking which day of the month it was, even though he could, at least theoretically, see it on the sheet of paper he was holding. My Father was unsteady mentally. He was as jumbled as, dare I say it, Grandmother was, and that just ignited some bad feelings when he, this guy who's acting as confused as Grandmother did, threw her out (with Mother's help). If you're going to act like this, why don't I send you to a nursing home, I thought to myself as he continued to look at his itinerary and not putting two and two together. He has been doing this more and more, but I thought he could at least see this and understand what I'm telling him to do on his cruise, or at least not worry about where to go, or what fucking day it was, just know what the attractions are. It was bizarre, both what he was concerned over and what he couldn't comprehend.
Finally, when I continued to tell him what experts recommend he do in Alaska, he gave me the sheet of paper and said, "Why don't you write it down." And that sent me over the edge. All this time herding him around a schedule any fool could see, and then he needs even more help from me, thus wasting my time helping him help himself. Why didn't I just write this down in the first fucking place? So I took this paper, shoved the keyboard out of the way, threw the paper down and wrote down all the places he and Mother could go to. This was typical me throwing a tantrum, although -- again, explanation, not excuse -- this came after a lot of frustration over Father. For his part, he didn't react. Sometimes he would say, "Son!" and get angry I threw a fit. But he did not this time. Maybe he couldn't see me doing it, although, like the printout of the itinerary, it was right in front of him.
So I wrote it down and printed out another bus schedule for them. In Seattle they needed to get from the pier to the closest light rail station, and there are two buses that could take them there, and I had only printed out one, and I wanted to make sure they had the second so they're aware of it. And after trying to take a nap for five minutes, I was gone.
---
Yeah, I thought about quitting exercising. I wanted to go to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Edition), then grab some ice cream and coffee. But I knew that this was the last Friday evening this place would be open for a while, plus I had to say and fight the good fight for my health. Good thing I powered through my 40 minutes.
Friday, June 14, 2013
Man, I Just Fapped To This Video And Song That I Didn't Know Existed Until This Evening
There are a bunch of hot babes I follow on Twitter, but one model that had caught my eye because she's gotten some notoriety is Emily Ratajkowski. She has a facebook profile under Emily "Disick," which raises the question: Why in the hell would you pick for a stage name "Ratajokowski?" Maybe I don't understand which is which.
Anyway, there is a sports site I check in on occasionally called The Big Lead. There is a daily compendium of links, some sports-related, some not, called The Roundup. Always accompanying The Roundup are two photos of the same chick. Today's pics were of Emily Ratajkowski, and I was reacquainted with her luscious brown hair, her full lips, and her long, very long legs.
I rip through the comments. These are not the typical racist, "Obama is a Kenyan" bullshit. Although many of the guys who say something have a libertarian bent, replete with snide, "The sky is blue, water is wet" no-shit comments when someone is truly outraged over something (that rejoinder is often uttered when one of the authors of The Big Lead rail against the Bowl Championship Series, or BcS), at least they are on-topic. Also, many of the commenters are unduly harsh on The Roundup pictures and girl.
But not Ratajkowski. The consensus opinion of her and the pictures used were along the lines of, "Oh my fucking God, she's gorgeous." And then someone posted a link of a video for a song by Robin Thicke featuring Pharrell and T.I. called "Blurred Lines," a song that apparently hit #1 in the Billboard Hot 100 chart three weeks ago. But more importantly, I was told that she's even hotter in the video.
And for good goddamn reason: She's topless and wearing a thong. Check out the official, unrated video:
OMG. Those tits. Those huge, yet perfectly sized tits. I hadn't even knew about this song until several hours ago, but after seeing Ratajkowski (and the other two hot women, Elle Evans and Jessi M'Bengue) prance around and shake their asses in front of The Three Luckiest Bastards On Earth, I just ... well, I have to admit it, I just jerked off to the video about a half-hour ago. Yes, even in front of Robin Thicke, Pharrell and T.I. To whack off to those girls, you goddamn right I fucking did it.
I am now in love with Emily Ratajkowski. Fuck yeah!
(By the way, the new MySpace [which I have to blog about in a post in the not-too-distant future] featured/promoted/streamed a live concert from Los Angeles sponsored by the new MySpace of Robin Thicke and Pharrell and Tyler, The Creator (and not T.I.). Guess what song I saw them play inbetween buffers? Yep, that's right, "Lost Without You." No, no, no, "Blurred Lines." What a lucky coincidence! Oh, and the song is pretty good, too!)
Anyway, there is a sports site I check in on occasionally called The Big Lead. There is a daily compendium of links, some sports-related, some not, called The Roundup. Always accompanying The Roundup are two photos of the same chick. Today's pics were of Emily Ratajkowski, and I was reacquainted with her luscious brown hair, her full lips, and her long, very long legs.
I rip through the comments. These are not the typical racist, "Obama is a Kenyan" bullshit. Although many of the guys who say something have a libertarian bent, replete with snide, "The sky is blue, water is wet" no-shit comments when someone is truly outraged over something (that rejoinder is often uttered when one of the authors of The Big Lead rail against the Bowl Championship Series, or BcS), at least they are on-topic. Also, many of the commenters are unduly harsh on The Roundup pictures and girl.
But not Ratajkowski. The consensus opinion of her and the pictures used were along the lines of, "Oh my fucking God, she's gorgeous." And then someone posted a link of a video for a song by Robin Thicke featuring Pharrell and T.I. called "Blurred Lines," a song that apparently hit #1 in the Billboard Hot 100 chart three weeks ago. But more importantly, I was told that she's even hotter in the video.
And for good goddamn reason: She's topless and wearing a thong. Check out the official, unrated video:
OMG. Those tits. Those huge, yet perfectly sized tits. I hadn't even knew about this song until several hours ago, but after seeing Ratajkowski (and the other two hot women, Elle Evans and Jessi M'Bengue) prance around and shake their asses in front of The Three Luckiest Bastards On Earth, I just ... well, I have to admit it, I just jerked off to the video about a half-hour ago. Yes, even in front of Robin Thicke, Pharrell and T.I. To whack off to those girls, you goddamn right I fucking did it.
I am now in love with Emily Ratajkowski. Fuck yeah!
(By the way, the new MySpace [which I have to blog about in a post in the not-too-distant future] featured/promoted/streamed a live concert from Los Angeles sponsored by the new MySpace of Robin Thicke and Pharrell and Tyler, The Creator (and not T.I.). Guess what song I saw them play inbetween buffers? Yep, that's right, "Lost Without You." No, no, no, "Blurred Lines." What a lucky coincidence! Oh, and the song is pretty good, too!)
Thursday, June 13, 2013
Feeling Suddenly Unsafe
And now we know: After abruptly switching to a couple of questions that are a breeze to grade, we were told that tomorrow is our last day, and in fact we probably won't be there through lunch.
That sucks in many ways, the most obvious of which is I can no longer make money. But as I've said before, having periods of work followed by periods of free time is the best of both worlds, as I can make money and then have the time to do what I need to do. I've got almost two days to do the following:
First things first, however. Now to make sure I have a job. ...
That sucks in many ways, the most obvious of which is I can no longer make money. But as I've said before, having periods of work followed by periods of free time is the best of both worlds, as I can make money and then have the time to do what I need to do. I've got almost two days to do the following:
- Buy a solid-state drive for my laptop;
- Try and un-cancel the U. research study that's scheduled for 2 in the afternoon; I'll do this after I hopefully buy this SSD for my laptop;
- Work out;
- Work on more articles for the website and TUSCL;
- Polish my résumé;
- Figure out what to do while my parents are gone;
- Fill out the correction to my tax forms;
- Clean out the bag I took to Kansas City;
- Maybe set up an appointment to get this boil on my ass removed;
- And, oh yeah, sleep.
First things first, however. Now to make sure I have a job. ...
Wednesday, June 12, 2013
Addendum To: Addendum To: "We Are Running Out Of Papers"
Well, at least I finally got some clarity about the end date of this project. In response to a question I asked, my supervisor came up to my computer and said that, chances are, we would not last to Friday. Good to know; I was able to be sure enough to cancel my appointment to participate in a research study at the U. on Thursday, and to start planning for going to this place to buy a solid-state drive for my laptop.
Meanwhile, I got the stats from yesterday: I've done even worse. Now there is only one person between me and the bottom. How in the hell is everybody grading so fast? I will say this, however: Now that it appears we will be, at least, one day short of our project, my frustration that we were "working ourselves out of a paycheck" have subsided. Maybe my paranoia came in part to the fact that a big part of the room we are now scoring in, those who are scoring different questions, were told not to even show up today. That may be because there were so few papers left, but it could be because the few papers that are left they could not bring up. You see, for the past few days there's been a software problem that kicks us out of the system. That happened to me a couple times during work, and it stopped me for a good 15-20 minutes both times. I'm scared for how slowly I worked when I see the production sheets tomorrow/this morning, but at least I have a good excuse.
However I'm not sweating how my slowness is being perceived because today a sheet was passed around the room to sign up for the last projects of the season. Furthermore, the woman who was passing it around assured us that everybody is doing fine. If that is the case, and I've dealt with this woman many times and I believe her to be nice and a straight-shooter, I should get one more job before it's all said and done.
Or, they could look at my stats and decide I'm too slow to help out. In which case, my sense of security is undeserved, and fuck me.
Meanwhile, I got the stats from yesterday: I've done even worse. Now there is only one person between me and the bottom. How in the hell is everybody grading so fast? I will say this, however: Now that it appears we will be, at least, one day short of our project, my frustration that we were "working ourselves out of a paycheck" have subsided. Maybe my paranoia came in part to the fact that a big part of the room we are now scoring in, those who are scoring different questions, were told not to even show up today. That may be because there were so few papers left, but it could be because the few papers that are left they could not bring up. You see, for the past few days there's been a software problem that kicks us out of the system. That happened to me a couple times during work, and it stopped me for a good 15-20 minutes both times. I'm scared for how slowly I worked when I see the production sheets tomorrow/this morning, but at least I have a good excuse.
However I'm not sweating how my slowness is being perceived because today a sheet was passed around the room to sign up for the last projects of the season. Furthermore, the woman who was passing it around assured us that everybody is doing fine. If that is the case, and I've dealt with this woman many times and I believe her to be nice and a straight-shooter, I should get one more job before it's all said and done.
Or, they could look at my stats and decide I'm too slow to help out. In which case, my sense of security is undeserved, and fuck me.
Tuesday, June 11, 2013
The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey
#-1: Lynx (Last Week: -1). Well, unfortunately the Jynx (and man, I haven't used that insult, "Jynx," in a long time -- but hey, if you're going to be on the Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey, you're going to have to get insulted) weren't going to go the regular season undefeated. In their first road game of the year, they lose 85-80 in Washington, a franchise who I thought was being so cut to the bone that they, like, have volunteers for ushers like minor league baseball teams. I can't name a star on the Mystics -- but then again, I don't think most sports fans can name one WNBA player, like, on any team.
Oh well. The Lynx did throttle Brittney Griner and the PhoenixLifelock Mercury before that loss, 99-79. (The season premiere, by the way, of the WNBA on free ABC was supposed to showcase Griner as they visited defending champions the Indiana Fever, who whipped the Jynx in the Finals. But just before Saturday's game Griner was announced as out. I smell the female version of Greg Oden!) For her rebounding efforts in both the victory and the defeat, Rebekkah Brunson was named Western Conference Player Of The Week.
Don't know what else to say, beyond that as of press time they trail San Antonio at home in tonight's game, 16-14, after the end of the first quarter. They then begin a three-game roadtrip in Tulsa Friday.
#-2: Twins (Last Week: -2). 2-4 week. Dispiriting that they've come down after their recent winning ways; after a 3-0 shutout in Kansas City courtesy of a guy I slagged not too long ago, Samuel Deduno, they've lost four-of-five, punctuated by a doubleheader sweep Sunday in the place the Twinks were taken from and should still be in, Washington, D.C.
I'm surprised to see some publicity on Byron Buxton, the organization's first-round pick in last year's Major League Baseball Draft, second overall. The outfielder is hitting the cover off the ball, and this past week he was promoted to AA New Britain, along with another of the club's blue-chippers, Miguel Sano. But, of course, the most noteworthy news was this year's MLB Draft held on Thursday. Picking fourth, the squad went back to the high school ranks (Buxton came from a Georgia high school) and picked some youngster named Kohl Stewart, a Pitcher from Houston. The rule of thumb is to trust high school batters, but not high school pitchers because their arms haven't developed and they haven't honed their skills yet. Therefore, I'm wary. Of course, this point could all be moot because Stewart signed a Letter Of Intent to play Quarterback at Texas A&M, and I think he's leaning that route.
They have started a nine-game, ten-day homestand tonight with three against Philadelphia and a pair of former Twinks, Ben Revere (hey, Ben!) and Delmon Young (Young, you suck, you anti-Semitic son-of-a-bitch!). They play Detroit over the weekend. The Saturday match will be shown on Fox free, and I assume/hope I will be hired by the production crew to help them out that evening.
Oh well. The Lynx did throttle Brittney Griner and the Phoenix
Don't know what else to say, beyond that as of press time they trail San Antonio at home in tonight's game, 16-14, after the end of the first quarter. They then begin a three-game roadtrip in Tulsa Friday.
#-2: Twins (Last Week: -2). 2-4 week. Dispiriting that they've come down after their recent winning ways; after a 3-0 shutout in Kansas City courtesy of a guy I slagged not too long ago, Samuel Deduno, they've lost four-of-five, punctuated by a doubleheader sweep Sunday in the place the Twinks were taken from and should still be in, Washington, D.C.
I'm surprised to see some publicity on Byron Buxton, the organization's first-round pick in last year's Major League Baseball Draft, second overall. The outfielder is hitting the cover off the ball, and this past week he was promoted to AA New Britain, along with another of the club's blue-chippers, Miguel Sano. But, of course, the most noteworthy news was this year's MLB Draft held on Thursday. Picking fourth, the squad went back to the high school ranks (Buxton came from a Georgia high school) and picked some youngster named Kohl Stewart, a Pitcher from Houston. The rule of thumb is to trust high school batters, but not high school pitchers because their arms haven't developed and they haven't honed their skills yet. Therefore, I'm wary. Of course, this point could all be moot because Stewart signed a Letter Of Intent to play Quarterback at Texas A&M, and I think he's leaning that route.
They have started a nine-game, ten-day homestand tonight with three against Philadelphia and a pair of former Twinks, Ben Revere (hey, Ben!) and Delmon Young (Young, you suck, you anti-Semitic son-of-a-bitch!). They play Detroit over the weekend. The Saturday match will be shown on Fox free, and I assume/hope I will be hired by the production crew to help them out that evening.
Monday, June 10, 2013
Addendum To: "We Are Running Out Of Papers"
The one thing I wish my supervisor would do more often is communicate, especially with regard to the number of papers left for us to grade. He has said nothing, but I sit close enough to hear him (with the help of him, nor anybody in the fucking room really, refusing to use their indoor voices) to overhear some of us asking him on a potential end date of the project. From what I can gather, I doubt we will make it to the end of the week, let alone the original end date of next Monday. Better guess is Wednesday, though I have a feeling we could be all wrapped up before end of day tomorrow. That makes my rule of thumb -- take the original end date and cut it in half, and that's how long you can count on the project lasting -- pretty much dead-on accurate.
Saw our stats for the project; I'm one of the slowest in my group. This may have something to do with the allergy fit I had Friday, but the stats are broken by day as well as overall, and I'm a slowpoke in both ranges. I should be very concerned over that; I believe this company is a ruthless meritocracy, and I would expect them to drop me if they don't think I'm fast enough.
But here's the thing: A lot of the guys are lapping some of us. I think a couple have even done twice as many papers as we, or at least I, have. Is it a coincidence that we are finishing almost a week earlier than projected? I don't think I'm being slow; I'm being thorough. And when we get done with this, I think those of us tailing behind will be upset that we are missing out on money because they too see how some of the team basically ran us into unemployment.
So I'm stuck. On the one hand I'm not going to go faster than I'm comfortable. But on the other hand I have to keep up with the Joneses. If I fail to satisfy either, I might be on the street. But I can't satisfy both.
Ah, fuck my life. I'll be done with this by tomorrow, and then my problem will be just finding work again.
Saw our stats for the project; I'm one of the slowest in my group. This may have something to do with the allergy fit I had Friday, but the stats are broken by day as well as overall, and I'm a slowpoke in both ranges. I should be very concerned over that; I believe this company is a ruthless meritocracy, and I would expect them to drop me if they don't think I'm fast enough.
But here's the thing: A lot of the guys are lapping some of us. I think a couple have even done twice as many papers as we, or at least I, have. Is it a coincidence that we are finishing almost a week earlier than projected? I don't think I'm being slow; I'm being thorough. And when we get done with this, I think those of us tailing behind will be upset that we are missing out on money because they too see how some of the team basically ran us into unemployment.
So I'm stuck. On the one hand I'm not going to go faster than I'm comfortable. But on the other hand I have to keep up with the Joneses. If I fail to satisfy either, I might be on the street. But I can't satisfy both.
Ah, fuck my life. I'll be done with this by tomorrow, and then my problem will be just finding work again.
Fixing Tail Light Fail
Remember when I talked about a Sunday where I was so proud of myself for finally being able to open up my car's tail light assembly, only to not be able to change the tail light bulb that was shorted out? The day before my trip to Kansas City I took it into the mechanic I know trust to have them check it out while getting my oil changed and checking out another leak coming out from the bottom of the car.
I came back after my wasted trip around the University of Minnesota. Everything checked out with the car (no big new problems I was not aware of), and he degreased the underside to be able to see where the leak (which he believes is with the power steering, not the oil) is actually coming from when I have it brought in the next time I get an oil change. As for the tail light, a co-worker of the guy who I usually talk to was working on it. They both said they fixed it. I had my suspicions so I looked at it further. I told him I tried changing it myself and even gave them the bulb I thought was bad but kept just in case.
And then it dawned on me: I replaced the wrong bulb. There are three in each housing; when you see the tail lights, it's in a triangle shape, with one on top and two on the bottom. The left-bottom one is the one that was constantly shorting out. I made sure that I know that I was fixing that one and not replacing one of the two good bulbs. But apparently I was, because the one bulb whose socket this guy was taking out and putting back in was not the socket I was working on. But it worked because the tail light warning light on my dashboard turned off, and it's been off ever since.
So basically I asked them to fix something I could have done myself if I knew which bulb was the bulb that wasn't working. What I hate most of all is that it didn't even occur to me to try another socket because I just knew it was that bulb that was broken. Oh well, I'm glad these guys didn't charge me for changing it.
I came back after my wasted trip around the University of Minnesota. Everything checked out with the car (no big new problems I was not aware of), and he degreased the underside to be able to see where the leak (which he believes is with the power steering, not the oil) is actually coming from when I have it brought in the next time I get an oil change. As for the tail light, a co-worker of the guy who I usually talk to was working on it. They both said they fixed it. I had my suspicions so I looked at it further. I told him I tried changing it myself and even gave them the bulb I thought was bad but kept just in case.
And then it dawned on me: I replaced the wrong bulb. There are three in each housing; when you see the tail lights, it's in a triangle shape, with one on top and two on the bottom. The left-bottom one is the one that was constantly shorting out. I made sure that I know that I was fixing that one and not replacing one of the two good bulbs. But apparently I was, because the one bulb whose socket this guy was taking out and putting back in was not the socket I was working on. But it worked because the tail light warning light on my dashboard turned off, and it's been off ever since.
So basically I asked them to fix something I could have done myself if I knew which bulb was the bulb that wasn't working. What I hate most of all is that it didn't even occur to me to try another socket because I just knew it was that bulb that was broken. Oh well, I'm glad these guys didn't charge me for changing it.
Sunday, June 9, 2013
Allergies Made For An Awful Day At Work Friday
(My previous blog I talked about how I was writing this and because of a few buttons I pushed I erased all of it. I still don't know how the fuck I did that; I should figure that out. But here's my attempt to recreate that. Unfortunately I remember little of what I wrote, and what I'm typing instead I'm not enthused about.)
Not anymore.
Maybe I should have known something was wrong the night before, when I took off all of my clothes and hopped into bed and sneezed. I went to bed naked because Father apparently believed the mostly cloudy day was too cool, so he turned on the heat. Turning on the heat brings the air outside, possibly containing pollen overnight and probably capturing pollen that had burst at dawn, into the house to heat the air inside.
I was OK when I woke up, but I took out a tissue and put it on the passenger's seat on my way to work. Felt the sniffles, but that was no big deal. But then I got to work and the fucking allergies blindsided me: The sinus buildup, like the top of my nose was going to blow; the drips of snot leaking out of my nose if I tipped my head down; the incessant blowing of my nose every five -- no, two -- minutes; and what pisses me off most of all, and probably pissed off all my fellow graders, the constant need to get up and get tissues from the room's tissue box. Seriously, of the 100 sheets in the box, I used 80 of them Friday. I used it so much that I emptied the fucking thing and had to ask someone for a replacement. How embarrassing.
I don't know what happened, but the allergy attack I went through Friday was the worst all season, all of last season, and probably all of the season before. To prevent a repeat of that, Saturday morning, after I woke up around 7 after giving up trying to see the Bruins-Penguins playoff hockey game online because our Internet was fucking up around 9 o'clock, I went down to Father's computer room, opened his drawer, found his old bottle of Nasonex and took several hits up my nose. I was prescribed this a couple years ago, and to this day it's the only temporary allergy medication that completely got rid of all my symptoms. I could totally get addicted to it. I didn't use it this morning because today has been a wash-out. But I hope to remember to snort some before the beginning of the day tomorrow. I cannot have a repeat of what happened Friday, for my sake and the sake of the people who had to deal with me.
---
I should say this. In the middle of this really bad day I initiated a really weird incident. It's partly because of the allergies that overtook me, but it's also partly because I think a guy was being a douche.
After another allergy attack early in the afternoon, I got up and left the room, just to take a break. Went to the break room to read papers that weren't there when I dropped by in the morning and still weren't there. So I thought that maybe I should wash my hands and face; that might wash the allergies off of me.
But as I was turning towards where the bathroom is, I see another guy from the other end of the hallway turn just before me. I was kind of bummed that I wouldn't be able to piss by myself, alone in my thoughts, but hey, there are hundreds of people working here now, it was bound to happen.
What I did not expect was the guy not holding the door open for me as I was coming in behind him. How rude of this guy! He broke the unspoken but obvious niceness code all people, or at least all Minnesotans, know, and most do. I wasn't asking for a doorman; I was expecting a hand out, even for a millisecond, to stop the door's momentum from closing. That way that gives me a chance to catch it before it slams in my face. Besides, that way I at least the stranger in front of me is looking out for my well-being. I mean, how hard could that be? Apparently this asshole can't even do that.
Let me say that if I wasn't suffering from allergies that day, I wouldn't be so agitated about it at that moment. I think I'd be a little agitated, but I would keep patient and understand that I have work I need to do. But I was suffering so badly that this "slamming the door on me" felt like an indignity that I needed to avenge for. How, I don't know, I just felt like he needed to understand my umbrage towards him.
Suddenly, several men entered the bathroom after us. It was like the The Truman Show, where everywhere Truman went people were sent to make sure he wasn't left alone. It was weird. Moreover, one of the guys that came in was another supervisor in my room -- and he started up a conversation with the asshole who wouldn't hold the door open for me. Shit, they know each other! That complicates my plan to show him I hate him.
After I washed my hands I went to get the towels. There is only one dispenser, so obviously with so many guys there they're going to all grab for it. Somehow, we all got done pissing and washing our hands so that there was a line to get the towels. That kind of threw me for a loop. The Asshole was taking so much time talking with the supervisor guy that he wound up right behind me.
Follow me here: I usually grab three towels at a time, dry them, then grab another three. Because hey, you can never dry your hands enough. After I grabbed the second set The Asshole grabbed his. I step aside because I'm being nice enough for him and the guys behind me to get to the towel dispenser. But for some fucking reason The Asshole just crowds above the trash can to wash his hands. That set me off, and all I could do to register my fury was to throw my crumpled-up wad of towels right by his head into the trash.
What I did next even I can't explain, but my hate for him was the source of my, uh, weird behavior. Although The Asshole was behind me, one of the people who came in after us somehow wound up ahead of me in this conga line to the towels. He opened the door, but it was closing by the time I threw those towels in the trash and turned towards it. Remember that I was dealing with allergies. I was kind of paranoid Friday about spreading allergies to the people around me. Even though I just washed my hands, I had thought it prudent that, if possible, I would take a towel to grasp every handle I open. That may be a little, um, anal, but I really don't need the conscience of a bunch of people getting sick when everybody remembers that I was sneezing and sniffling up a storm.
Now, remember that this is a line of people waiting to get to the towel dispenser and then leaving the bathroom. My next natural step was to leave, but the door is closed, and I don't have a towel. So I just ... froze. And then I, uh, stepped away and out of line. No, I still don't exactly know why I did that. But you can imagine the queue of people behind me just waiting for me to leave the bathroom and make some room in the bathroom, and just not doing it. They must be like, "What the fuck is his problem?" Well, the problem is the guy behind me and the guy who just left ahead of me both pissed me off because neither of them would hold the door open for me.
So I should have backed up my weird action by grabbing a towel to hold open the door. I could at least justify not moving my ass if I did that instead. But I lost my track of thought and felt the people there wanting me to leave the bathroom, so I, like, came back in the line ... behind The Asshole. And, once again, he threw the door open only far enough for his entitled ass to come through. So, with a gritted teeth and harrumph coming through my flared nostrils, I open the door not with my still-allergy-ridden hand but my foot. And I didn't just gently open it; I basically did a roundhouse kick to throw the fucking door open. I may have doubled down on my weird behavior in the eyes of the guys behind me. But while I couldn't justify weirdly backing away, I can say that I was really pissed off at The Asshole for not holding the door open for me a second time. Hell, there were a bunch of people behind me. If he didn't want to do it for me, at least do it for them.
I saw The Asshole get a drink of water from the fountain. I just walked in a huff and, after I turned the corner, I muttered under my breath, "Asshole." I didn't want to scream it, but I wanted to say it loud enough for someone to hear. In retrospect, maybe that wasn't the smartest thing to do, because one of those people who may have heard it is The Asshole's friend, the supervisor in the room I work in.
Epilogue: I think The Asshole, a skinny guy with grey hair and wearing high-waisted shorts, was walking behind me and couple other people in our room during afternoon break and rudely went around us even though there was a lot of traffic going both ways. One of the people I was stuck behind was the guy who was talking with The Asshole as both were peeing.
Oh, and the supervisor might have said some in appropriate things during work. There is one woman who keeps asking for help from him, and one time she and another woman both raised their hands. He and a fellow supervisor both rushed to both of them to answer their questions, but neither could decide which one to help. So this guy said, "Doesn't matter, they're both good-looking." And he continued to flirt with this one woman all day. Come to think of it, he's done this since the project began.
---
I should say this. In the middle of this really bad day I initiated a really weird incident. It's partly because of the allergies that overtook me, but it's also partly because I think a guy was being a douche.
After another allergy attack early in the afternoon, I got up and left the room, just to take a break. Went to the break room to read papers that weren't there when I dropped by in the morning and still weren't there. So I thought that maybe I should wash my hands and face; that might wash the allergies off of me.
But as I was turning towards where the bathroom is, I see another guy from the other end of the hallway turn just before me. I was kind of bummed that I wouldn't be able to piss by myself, alone in my thoughts, but hey, there are hundreds of people working here now, it was bound to happen.
What I did not expect was the guy not holding the door open for me as I was coming in behind him. How rude of this guy! He broke the unspoken but obvious niceness code all people, or at least all Minnesotans, know, and most do. I wasn't asking for a doorman; I was expecting a hand out, even for a millisecond, to stop the door's momentum from closing. That way that gives me a chance to catch it before it slams in my face. Besides, that way I at least the stranger in front of me is looking out for my well-being. I mean, how hard could that be? Apparently this asshole can't even do that.
Let me say that if I wasn't suffering from allergies that day, I wouldn't be so agitated about it at that moment. I think I'd be a little agitated, but I would keep patient and understand that I have work I need to do. But I was suffering so badly that this "slamming the door on me" felt like an indignity that I needed to avenge for. How, I don't know, I just felt like he needed to understand my umbrage towards him.
Suddenly, several men entered the bathroom after us. It was like the The Truman Show, where everywhere Truman went people were sent to make sure he wasn't left alone. It was weird. Moreover, one of the guys that came in was another supervisor in my room -- and he started up a conversation with the asshole who wouldn't hold the door open for me. Shit, they know each other! That complicates my plan to show him I hate him.
After I washed my hands I went to get the towels. There is only one dispenser, so obviously with so many guys there they're going to all grab for it. Somehow, we all got done pissing and washing our hands so that there was a line to get the towels. That kind of threw me for a loop. The Asshole was taking so much time talking with the supervisor guy that he wound up right behind me.
Follow me here: I usually grab three towels at a time, dry them, then grab another three. Because hey, you can never dry your hands enough. After I grabbed the second set The Asshole grabbed his. I step aside because I'm being nice enough for him and the guys behind me to get to the towel dispenser. But for some fucking reason The Asshole just crowds above the trash can to wash his hands. That set me off, and all I could do to register my fury was to throw my crumpled-up wad of towels right by his head into the trash.
What I did next even I can't explain, but my hate for him was the source of my, uh, weird behavior. Although The Asshole was behind me, one of the people who came in after us somehow wound up ahead of me in this conga line to the towels. He opened the door, but it was closing by the time I threw those towels in the trash and turned towards it. Remember that I was dealing with allergies. I was kind of paranoid Friday about spreading allergies to the people around me. Even though I just washed my hands, I had thought it prudent that, if possible, I would take a towel to grasp every handle I open. That may be a little, um, anal, but I really don't need the conscience of a bunch of people getting sick when everybody remembers that I was sneezing and sniffling up a storm.
Now, remember that this is a line of people waiting to get to the towel dispenser and then leaving the bathroom. My next natural step was to leave, but the door is closed, and I don't have a towel. So I just ... froze. And then I, uh, stepped away and out of line. No, I still don't exactly know why I did that. But you can imagine the queue of people behind me just waiting for me to leave the bathroom and make some room in the bathroom, and just not doing it. They must be like, "What the fuck is his problem?" Well, the problem is the guy behind me and the guy who just left ahead of me both pissed me off because neither of them would hold the door open for me.
So I should have backed up my weird action by grabbing a towel to hold open the door. I could at least justify not moving my ass if I did that instead. But I lost my track of thought and felt the people there wanting me to leave the bathroom, so I, like, came back in the line ... behind The Asshole. And, once again, he threw the door open only far enough for his entitled ass to come through. So, with a gritted teeth and harrumph coming through my flared nostrils, I open the door not with my still-allergy-ridden hand but my foot. And I didn't just gently open it; I basically did a roundhouse kick to throw the fucking door open. I may have doubled down on my weird behavior in the eyes of the guys behind me. But while I couldn't justify weirdly backing away, I can say that I was really pissed off at The Asshole for not holding the door open for me a second time. Hell, there were a bunch of people behind me. If he didn't want to do it for me, at least do it for them.
I saw The Asshole get a drink of water from the fountain. I just walked in a huff and, after I turned the corner, I muttered under my breath, "Asshole." I didn't want to scream it, but I wanted to say it loud enough for someone to hear. In retrospect, maybe that wasn't the smartest thing to do, because one of those people who may have heard it is The Asshole's friend, the supervisor in the room I work in.
Epilogue: I think The Asshole, a skinny guy with grey hair and wearing high-waisted shorts, was walking behind me and couple other people in our room during afternoon break and rudely went around us even though there was a lot of traffic going both ways. One of the people I was stuck behind was the guy who was talking with The Asshole as both were peeing.
Oh, and the supervisor might have said some in appropriate things during work. There is one woman who keeps asking for help from him, and one time she and another woman both raised their hands. He and a fellow supervisor both rushed to both of them to answer their questions, but neither could decide which one to help. So this guy said, "Doesn't matter, they're both good-looking." And he continued to flirt with this one woman all day. Come to think of it, he's done this since the project began.
Saturday, June 8, 2013
Oh, wow, I spent the past two fucking hours on a blog about how my nose was running with snot, and somehow I mistakenly hit two buttons and the whole fucking thing got erased, and then I thought Blogger automatically saved most of what I typed out because it does that, except that it didn't, so all these words I slaved over are all gone. Well, fuck, what I thought was a good day has automatically turned bad.
Goddammit it all.
Goddammit it all.
Friday, June 7, 2013
Wore A Condom For The First Time
Oh yeah, I haven't told you about my sojourn to the stripclub downtown yet. Yeah, it was the first time I ever wore a condom. But no, I didn't get my cherry popped.
So there were four girls that eventually showed up to work. My cute, clean ATF, Stella, was there, all cool and hot as ever. There was another girl, a "mature" woman named Summer whom, after seeing her face, remembered that I took my dick out on her a long time ago. (Unfortunately she was not happy with seeing Mr. Happy.) And there was a fourth girl, Stella. Tipped her while she was onstage just before I had to leave; she did not give any indication she was willing to play.
When I go there, Stella was the only stripper working. After I got my one dance from her, the next girl came out from the back: *i*****, a nerdy short chick with ostentatious glasses. She was, you know, cute, but her calling card was her no-nonsense approach to telling me she does extras. When she went up to me to grab my tip and dance in front of me, she told me that if I took her to the back I would have "a draining experience." I saw *i*****'s name on their Twitter, but I had no idea that she played.
So I immediately grabbed her hand and took her to the beds, right? Nope. I'll be honest: Her forthrightness with the extras she was willing to provide kind of freaked me out and turned me off. Her being so blunt didn't make me think she was into pleasing me; she sounded like she just wanted my wallet, not my cock. Moreover, her tone was kind of, for lack of a better word, annoying. Going for years to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Edition) has made me intolerant of hustle, which she was doing -- the only one doing it, by the wa.
Still, I went here with a mission: To get my rocks off. She was kind of cute and she gave me a guarantee of $130, so I gave myself a couple rotations to see if the other two women would offer something similar and rub me the right way. Unfortunately because they were so hot, they were pretty tied up with customers (who may or may not have been regulars; as I commented to Stella, I had never seen this place so busy during lunchtime in all my years coming here on day shift).
Eventually I saw that *i***** was the only one of the four strippers who had not given an LD, and I kind of felt sorry for her. So I relented; the next time she was on stage (and after she reminded me that she guaranteed I would have "draining" experience), I told her I would take her up on her offer.
She was totally ready -- too ready. *i***** was all about the dirty talk, so quickly spilling out of her mouth I don't think it sounded genuine. She sounded like she was turning a trick. But man, I was so horny I didn't care. And when I leapt into my practice of taking out my dick once I emptied my pants on the counter in the bed room, she tickled the bottom of my dick. I think I was so ready for her to really get me off that I thought she just wanked my cock right then and there.
So I totally jumped in thinking she was down. I took off my pants, all the way (a first in this place) and hopped onto the bed, totally bottomless. To which *i***** replied, "Oh, fuck no!" and ordered me to put my pants back on. Well, I guess she's not as randy as she said she'd be.
But then she dug into her purse and brought out a condom. Oh, hey now. Up to this point *i***** was giving me mixed messages and blowing hot-and-cold (metaphorically), but honestly, when she took out that rubber, I thought we were going to fuck. That would be my first time, and even though she would not have been my first choice even if I narrowed the field to just strippers, I was good to go. Besides, I wasn't going to back out now. In for a penny, in for a pound, right?
Well, once I put my pants back on, while still sticking out my penis, she got on top of me. I wanted to rub her down, bite her tit, shit like that, but she immediately put it on me, sans lube. I didn't know a condom would, um, "work" if a dick wasn't erect, but, well, it worked, I guess.
But *i***** did not fuck me. Instead, she just gave me a handjob, just through the condom. Oh, I get it: She didn't want any of my cum on her, or spraying all over the bed, so she made me wear it so I could contain my ejaculate. That's ... both pretty smart and a massive overkill. Splooging my juice of joy all over the place was one of the best parts of visiting the beds here. When I've done it back there in the past there were no repercussions, either from security or the girl I did it with/to, at least nothing serious. I was allowed to do that, and I wanted to do that. So cumming all over meant, to me, total freedom.
Now, that didn't mean I got all angry. Looking back, I surprise myself at how willing I was to go along with everything she said and did -- and everything she didn't say or do -- to make me leave happy. She didn't do much; she got on top of me and stroked me lightly, then ordered me around like a dominatrix: "You like this, don't you?!" "You gonna cum? Grab my ass!" and after I got done, which was near the end of the first of four songs, she said, "I am the Queen of Making Guys Cum!" or something like that. Man, I don't like dominatrices. OK, maybe I should modify that: I don't think straight-up sadomasochism and discipline is sexy. But if she gets on top of me and just has her way with me ... I don't not like that.
Regardless, *i***** did not do that. She immediately leapt off of me once I was done. I at least tried to make some conversation with her, and she was kind of down. For example I asked that we trade glasses. But, that was it. I kind of felt neglected the minutes afterward, mostly because I paid for four songs and she was ready to leave after two. And after *i***** barely spoke to me once I got zipped up and went back to the main room, that's when buyer's remorse set in.
Looking back at it now, I am back up the rollercoaster that was my time with *i*****. She hit some wrong buttons, but along the way she hit the right buttons. And I did cum, even if I could've just laid there by myself and anticipated what I thought she was going to do to me and cum. But I try and find something positive out of every experience that happens to me. And in this case, even though I still haven't put myself inside a woman, I can at least I strapped a condom on. Plus, I have to admit, cleaning up was a snap. All of my semen was collected in the condom, so I just went into the toilet stall, unsheathed my penis, and throw it into the shitter. And I didn't have to waste so many wetnaps to clean up the cum that I got all over myself and my porno pants. Still opened up as many wetnaps as I did in the past, about four; I just found out that I've kept them so long they've dried out, so it took me about four wetnaps before I opened one that was still wet enough for me to wipe up what nut I did get all over me.
So there were four girls that eventually showed up to work. My cute, clean ATF, Stella, was there, all cool and hot as ever. There was another girl, a "mature" woman named Summer whom, after seeing her face, remembered that I took my dick out on her a long time ago. (Unfortunately she was not happy with seeing Mr. Happy.) And there was a fourth girl, Stella. Tipped her while she was onstage just before I had to leave; she did not give any indication she was willing to play.
When I go there, Stella was the only stripper working. After I got my one dance from her, the next girl came out from the back: *i*****, a nerdy short chick with ostentatious glasses. She was, you know, cute, but her calling card was her no-nonsense approach to telling me she does extras. When she went up to me to grab my tip and dance in front of me, she told me that if I took her to the back I would have "a draining experience." I saw *i*****'s name on their Twitter, but I had no idea that she played.
So I immediately grabbed her hand and took her to the beds, right? Nope. I'll be honest: Her forthrightness with the extras she was willing to provide kind of freaked me out and turned me off. Her being so blunt didn't make me think she was into pleasing me; she sounded like she just wanted my wallet, not my cock. Moreover, her tone was kind of, for lack of a better word, annoying. Going for years to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Edition) has made me intolerant of hustle, which she was doing -- the only one doing it, by the wa.
Still, I went here with a mission: To get my rocks off. She was kind of cute and she gave me a guarantee of $130, so I gave myself a couple rotations to see if the other two women would offer something similar and rub me the right way. Unfortunately because they were so hot, they were pretty tied up with customers (who may or may not have been regulars; as I commented to Stella, I had never seen this place so busy during lunchtime in all my years coming here on day shift).
Eventually I saw that *i***** was the only one of the four strippers who had not given an LD, and I kind of felt sorry for her. So I relented; the next time she was on stage (and after she reminded me that she guaranteed I would have "draining" experience), I told her I would take her up on her offer.
She was totally ready -- too ready. *i***** was all about the dirty talk, so quickly spilling out of her mouth I don't think it sounded genuine. She sounded like she was turning a trick. But man, I was so horny I didn't care. And when I leapt into my practice of taking out my dick once I emptied my pants on the counter in the bed room, she tickled the bottom of my dick. I think I was so ready for her to really get me off that I thought she just wanked my cock right then and there.
So I totally jumped in thinking she was down. I took off my pants, all the way (a first in this place) and hopped onto the bed, totally bottomless. To which *i***** replied, "Oh, fuck no!" and ordered me to put my pants back on. Well, I guess she's not as randy as she said she'd be.
But then she dug into her purse and brought out a condom. Oh, hey now. Up to this point *i***** was giving me mixed messages and blowing hot-and-cold (metaphorically), but honestly, when she took out that rubber, I thought we were going to fuck. That would be my first time, and even though she would not have been my first choice even if I narrowed the field to just strippers, I was good to go. Besides, I wasn't going to back out now. In for a penny, in for a pound, right?
Well, once I put my pants back on, while still sticking out my penis, she got on top of me. I wanted to rub her down, bite her tit, shit like that, but she immediately put it on me, sans lube. I didn't know a condom would, um, "work" if a dick wasn't erect, but, well, it worked, I guess.
But *i***** did not fuck me. Instead, she just gave me a handjob, just through the condom. Oh, I get it: She didn't want any of my cum on her, or spraying all over the bed, so she made me wear it so I could contain my ejaculate. That's ... both pretty smart and a massive overkill. Splooging my juice of joy all over the place was one of the best parts of visiting the beds here. When I've done it back there in the past there were no repercussions, either from security or the girl I did it with/to, at least nothing serious. I was allowed to do that, and I wanted to do that. So cumming all over meant, to me, total freedom.
Now, that didn't mean I got all angry. Looking back, I surprise myself at how willing I was to go along with everything she said and did -- and everything she didn't say or do -- to make me leave happy. She didn't do much; she got on top of me and stroked me lightly, then ordered me around like a dominatrix: "You like this, don't you?!" "You gonna cum? Grab my ass!" and after I got done, which was near the end of the first of four songs, she said, "I am the Queen of Making Guys Cum!" or something like that. Man, I don't like dominatrices. OK, maybe I should modify that: I don't think straight-up sadomasochism and discipline is sexy. But if she gets on top of me and just has her way with me ... I don't not like that.
Regardless, *i***** did not do that. She immediately leapt off of me once I was done. I at least tried to make some conversation with her, and she was kind of down. For example I asked that we trade glasses. But, that was it. I kind of felt neglected the minutes afterward, mostly because I paid for four songs and she was ready to leave after two. And after *i***** barely spoke to me once I got zipped up and went back to the main room, that's when buyer's remorse set in.
Looking back at it now, I am back up the rollercoaster that was my time with *i*****. She hit some wrong buttons, but along the way she hit the right buttons. And I did cum, even if I could've just laid there by myself and anticipated what I thought she was going to do to me and cum. But I try and find something positive out of every experience that happens to me. And in this case, even though I still haven't put myself inside a woman, I can at least I strapped a condom on. Plus, I have to admit, cleaning up was a snap. All of my semen was collected in the condom, so I just went into the toilet stall, unsheathed my penis, and throw it into the shitter. And I didn't have to waste so many wetnaps to clean up the cum that I got all over myself and my porno pants. Still opened up as many wetnaps as I did in the past, about four; I just found out that I've kept them so long they've dried out, so it took me about four wetnaps before I opened one that was still wet enough for me to wipe up what nut I did get all over me.
Thursday, June 6, 2013
"We Are Running Out Of Papers"
That is what our supervisor said at my current scoring project. Goddammit, I knew it.
This is a math project, and after doing this for a few years I know that math projects go really quickly; you're not looking for nuance or signs the student is thinking, comprehending and ably communicating the right answers, you're more likely just making sure he or she's got the right numbers. With one huge exception, a graph, that's what we've been doing. And we, as a group, have blazed through two very fast questions to grade, prompting him to say that today.
As a rule with this company, when I get a project I find out its projected end date, then cut it in half. We are usually so fast -- too fast -- that we get done in half the time. For this project, that means Monday; any day after that I consider gravy. Well, we haven't been given any updates on our progress, but I kind of thought I might have been underestimating the time we'd be doing this. But then he said that this afternoon, and I'm afraid I might be right. Hell, we might be fuckin' done tomorrow.
That sucks for obvious reasons. But I'm in more of a panic now because after I got home (early, thank goodness) I got money from the dole because I was unemployed last week. Unemployment insurance gives me a set amount every year, and I am down to my last few dollars. In fact, at current rates, I have only two weeks' worth of unemployment. Good thing is is that I get reapply for a new year of benefits starting on the 1st. That means that I will not lose a step if I am still at this job through the 14th.
As you can calculate, that makes next week very important. If I am cut from this job early enough, I will be forced to get money from my dwindling unemployment insurance account that I have mentally "set aside" for the last weeks of the month. And that would mean I would get no benefits the last week in June. Probably not a killer, but I am back in a precarious position financially.
Of course all of this could be solved if I can find a job, whether through this company or somewhere else. Which means I need to polish off my résumé, again.
It's funny: I stood up and went to the break room for a bit, and when I came back a fellow worker, with whom I had worked on at least one other project, said that the supervisor told him I was blazing fast. Well, we got our individual statistics for the week, and not only am I not the fastest, I am kind of closer to being the slowest. In fact, it makes me wonder if I should ... work faster. Yeah, that would mean we would get done sooner, which means we would get a smaller paycheck. But I'm not sure if that's outweighed by looking like a slowpoke next to the rest of my team. Hell, they're the ones that are going to make us finish up sooner than we should!
This is a math project, and after doing this for a few years I know that math projects go really quickly; you're not looking for nuance or signs the student is thinking, comprehending and ably communicating the right answers, you're more likely just making sure he or she's got the right numbers. With one huge exception, a graph, that's what we've been doing. And we, as a group, have blazed through two very fast questions to grade, prompting him to say that today.
As a rule with this company, when I get a project I find out its projected end date, then cut it in half. We are usually so fast -- too fast -- that we get done in half the time. For this project, that means Monday; any day after that I consider gravy. Well, we haven't been given any updates on our progress, but I kind of thought I might have been underestimating the time we'd be doing this. But then he said that this afternoon, and I'm afraid I might be right. Hell, we might be fuckin' done tomorrow.
That sucks for obvious reasons. But I'm in more of a panic now because after I got home (early, thank goodness) I got money from the dole because I was unemployed last week. Unemployment insurance gives me a set amount every year, and I am down to my last few dollars. In fact, at current rates, I have only two weeks' worth of unemployment. Good thing is is that I get reapply for a new year of benefits starting on the 1st. That means that I will not lose a step if I am still at this job through the 14th.
As you can calculate, that makes next week very important. If I am cut from this job early enough, I will be forced to get money from my dwindling unemployment insurance account that I have mentally "set aside" for the last weeks of the month. And that would mean I would get no benefits the last week in June. Probably not a killer, but I am back in a precarious position financially.
Of course all of this could be solved if I can find a job, whether through this company or somewhere else. Which means I need to polish off my résumé, again.
It's funny: I stood up and went to the break room for a bit, and when I came back a fellow worker, with whom I had worked on at least one other project, said that the supervisor told him I was blazing fast. Well, we got our individual statistics for the week, and not only am I not the fastest, I am kind of closer to being the slowest. In fact, it makes me wonder if I should ... work faster. Yeah, that would mean we would get done sooner, which means we would get a smaller paycheck. But I'm not sure if that's outweighed by looking like a slowpoke next to the rest of my team. Hell, they're the ones that are going to make us finish up sooner than we should!
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