Had An "Oh, Shit" Moment At My Interview Today (ETA: To Clarify, It Was Friday, Because There Is No Such Thing As Interviewing For A Job On The Weekend)

I thought it went well.  My interviewer shared some things, and I shared some things, and I thought we were both engaged.  Maybe I paused a few too many times, especially when I tried to ask her about what happens if mistakes are made, but all in all, I didn't get laughed out of the conference room.  Then again, I felt even better after the last interview I had, and I got flat-out rejected.

And I probably will lose out on this job, too.  I kind of feel weird about this position, although she was nice and the corporation I'd be working for (at least through the end of the year) seems stand-up and not full of corrupt bullshit.  I did get lost, however, getting to here from downtown St. Paul because I had to start from the impound lot in downtown Minneapolis (will talk about this later) and stop by the temp agency in St. Paul to drop off a State Fair ticket because I got cut from a day.  If I do get this job I'll obviously know how to get here, but today's "commute" was an indication of how far I'd have to drive to work.  The pay would be worth it, but the hassle of traffic might frustrate me after a while.

Worse yet was that, somehow, another applicant was scheduled to interview the exact same time as I.  I don't know if I was wrong or if he was or if either the temp agency or the company screwed up along the way.  I just know that since I got there first I was interviewed first, although by the time I got done he was gone, so my guess is that someone else interviewed him at around the same time.  But the worst part of all of this is that this guy whom I'm competing with for this job was dressed in a suit.  I thought that would be a little too dressy given the data entry work we'd be doing, plus it was going to be hot, so I opted for a white polo t-shirt and dark khakis.  Once I saw this sharp-dressed man and realized he was my competition, I kind of think I'm screwed.

I get to give this position until Tuesday.  I've been led to believe that I have till end of day Tuesday to go back to the flu biller job, which has asked me back.

Fucking Got My Fucking Car Towed

Got it towed while downtown watching the USC game.  Had no fucking idea that across the street turns into a taxi stand starting at 11.  On Thursdays.  From my seat, I could look over at my car through the window.  But I was buried in my computer, watching the game and remembering what information I needed to tell the group at halftime.  Why should I be worried?  It's 11 on a Thursday.

Yeah, I see the fucking sign, OK?  But I saw a lot of cars getting towed, not just here but everywhere, and that makes me believe the goddamn city sprung some new rules on the citizenry tonight, just as everybody was out on an extremely busy night because the Twins, Gopher football team and Vikings were all playing at home.  I did not think that the city would be so fucking predatory.  But I guess they are.

And yet, yeah, I see the fucking sign, OK?  I just got ... overwhelmed by a bunch of things.  First of all, I'm the president of the club, and so I should be there when the game begins.  I know that, but I got late.  I had to move my parents' car off our driveway and onto the street because they're repaving it, and I had to spend ten minutes to make sure I was close enough to the fire hydrant without being too close to it.  Then as I drove I met into massive traffic along 694.  I knew construction made it bad, but for some goddamn reason it was at a morning/afternoon-rush standstill.  So I had to take a side street, which took a long time.  I got there without about 15, 10 minutes to spare -- guess it was enough, but I had to put up the stuff, introduce myself, make sure the bar was going to show the game, etc.  Hey, I'm the president, I can't just move my car.  And why would I?  It's 10 o'clock -- I can park there, right?

Well, of course not.  Because I'm me, and I have bad luck.  Tonight I really feel like the world's out to get me.  I'm just getting fucked up the ass.  The cost to get my car back may, may, be under $200, but looking through the website I'm now not sure.  Have to take my breath and say a blessed thanks to my friend who not only took me home but volunteered to front me some money.  Because I.  Cannot.  Afford.  To.  Pay.  This.  I'm trying to save my money as best I can, but first the hood flies into my face and now I get my car towed.  See what I mean when I think the world's out to get me?

And now I have to fall into the k-hole that is the impound lot.  Never been there, and I don't know if my parents have done it.  I don't know if I have all the documents I need to get my car.  And of course I've heard the horror stories about their cruel, insulting customer service (as well as the return expletives from the angry folks losing an arm and a leg getting their cars back).  I might not get it back.

And that really sucks because, oh yeah, that Cryptic Lie I was talking about previous blog post?  It fell through; the interviewer didn't get back to my contact about rescheduling, so I had to keep the interview and drop the paid gig, which was being an extra in a movie.  (Ironically, now that my car has been towed, I wouldn't have been able to make that gig's 7 o'clock call time.  Is that a sign?)  But even though the interview's at 10, I have no idea whether I can even make it.  I could be in that fucking place for hours.  And what happens if I don't have everything I need to get my car?

I.  Don't.  Have.  The.  Money.  I keep trying, and trying, and goddammit, something fucking happens.

College Football Anti-Picks, Week 1

I used to make these picks on my old MySpace page, but since it was revamped a couple months ago, erasing its blog feature, I am doing it here.  I don't have time to explain, but I'll just put down my picks for the first week of college football here:

1. Hawaii +23 1/2 (Frankly, my alma mater doesn't have its QB situation settled; USC will underwhelm) $100
2. Alabama -20 1/2 (Call me when Virginia Tech is good again) $50
3. Parlay both, for $50.

Good luck!

Cryptic Lie

I had to.  A paid gig came up, and I want to see if I can do both tomorrow.  Maybe I secretly don't want it; if I did want it, I wouldn't come up with this lie.  But I have a back-up plan in pocket, I think, and I want to see if I can do it all.  I just hope I don't get caught.  And of course if it doesn't work out, I guess I just can't do the gig then.  Let's just see if I can get away with it.  Don't want to wind up losing both things.

My Third Day At The Fair ... And My Worst Fears Were Realized, Sort Of

While working at the Fair yesterday evening I saw not one, not two, not three, but four people I know, and who I was mortified to see ... at least on the inside.  Maybe.  I tried to play it cool.  Don't know if it worked.

The first person was from high school.  We kind of caught each other's gazes, dug in our own brains for a second going, "Wait, I know that guy/girl," and then we said hi.  I went in for a hug because, well, that's what you're supposed to do, right?  But she stuck out her hand, an obvious, and appropriate, defensive maneuver.  Meeting her this way is odd because the last time I ran into her was at a bookstore at least a decade ago.  The most interesting thing to happen to her, in my opinion, is that she not only has a master's degree but is back in graduate school for a second time.  Never mind the cost and usefulness of that; to be honest, I never thought of her as the educated type.  Now, she's beating my ass in post-secondary education.  Makes me rethink not going back to school.  I had to get something, she was looking for her two friends, and we did not exchange any information.  That's OK; we will probably ran into each other at a grocery store a decade from now.

I was afraid that now that I saw one person I would see another, and sure enough I did.  Fortunately it was one of the guys I ushered with back in the day, and he saw me before I saw him.  Also, he gave me a hug, as I believe all of my ex-usher employees will do.  He and his two friends were at the Fair to watch Depeche Mode at the Grandstand.  Within 15 seconds they were off.  That, I believe, was the right thing to do.

(By the way, after I got done I went over to the Grandstand and lingered by the side of it so I could hear the concert, which came in pretty good.  Glad I got to hear the tail end, where every band worth its salt stores its hits.  Of course Depeche Mode had to do "Enjoy The Silence" and "Personal Jesus."  I thought that would be the end of it; by the time they got done with "Personal Jesus" it was a quarter after 10 and I thought the fireworks had to go off by 10.  But as I was walking towards the buses, I heard the booming baritone of David Gahan launch into an acoustic, beautiful rendition of "Home."  So I come back to hear that, then "Halo," another cut from DM's classic Violator album.  By the time they hit "Just Can't Get Enough," it was a quarter to 11 and I promised Mother I'd be back by 10:30.  I started my way to the buses when I heard the opening mashings of "I Feel You."  The fireworks went up just before 11; the setlist, which sadly was the exact same one Depeche Mode played in the Chicagoland area in the concert before this three days ago, shows they had one more song after that: "Never Let Me Down Again."  Oh, one other thing: I've seen Gahan perform songs on late-night TV shows and he's always yelping and egging the audience for a reaction.  Kind of ... annoying, I'm afraid to say.)

So I met two people I know, and a part of me thought that the deluge of old faces was going to come, but another part of me thought that that had to be enough for the day and, possibly, my time working the State Fair.  But about seven minutes before we were to close I see my cousin and his wife (well, my cousin-in-law ... is that a real word?) stroll in.  I couldn't just run away, so I said, "Guys!" and they looked over.  (My cousin-in-law, like my high school friend, also shook my hand, but I think I at least waited for her to make the first gesture.  That's a good thing; I should write that down.)  I asked them not to tell my parents that I'm working the Fair.  No problem, he said.  Good, and good to see that they seemed cool with me doing this.  I should say that I texted my cousin a couple days ago on behalf of my parents, who wanted advice on what camera to buy.  I told them that they (well, actually Father) took him up on one if his recommendations, and he asked me what lens did they buy.  What lens?  And then I had to work.

Phew!  OK, so running into people I know while working a job that's beneath my IQ and educational background wasn't the worst thing in the world.  Plus, after seeing four people I know, I can't run into any others, can I?  Well, if it's the strippers from My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Version), that's fine.  In fact, that'd be great.  But anybody else, including the worst-case scenario of seeing my -- gulp -- brother and sister-in-law?  That would be devastating ... and, given that this is the Minnesota State Fair, likely to happen when I go back to work this weekend.

The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey

#-1: Gopher soccer (Re-Entry!).  Let us go back to last year, and the abrupt transfer of Taylor Uhl, who, and I didn't notice this when I reported on this at the time of the transfer, tied for the Division I lead for most goals last season.  In May she tweeted that she was going to Stanford.  What was left in her wake is why did she quit the U.  Speculation on the only forum that talked about Uhl started with her quitting because she started chafing under the university's strength and conditioning department's standards of "fitness" during the spring.  Others then thought that after too many putdowns Uhl just couldn't take it anymore.  Regardless, it is a huge blow to lose a player who, as a sophomore, scored 21 of the team's 44 goals.

So far, though, so good.  They "won" their Gopher Tournament by beating Toledo 2-1 Friday and crushing North Dakota St. 4-1 Sunday.  I was able to see the season opener against the Rockets.  I managed to sit next to several hot ladies who, turns out, are alums of the U. soccer team.  The girl sitting next to me was on the pitch for the Gophers' double-overtime Sweet 16 loss to Georgetown several years ago.  Anyway, I left the game being most impressed with Simone Kolander, the Freshman whose first collegiate goal was the game-winner.  She had moves to juke past her mark many times during the game, and her height alone made her a threat through the air on set pieces.  I'm kind of surprised no one made her a goalkeeper during her development; Kolander's 5'11", while the goalie in the win, Kristen Knutson, is two inches shorter.

Sunday's win over the Bison was spurred on by Taylor Stainbrook, a Redshirt Sophomore transfer who used to play for ... the North Dakota St. Bison.  She scored twice on her former team; gee, does that mean she's pissed at them for some reason?  Stainbrook is one of four transfers to Head Coach Stefanie Golan's squad this year.  The most puzzling of the four is Midfielder Jen Larrick, the only member of the club who is not from Minnesota, Wisconsin, or Iowa.  Larrick, who's from Westford, Mass. (?), transferred from Florida.  Guess she sees an opportunity.  Stainbrook and the other two transfers are Minnesotans who apparently got homesick.

The key to this season is to replace Uhl's scoring while sharpening the defensive edginess Golan was hired for.  Having six goals for and two against helps.  Will that continue this weekend, when they host Illinois St. Friday night (maybe I should go to the game!) Friday before driving down to Ames to play Iowa St. Sunday afternoon?

#-2: Lynx (Last Week: -1).  Even with a 2-1 week I'm concerned about this squad.  This team is vulnerable.  Sure, they still have the best record in the WNBA, so I guess all the teams are vulnerable.  But when you respond to a 52-41 deficit on the road to Atlanta by outscoring them 29-14 in the third quarter, only to score a mere five points and go eight minutes without a basket in the fourth to lose 88-75 shows that the starters have conditioning issues and the team has depth issues.  If the starters are gassed and no one can step up, the Jynx are screwed.  And how often do you think a good team is going to have a good game against them?  I'm not saying they're going to get swept in the first round of the playoffs, but championship squads overcome adversity and find ways to win.  And I don't see that with this team.  They may have the heart, but they don't have the bodies for it.

At least they responded to last Tuesday's defeat with a win at Connecticut Thursday and a home victory over Indiana in a rematch of last year's WNBA Finals.  For her aggregate efforts, Maya Moore was named Western Conference Player Of The Week.  Recently New York Liberty Head Coach Bill Laimbeer said shortly after a recent loss to the Lynx that somebody should "hurt" Moore.  Laimbeer, once and forever member of Detroit's "Bad Boys," was fined for that comment.  But I wonder more about the reaction from Lynx Head Coach Cheryl Reeve.  When Laimbeer coached the Detroit Shock to their WNBA titles in 2006 and 2008, Reeve was one of his assistants.

It's coming down to the brass tacks.  They visit Laimbeer and the Liberty tonight, then host Seattle (the first of three matchups against the Storm in the seven regular season games remaining, WTH) Saturday.

#-3: Twins (Last Week: -2).  Split a six-game roadtrip where they won the series against American League Central-leading Detroit but then lost the series against second-place Cleveland.  I guess you could call that progress.

Nothing else matters this late in a humdrum season than the club's stars, the M&M boys.  Joe Mauer took a fouled pitch to the mask and he left with a concussion.  He was supposed to be back a game or two ago, yet he's still on the Disabled List.  With just over a month left, I wouldn't be totally bent out of shape if the organization just shut him down for the rest of the year.  You know, give him some extra time to spend with his newborn twins.

Meanwhile, Justin Morneau has been raking.  He has flashed the power of old, and he has put his concussion symptoms behind him.  We just didn't see him become the Justin Morneau of old till after the All-Star Break, much too late to help the team.  So is this just a fluke, or has his price gone up in his walk year?

The Twinks have are home just for three games this week against Kansas City.  They then hit the road for six, with trios versus The Bastard Washington Senators v.2.0 and, starting on Monday, Houston.

Chronicles Of My Trip VII: The Wedding

The wedding was the next day, I believe.  As is Chinese custom, the ritual consists of the groom and his groomsmen banging on the door of the house where the bride is, then the bride and her maids of honor demanding the groom prove his love by making him and the groomsmen do embarrassing, if not demeaning, stunts.  I kid -- sort of.  But they made them do dances and skits and I think he had to take off his pants or something.  Actually, I don't remember what they made my brother-in-law do since it's been more than two years.

Before the ceremony I was called into my parents' room at the villa, which was in a different building.  Father was wearing his red Hawaiian shirt, which, bizarrely, has become his go-to "good" shirt for festive occasions.  "Here," he said, giving me his crisp white shirt for me to wear; we are so goddamn alike we can share the same clothes -- and we do, at least our pajamas.  Anyway, white was one of the colors my sister authorized for the wedding, along with, I think, pink and beige.  My brother-in-law-to-be and sister volunteered to keep my Banana Republic white shirt with them when we finally touched down in Zurich; while my parents and I lugged our luggage from Milan to Florence, they would gently drive down to Siena without getting even a wrinkle on our shirts.  But the night before the wedding (I think) I asked for my shirt and my bro-in-law couldn't find it.  My Father somehow got involved, and so he decided that I would wear his white shirt (guess he didn't give them his) while he wore his Hawaiian.  That was stupid.  I had a white t-shirt, so, to keep us all color-coordinated, I gave him back his shirt, told him he needed to change, went back to the apartment I shared with my brother, and put on my t-shirt for the wedding.  If you looked closely you'd see my embroidered, t-shirt-like collar.  But I really don't think most of the people there were the wiser.

The second part of the ceremony involved two adorned chairs.  In order, my parents, his parents, my uncle and aunt, my brother, his brother, and me (I may have screwed up the order) sat on these chairs and were served tea by my sister and brother-in-law.  We in turn would give them something in our Chinese red packets (well, those on the bride's side did; I forgot what the groom's side gave) and say a few words.  I wished them well and told them to remember that as long as they had each other, they'd be alright.

And then the ceremony was over.  For all intents and purposes, my sister and brother-in-law were now truly married because my parents were there to witness and participate in a proper Chinese wedding.

---

What else is there to the wedding?  I think that afternoon, after we had lunch and time for a nap, I went over to my parents' apartment.  They had taken off all their fancy clothes and gotten back into their frumpy shirts and jeans.  They thought they were done and, more importantly, wanted to be done with the whole ceremony.

But they weren't.  My sister and brother-in-law said that there were still things to do, in particular the wedding photos.  I thought it was kind of disrespectful that they had little energy to put their nice clothes back on and see their daughter's photos, so fuck them, they act like that all the time.

I went downstairs and onto the outdoor steps.  They were taking their photos overlooking the garden.  Everyone was there except for me and my family.  I rushed outside because we were told the photo shoot was beginning to take place and, naturally, my sis kind of expected us to be there.

I got there a little too late.  They were actually beginning the shoot, with the kiss between the two, totally romantic, when I come barreling down the steps in order to see it.  My sister sees me getting into the shot and she shoos me down, "Get out of the way!" I think she said.  "I was trying to get our parents to come down!" I replied.

The rest went well.  My folks eventually did come down.  We mingled, had snacks and drinks from the open bar while they went through their litany of photos.  It rained off and on.

---

That's all I can remember from the wedding day.

My First Day Working At The Fair

Not bad.  I was afraid that I would be interacting with people, and unfortunately I am.  I say unfortunate because I am there, visible to customers who ask questions or want to order something, but I can't do anything because I don't think I'm allowed to touch the drinks.  So of course I get puzzled, if not miffed, looks from some of the people who think I should help them -- which I kind of should.  But I can't.

That unfortunate byproduct of my job (at least the way I see it as of right now) is that there is a chance I'll see somebody while working.  And, let's be honest, this work is beneath me.  So if they do see me ... well, it all depends on who sees me.  For example, I dropped by My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Edition) and one of the strippers there, an adopted Korean with big fake tits, said she'll probably hit the Fair Tuesday, which is a day I'll be working.  I definitely would not mind seeing her.  But what if it's, say, a guy from high school?  I would not be prepared at all what to say.  Or what if it's my cousin, or my brother and sister-in-law?  I would be mortified.  And even though they have sworn off the Fair for decades now, if somehow my parents decided to go to the Fair for some old shits and giggles and see me ... well, I think I'd drop dead right then and there.

On the positive side, I saw no one I didn't want to see tonight.  Plus the people I work with are pretty good.  Also, my job is pretty simple: Give change and clear the cash registers of money if need be, and take them to my manager for safekeeping.  The obscenely hot and humid weather discouraged people from drinking wine, although as the sun fell more people started taking a chance on our raspberry wine smoothies.  But I'm led to believe that tonight was a slow day, so there wasn't a whole lot of trouble I could have gotten myself into.  Plus I got to leave after four hours.  Usually I want to stay as long as possible, but cutting and running after four hours exposing myself in public was about enough.  Plus, I had plenty of time to catch a shuttle to my car in a park-and-ride.  And, the ragweed allergies I had kept at bay most of my night started to clog my sinuses.  Finally, my feet were starting to kill me.

Now let us see what happens the second day.  I worked on the wine side tonight; tomorrow (well, actually today -- um, Monday) I might be at the beer side.  I think I have more friends that like beer than wine.  Also, I could screw something up.  It's never the first day that's the worst for me; it's the second, because I am so wound up worrying about screwing up so bad I get fired, so the next day I come in all relaxed that I wasn't that I overlook something.  And finally, of course, I could run into somebody I know.  Fingers crossed.

Goddammit, Now My TMJ Has Come Back

The only time I tried snowboarding was late 2000, I believe.  I was such an idiot about it that I didn't even bring snowpants.  That's because I didn't have them.  Nor did I know much about snowboarding.  I tried skiing once while on a class trip, and I kept falling so much I started crying.  I didn't cry when I fell, oh, about 20 times that day.  Most of the time on my head.  Never again.

I soon began getting headaches, migraine-strength headaches that I had never felt before.  I thought they were due to the wisdom teeth I started to think to have taken out.  But when I went to the dentist, he told me it wasn't my teeth.  It was my Temporomandibular Joint (TMJ) that probably was knocked out of whack on one of my many crashes onto the snow.  I was told to take pain relievers while being assigned a physical therapist.  But I was temping at an architectural firm at the time, and I don't know if I could make the scheduled two or three days a week work, and the headaches were starting to go away, so on the eve of my first session, I canceled.

Well, by golly, for the first time since way back then, the pain in my TMJ (the pain is colloquially called "TMJ," but those who are in medicine describe it as "TMD" for Temporomandibular disorder ... a friend of mine from high school who became a surgeon told me this, adding that people who say "TMJ" is calling the problem by the body part, to which I want to say, "Who the fuck cares, the people in pain with this call this "TMJ, alright?") returned with a vengeance I have not felt since those headaches in the weeks after my aborted attempt at snowboarding.  It happened last night while watching NASCAR.  I was opening my jaw when I felt this sudden pain, like my jaw joint slipped drastically out of place, jutting out so that the end of the bone was bulging through my skin.  I was able to open up my jaw, but at great pain.  And it hasn't gone away.

The pain is on the right side.  I can open it up only so much before I encounter a lot of fucking pain and it feels as if my jaw is pushing out. If I force my jaw open all the way the pain subsides, but as I close it the feeling that my jaw's dislocated returns.  So does the pain, about halfway till about 75% of the way back to jaw close.  I also feel pain there if I bring my jaw forward; if I do that and then try to open it, the pain is there throughout.  There is also clicking and popping, but I've always heard that without the attending pain.

Well, that's fucking great.  What did I do?  Quick research shows that the effects of TMJ are in fact psychosomatic; traumatic or depressing events causes jaw pain.  Honestly, things have been pretty good lately.  I've been through much more traumatic and depressing things over the past baker's dozen years than what I'm going through (or not going through) now and my jaw's been fine.  I could use a massage, as I've been taught in places around my shoulder and head, but I don't think that could be the problem, could it?

Now I have to find the heat pack, which Mother may have thrown away.  I also have to dig around to see if she also threw away any pain medication, because I'll need that, too.  In the meantime I guess I have to not sit on the right side of my jaw and bang my posture back into shape.  But I just looked up TMJ disorder on Wikipedia and they have this chilling declaration:

Most sources now agree that no irreversible treatment should be carried out for TMD.

Well if that just ain't the tits.

This Road Construction Is Too Much

A joke around Minnesota is that there are only two seasons: Winter and road construction.  That's not too far off from the truth.  And as winter was at its worst three winters ago (last year's was bad, but in retrospect it probably was normal), road construction, always a summertime pain in the ass, has never been as bad as it is now.

For the first time that I can remember, the closest highway to where we live, 694, is undergoing a major repair job.  Starting in June and lasting through November -- at least that's what the Minnesota Department of Transportation says -- the part of that highway I use the most will be under long and serious lane closures.  It's been down to two lanes in the daytime and one at night for the majority of the summer, and it's a pain in the ass.  Moreover, they have started to close down the on- and off-ramps to get to 694.  I have no idea when they will open up, but because I work infrequently I don't regularly go through all these ramps so I can see the signs saying this ramp will be closed at such-and-such date.  So these detours surprise me, and I have make a U-turn or go down miles and miles to connect to the highway.

This weekend it has gotten much worse.  My job at the Fair will take me from 694 to 35W.  There was some stuff on east side of 694, where it connects up with 35W, that is affected, but I didn't think the on-ramp to 35W would be closed.  But it is, and so I have to whip through the entire cloverleaf in order to get to 35W South to get to my job starting tomorrow.  Also, 65, one of the two main streets that lead to my house, is closed for the weekend, presumably because of major work in regards to building the new walkway bridge there right around where my high school is.  That wouldn't have been a problem, except that I kind of wanted to go to Best Buy, attached to the mall closest to me, and today my parents said they wanted me to buy HDMI cables so Mother can see downloads on their big bedroom TV.  I might buy them online instead, or I might have to suffer through the traffic.

If this weekend is bad, however, it might have been worse just two weekends ago.  My sister's best friend snapped a photo of the Twin Cities app on her smartphone showing traffic and construction projects around the area and uploaded it onto her facebook.  There were at least two dozen symbols of that red circle with a fat white dash in the middle, the worldwide symbol for "closed."  It was absolutely insane how many projects were going on that weekend.  I got the sense that MNDOT simply did not want people driving that weekend.

What gets me is the number of projects that affect me.  The only places that I believe do not have construction projects going on right now are 47, which gets me to downtown and the U., 35W past 694, which will get me to downtown faster, and 610, where I can exercise without any hassles.  Everywhere else and I am slowed down.  So, if I have to go somewhere -- for example, I need to pick up a few alumni-related things from my friend Monday -- I have to plan and ahead and worry about where the next ramp closure is.  Which reminds me of another thing that frustrates me: All of the websites that have information about closures and construction issues absolutely fail to help.  None of these places gives me precise information about what stretch of highway is closed down, how many lanes a highway is narrowed to, and especially which ramps are closed and when.  Wow, I'm getting angrier the more I think about this.

Oh yeah ... there's construction in front of our house, too.  They are repaving our street right now.  The flyer we got said it was going to happen Tuesday and Wednesday.  But I saw nothing when I got home Tuesday, and right now the entire road is dirt.  They were still moving around piles of dirt the past couple days, so much that I got stuck making a left onto our driveway.  I got stuck and had to gun my engine for several minutes.  Swear that my transmission's all shot because of that.  If so, goddamn the city. ...

The Great Minnesota Get-Together Gets Off To A Very Unfriendly Start

I just got a job temping at the State Fair.  Hope to God I don't see anybody I know there.

The family used to go out to the Fair at least once every year.  But then got older and dropped the charade that they cared, so we didn't go for awhile.  In high school I never went because I hated the crowds.  A few years after returning from college I understand that the Minnesota State Fair is what makes Minnesota Minnesota.  So, after a late-night shift I dipped a toe in the water and went in the morning.  I now love the Fair with all my heart.

I bought two tickets before I took a job there.  They gave me tickets for me to get in, so I guess I could make a whole day of it and just hang out and eat and people-watch before reporting for work.  But I have two tickets, and I decided to go yesterday and today (Thursday and Friday), forecast to be the two least-humid days of the Fair.  Besides, it'd be nice to get in on the Fair its first two days, then go six more.  My record is three days, and (assuming I don't run away in terror if I see someone while working there) I'm going to blow past that.

Unfortunately this year's got off to a bitchy start.  After a half-hour wait for the bus to come pick us up on the pick-up lot, I plop down on one of the seats of the bus, which actually is a coach, with those plush seats whose backs go up all the way to your head so you can lean back and relax.  Which is what I wanted to do.

However, as I was closing my eyes and trying to clear my mind after a long day of driving in heat that is a lot more humid than the meteorologists let on, I hear a woman say, "Excuse me."

Huh?  Does she need to get through?  We're in a coach, and no one is moving.

"Excuse me," and it was a tad louder.  Shit, I had to see what was going on, so I look behind me.  Kitty corner from me is a big black dude.  It didn't come from him.  But seated next to her is a white lady with a fat face.  A child is seated on her lap.

"You're squishing her," said this lady, with a tone that got my blood boiling.

"How?" I asked.

"You're pushing the chair back, squishing her," she replied as she grabbed the back of the chair I'm on and pulled it back, showing it could have hit her.

Well.

I really have no idea what the fuck she was talking about.  I push the empty seat next to me; sure enough, I could push it back as if it were a spring.  The chairback's not supposed to do that; it should be rock solid, only moved back or forward with a knob at its side or something.  This one didn't have it.  It should, but it doesn't.  Like I said, Well.

What I wanted to do next was get up and move to a different spot, just to get away from that bitch.  But I didn't see too many empty seats.  Plus there were a lot of people behind me who were going to fill up the coach, and I didn't think it would be too sporting for me to just move next to another person when the person I would be sitting next to, as well as the other people coming into the bus, would look at me funny.  So, unfortunately, I was stuck.

However, and surprisingly, like one other guy after me came into the bus.  There were still empty seats available when the bus started on its way to the Fair.  I should have moved.  I could have said that, like, the baby behind me was kicking my seat.  But why would the bus leave without filling up completely?  So I was stuck.

What the fuck could I say?  I just turned to the mom and said, in a slightly condescending tone, "Sorry."  I had an empty seat next to me, and the black dude ... wait, I should call him the father, he had no one in his lap.  Well, I could have jumped onto his stomach, but I moved over, reclined back, and tried to relax.

But I couldn't.  This bitch humiliated me just because I had the temerity to lean back in my chair?  Unbelievable.  Un-fucking-believable.  I just got more and more upset that she got one over on me.  I couldn't stand it.  But I can't just go up and start slapping her face.

So you know what I did?  Midway through the ride to the Fair I looked back and just glared at her.  And I did my best to not turn my head back as soon as she saw me.  When she looked my way, I looked at her.  I don't think I had any facial expressions -- no scowl, no moving lips which form the words, "I'm gonna kill you once you fucking get off this bus," I just stared at her.  And I did it even more, for a bit longer, once we got to the Fair and I stood up to leave.  I wanted to stare at her the whole time, and I might have been able to crinkle my nose at her, but I could only look at her for a millisecond before I turned away.  But I did look at her, a lot, in an effort to communicate the fact that her tone with me really pissed me off.  OK, I wanted to intimidate her and make her believe I would kick her ass.  Or maybe not, I don't know.

Looking back on it, I think -- and this is just armchair psychoanalysis -- that this woman, who is fat and has an obvious bad attitude, has been struck low by Life so many times that she feels entitled to curdle every last drop of offense whenever she feels slighted, real or perceived.  I just had the bad luck of sitting in front of her and having a loose chair.  And you know what?  If the roles were reversed, I'm afraid I would feel the same way.  I would be thinking all, "What the fuck?  Didn't this bitch just hear me that she's knocking into me?  Idiot."  I wish I were better than that, but in fact I think each of us would think the other was stupid no matter who did what to whom.

I just need to tell myself that there's no chance I will ever see that rude woman ever again.  And I don't want this awful start to ruin what was a pretty good day, filled with people who were actually nice to me.  (talking to myself) Forget the mean person ... remember all the good people you talked to. ...

News Gives Me A Bad, Bad Memory

Tonight there was a story on the Channel 4 news about the crush of 16-year-olds lining up for their driver's license before the start of school.  Yeah, I was there -- not before school, but just after my 16th birthday.  And the bad, very bad memories of that got my heart racing and made me act out in anger.  Oh, fuck, what bad memories. ...

So just after my birthday I tried to get my license.  I don't know about y'all, but here in Minnesota there apparently is only, like, two places in the entire state where you do your driver's test.  I don't know where either place is.  I don't know how to get back to the place where I did my tests even though it's 15 or 20 minutes away from me.  It's like Platform 3/4 to Hogwarts; it's a magical place only teenagers with driver's permits are allowed to go.  Also, unless you were one of the lucky few who had the foresight to make a reservation, all you can do is line up and park along one of several lanes.  When a tester is damn good and ready, she or he will climb into the passenger side of your car (the only where getting into a stranger's car is a good idea) and you start the test.  My brother, me, and my sister waited for hours, hours just to get a test.  Is this how it's done in other states?  If so, and even if it's not, somebody has to do something about that.

You know what?  I should give an in-depth tale about the second time I failed the test, but I don't want to.  Oh my goodness, just relaying the absolute exasperation whenever I missed the slightest thing while on the road course just brings me back to me being a scared and frustrated 16-year-old kid.  The tone of her voice, as if she's trying to say, "You idiot!" whenever I try to do what she said, even though I didn't understand it and couldn't understand why she would make me do it ... fuck, a red mist just comes over me.  And at the end, when she fails me, tells me I need a week of practice (bullshit I did) and then fucking smiles at me, after all the scowling and yelling she fucking did to me?  Goddammit, I just want to go back and just scream obscenities, or even incomprehensible sounds at her.  But how would I scream at her for what she did to me?  Tell her, "Don't ever yell at me like that again?"

The third time I took the test I did pass, thank Buddha.  But when she climbed into my car I told her something to the effect of, "Look, I'll try and do better than I did the last time, OK?" and she just took off her sunglasses and said something like, "I didn't test you before.  I've never seen you before."  And although she had the same face shape, height and hair, her much less mean and bitchy attitude makes be believe this was a different person.  After all, she did pass me.  Five years later, when I accompanied my sister through the wormhole to get her driver's license (I think she had to take it only twice, like my brother) I saw a harried woman that looked just like the bitch that failed me the second time.  Wanted to catcall her while she was working, or even come up to her and smack the shit out of her.  But I didn't.  I just stared at her.

After I failed the second time my brother drove me to The Store, where I had to tell my parents that I failed it again.  I think one of them asked why or how, and with all things in my life, up to that point and since, I had no answer.  Instead I just went outside and paced for a good hour.  It was pouring rain that afternoon at The Store, an apt metaphor for how my life's potential was crashing around me after that cunt failed me.  And so I didn't come in.  I kept walking outside in The Store's parking lot, wishing my life was over, letting the pounding rain become the white noise that numbed me from the demons of doubt and failure in my head.  I think my parents each came out and caught me just standing in the rain.  They left me alone, although what they saw probably cemented their suspicions that their middle child is a fucking weirdo.

So yeah, I spent much of this evening after the late local news gesticulating and waving my hands around like I was smacking someone, just to get through this bad, bad memory.

In My Day, I Could Eat A Whole Pizza And Still Be Hungry!!! Wait A Second, Is It Because Of The Boil On My Ass?

I love pizza.  Who doesn't?  I've dabbled in famous independent pizza chains, but Pizza Hut has always been my favorite place.  Don't judge.

I remember one weekend when I was in high school when I was told that my sister and I were going to eat at Pizza Hut.  I waited for her to come back from (I think) hanging out with her best friend, but she was gone so long I was told to order.  And when the pizza was delivered (it was a medium) and my sis still wasn't home, I just started eating.  And eating.  And eating.  I ate six of the eight slices of pizza because 1) I was hungry and 2) I assumed that if she was gone so long it was because she got something to eat with her best friend.  I think I had a slight stomach ache, but I thought I could, if I really wanted to, eat the whole thing.

For the past few weeks my parents and I have taken advantage of Pizza Hut's one-topping pizza $6.55 for carryout deal.  We get two larges, both pan crust, each with different toppings.  It's always been on Thursdays, but due to the humidity -- they cook all their food with a propane tank in the back deck -- they wanted me to get Pizza Hut yesterday.  After having bacon and sausage for the past few times, Mother told Father to tell me (over the phone) to get something different.  So I went with ham and black olives.  (The black olives did not go over well; mental note.)

Anyway, even though I spent yesterday putting in a double bill of The Wolverine (suprisingly atmospheric; James Mangold is a great director; Grade: A-) and We're The Millers (went only because Jennifer Aniston is a stripper who stripteases in the movie, and she did tease us but rolling down her panties to show her sweet, sweet ass, if only for half a second; Grade: C+) and thus consumed popcorn and pop, I ate eight whole pieces between the two pizzas.  I had regularly only eaten six, but I have this OCD thing where the leftover pieces have to be an even number because Mother folds up two of them so the bottoms are back-to-back when she wraps them up.  The past few times we've eaten Pizza Hut there have been exactly six slices left (so she bundles them into three plastic wraps), and I think there were only six.  But ... shit, I don't know if I was hungry, maybe I was trying to fall on my sword after ordering a pizza with black olives, but I ate one, and then I saw that there was an odd number of slices, so just before Mother was wrapping them up, I got one more slice.  So I ate eight -- the equivalent of a whole damn pizza.

And damn, I shouldn't have.  That's a lot of pizza.  I'm glad I ate it without too much difficulty -- not like the bottomless fries I had after scoring that day -- but there was a pit in my stomach.  Not that I felt really fat as I have after some dinners, but there was something ... different about last night.  I didn't feel full, but I felt like I shouldn't have eaten those last two pieces of pizza, you know?  And it's not like I'm shitting my guts out.  It was very tasty, and I didn't feel the greatest afterward, but I didn't have any adverse physical effects, and I'm good now, and I just downed waffles and coffee this afternoon without any trouble.

Oh yeah ... it's possible that the mass I felt in my stomach, and the bowel movement I didn't have, is because the boil on my ass seemed to grow like a mushroom yesterday.  Maybe sitting through two movies does that.  But around the time I blogged the previous entry, about missing the call of an important home run because I wanted to listen to porn instead, I felt something liquid while sitting.  The boil, or whatever it is, popped a bit, and a good amount of blood seeped into my underwear.  And afterward the pain in my stomach went away.

Put a bandage before going to bed last night.  Still have it on right now.

Of Course Bad Timing, Where I Choose Porn Over Sports

Am up.  The Cleveland-Los Angeles Angels Of Anaheim Angels Of Los Angeles Angels Of Anaheim Angels Of ... game is in extra innings.  Love listening to live sports on satellite radio this late at night.  But I want to catch up on the Reality Kings updates too because I missed them last week because I fell asleep early in the evening.

Some of the pages have short snippets of the whole video whose viewing you can purchase.  The 30-second previews are enough for me to jerk off to.  In fact, I don't watch the whole thing because my modem's too slow for it download before I lose my patience.  So I give it a bit of time before I just play what's completely buffered, then I go to the next day once I see that icon on the video spin.

That's what I was doing when Joe Blanton of the Angels was pitching in the top of the 14th inning in a 1-all tie.  The bar was a ways down, enough to get the set-up of each of these videos -- the meeting of the actress real-life girl, the girl complaining about boyfriend/children/money problems, then the guy with the big dick propositions her.  That's what I was doing for MILF Hunter, in particular this MILF Hunter.  I muted the baseball game to see this hot chick with wild tattoos named "Gianna" sunning in a thong so her ass would be hanging out.  She's from out of town, and her mom is taking care of her son.  It just so happens that "Gianna" hasn't had sex because she was training for this "fitness convention" she's in town for.  The MILF Hunter asks if he could corrupt her.  She says she's willing to let him try.  And ... that's where the buffering ends.

And of course it just so happens that once I surf to another porn page and turn the game's volume back on, Cleveland's Drew Stubbs already hit a home run.  A two-run home run, in fact, and with another run, Cleveland just beat the Angels 4-1.  I should have taken the play-by-play man's constant haranguing of Blanton as a pitcher who once was good but now sucks as a sign that something big was about to happen.  And I just missed the game-winning hit.

Bad luck, I tell ya.  Story of my life.  And all because of pron.  Also story of my life.  Might as well drown my sorrows, in a sense, by finishing going through the Reality Kings updates and then masturbating.  Also, um, story of my life.

The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey

First, a lament: This is the last screening week of the fallow season of The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey.  The University of Minnesota women's soccer team kicks off the college season this weekend.  From here on out there will be at least three teams in the WMNSS, which means a hell of a lot more work for me.  Won't settle down here until the Gopher baseball, Timberwolves and Wild seasons end.  I hope I have the time to do this each week.

#-1: Lynx (Last Week: -2).  I went to the Jynx game on Friday against The Bastard Detroit Shock.  Was offered a free ticket from a friend I met while we were extras; in exchange I was to give him the Rebekkah Brunson bobblehead doll they were giving away that night.  However, the inspiration for the bobblehead was not on the court at all; Brunson was out with a sore right knee.

And they sure as hell could have used her.  I swear, seeing this team allow passes into the paint and drives to the basket, blow defensive assignments and switches that freed up Shock players around the hoop, and turn the ball over on offense pissed me off more and more as the game wore on.  They outscored Tulsa 23-20 in the first quarter, but the Shock flexed its muscle after that, much more than you would expect from a team that was going into the game with a 7-17 record.

When Janel McCarville fed Lindsay Whalen for a driving layup with 93 seconds gone in third quarter, the Lynx led 48-46.  But then The Bastard Detroit Shock scored the next 14 points over the next 5 1/2 minutes to take a lead they would never relinquish.  I just sat there, with all my friend's friends in the suite he got, and I'm thinking this isn't the Lynx of the past couple years, this is the Lynx comedy troupe I remember from before the past couple years.

And still they were somehow were within shouting distance at the end of the game before finally falling 83-77.  It was their third loss in a row -- what the fuck?!?!?!  Is this a good team or an overrated one???

After feeling as confident as I ever have about the home team winning a game I'm seeing in person, I assumed that this was the beginning of an historic, ugly collapse.  I really didn't think the Jynx were going to win another game this season.  But on Sunday they did bounce back, and in a big way.  They crushed the New York Liberty 88-57.  Now that's the team I expect.

The difference between the two games?  Injuries.  Brunson played in the Liberty game.  So did McCarville, who is back in the lineup after missing a couple games nursing a concussion.  BTW, Monica Wright sat out the Liberty victory for a bruised right quad.  Oh, and for New York star starting Point Guard Cappie Pondexter didn't play because of a left heel bruise.  So I guess this is what season boils down to: If the Lynx are completely healthy, they might -- might -- be able to win another WNBA title.  If one of the starting five go down, they're completely fucked.

This week's games are going to be tough, regardless of the club's health: At Atlanta tonight, at Connecticut Thursday, then home against defending WNBA Champion (and the team to vanquish them in the WNBA Finals) Indiana Saturday.

P.S. Hiss to the suite manager who shooed us out of the adjoining suite.  No one was using it, so why the fuck can't we watch the game from there?

#-2: Twins (Last Week: -1).  Went to the Twins game yesterday (Monday) afternoon, the make-up game against the New York Mets that was snowed out April 14, the day before Tax Day.  I went because my friend, the one whom I ushered with a long time ago and once yelled at me when he dropped by The Store, had a trio of small strokes in late January and has been convalescing at a care center ever since.  He walks with a cane, although he has been a slow walker as long as I've known him, plus he continues to walk slowly and his eyes are still lopsided.  But for a guy who's had strokes, he's doing well.

I was kind of sunstroked taking in the game from Target Field, but at least we got the shady side of the stadium.  Sunstroke might be the only thing that explains why the Twinks sucked yesterday; they dropped their fourth loss in a row, 6-1 to the Metropolitans.

Clutch hitting remains a problem.  Shit, hitting period remains a problem.  Young hurler Dillon Gee went 7 2/3 innings and struck out nine Twinks.  Nine.  Meanwhile, Twins starter -- and former Great White Hope -- Kyle Gibson lasted only 3 2/3 innings and allowed ten hits before being yanked.  While the game was loping along I though the Twinks were not playing with any energy.  I don't think that's the case.  They had energy; they are just pressing at the plate because no one (besides Joe Mauer) is hitting worth a shit.  And the infield tried to get to every single ground ball that bounded their way; they just got tired of chasing every single ground ball that Gibson yielded.  The organization has seen enough; Gibson, who has not reached the seventh inning even once in the ten games he's been up here, was finally sent down to AAA Rochester.  Guess he's not the answer, huh?

Well, there is no answer.  Seeing the team drop the last games of a three-game series to Cleveland, then lose three-of-four game vs. the Chicago White Sox, you can make the joke that the squad's woes boil down to two things: offense and pitching.  Only Thursday's 4-3 squeaker over the Pale Hos prevented this from being a completely winless week.  And by the way, this week the Twinks were playing at home; they finished their homestand a putrid 2-6.

Two entirely self-contained series on the road this week, Detroit and Cleveland.

Addendum To: And Now My Laptop's Gone To Shit

Well, I'm back blogging on my laptop ... for now.

I don't exactly know what I did.  Since the power button thing no longer worked, I searched on the Internet for another solution.  That's when I learned about immediately tapping the F8 button and trying to reset the settings of the laptop to the last time it worked.  I did that but I still didn't see anything.  However, the disc indicator light on my computer was flickering on and I could hear my lap whirring.  This adds more credence to what I think is problem with my laptop: The video portion of my motherboard is on the fritz.  I think it boots up just fine; I just can't see it.

That was my thinking when the whirring and flickering died down.  I assumed that the computer was on the list of things the website I went to said would appear after I hit the F8 button.  I turned off the tablet while I did this, however, so I did not know what their recommended option, the reversion to a former state, was down the list.  So I absentmindedly hit down eight times.

When I hit Enter after the eighth time, the disc light started up and the lap started making noise.  I used my downtime to turn on my tablet and look up that fix; whoops, I should have done that only five times.  I still got that Black Screen Of Death (which, according to the site I went to to find a solution to this problem, is actually acronymized KSOD; guessing people are attracted to the "K," kind of like why strikeouts in baseball are noted in scorecards with a "K" and not an "S") but the computer activity died down.  So, armed with the right number of times I should hit down, I turned off the computer, took out the battery and hit the power button again (just in case), put the battery back in and turned it back on, this time hammering away at the F8 button like I was doing the 100-meter dash on Track & Field.

But a funny thing happened: It turned on.  Then it went to the screen I wanted, so I could see all my options.  I scrolled down to the "last settings" entry and hit enter.  I walked out of the room because I thought it would take a while, but when I came back (it must've been a couple minutes) I got the Enter Password screen.  And it's been running as well and fast (and that's relatively speaking) as it did before.  Hopefully it's as good as it ever has been, and I won't have to bring it in.

To celebrate, I'm going to jerk off to VEF.  Haven't been on that in a long time.  How long has it been ...  (logging in) ... August 4 at 3:30 in the morning?!  Eighty-nine minutes short of 15 days?!?!?!  I haven't even been working to not be on VEF in so long!!  Gotta go -- have to make up for it!!!

And Now My Laptop's Gone To Shit

I've had to do the thing where I take out the battery and then push the power button down for a minute, then put the battery back and turn it on, and it has worked out fine.  But after using it at Barnes & Noble this afternoon, I tried to turn it on again just now and I got The Black Screen Of Death, even though I did the power drain thing already.  Tried it again because, hey, it gets that way from time to time, but the fuckin' BSOD came back on once again.  Tried it one more time and I got my watch to time 60 seconds, but still, same thing.  I'll try again later tonight, but I think it's a goner.

At least I have my tablet to go through my e-mail and facebook; I haven't used it to communicate, but I sure will now.  And I can still use my parents' computer for secure stuff, like paying bills.  What I don't know how to deal with is writing.  Not blogging, I'll be fine there, but writing my articles and stuff.  It's all on there, and while both my folks' desktop and my tablet have word processing programs, I am very hesitant to use them.

Great, I guess I'll have to spend $100 on getting my fucking computer fixed.

Nightmare

Wanted to blog before going to sleep, but I felt my energy crashing around 1:30, so I conked off.  Woke up to the phone ringing its ass off around 10 or 10:15.  Sleep, glorious sleep.

But I did have a nightmare -- sort of.  I can only remember two things: It had something to do with Channel 9, the local Fox affiliate (I either was in the newsroom or watching it on TV), and I was busy chewing off chunks of wax encasing a cap of a long-necked bottle of ... something.  It reminds me of the Surly bottles that are capped that dipped in wax, but I remember the wax being yellow, which makes me think I was chewing a Maggi seasoning bottle, which is a bottle we used to use a lot on our food when I was young, even though those bottles are not encased in wax.

OK, that doesn't sound like much of a nightmare, but I had it while I was sleeping, so I think it counts as one.  Also, it's not the greatest thing to blog about, but at least I wrote today.

Some Of The Litany Of Things Wrong With My Car:

1. I'm writing this because I opened up the vent while heading to the gym and, once again, after a brief respite, I am smelling as fumes through it something fierce.  It definitely is there.  This was one of three symptoms that forced me to have the damper and an O-ring replaced, but as of right now the gas fumes are the only sign that something wrong is back.  The other two signs were the loss of gas mileage, which I am kind of worried about although it's not that bad (yet), and the inability to start up when it should, which was a problem but hasn't been since I brought it into The Mechanic Around The Corner.  By the way, I have never smelled the gas fumes when I pick internal circulation; I only smell those goddamn fumes on external.
2. I might be paranoid, but the vibration and hesitation and lack of vibration got worse today.  I keep remembering what The Mechanic Around The Corner said about the motor mounts, and I just seize upon that because it confirms what I thought it was -- "Oh, I was right, it is the motor mounts!"  And being right then gives way to, "Shit, how much will this cost me."  And then I remember that The Mechanic Around The Corner said don't replace it, at least not now ... um, I think that's what he said.  I guess I can go with that.  Hey, if he says it's drivable for now, it's driveable for now.  That gives me time to try and make the money that I will need to eventually get the mounts fixed.  But shit, I swear it's starting to shake even worse.
3. Oh yeah ... when I got the car from the auto body shop (and BTW, after going through my finances, the $900 repair bill was a killer; if I didn't have to spend that money, I would be in much better shape now) I noticed this cut mark on my driver's-side window.  It was outlined in what looked to be dust.  I hoped it would have gone away once I put it through a wash.  But when I finally did that on Tuesday, the mark was still there.  Goddammit, those guys were careless and scraped my window with ... oh, one of their machines.  I don't think this affects the safety of my car, but every time I look to my left -- and I will do that a lot -- I'll see that fucking mark.

Bad Day

1. I finally get my sports essay done -- only to see that the website I work for is down so I can't publish it.
2. I go the Jynx game and, granted, I got in for free, the Jynx play like shit and lose.  They have the best record in the WNBA, but they sure as fuck didn't look like the best team in the league.  I am vividly upset that I saw that fucking loss.
3. Then the Twinks lose, too.  So did the ViQueens, but who the fuck cares, it's just a goddamn exhibition.
4. To take my mind away from that I go a house party to get my dick wanked by ****e*.  But she wasn't there.  I was told that she came and went after five minutes.
5. I am at Glam Doll Donuts.  I take back what I said the first time I ate it: I cannot taste the lack of gluten in the donuts, and I think they are great.  Yet I still think it's extremely expensive; I cannot fucking believe I just paid $9.50 for two donuts and single-serve coffee.

Well, at least I found out I got a job today.  And that ***e* just happened to be at that house party, and she gave me an awesome handjob.

More Money Trouble

Wanted to avoid it as much as possible, but I knew I had to pay my credit card bill soon.  So, this morning, after I conked off at around 9 and woke up at 7:30 this morning (Buddha Bless long sleep, haven't had that in a long time!) I finally got around to paying my bill online, something that I meant to do last night.

I've been pissy for years about how much I charge on my credit card.  Seems as if no matter my work situation, no matter how much I think I am cheap during the day, the credit card bill is hundreds of dollars more than I thought it would be.  This month I was worried that it was close to a grand.  And I was just about right: $900+.

This, however, includes a charge for a rental I got vacationing in Kansas City.  It was something that I had already paid for because I used points from this credit card.  Yet they charged me.  So I disputed the charge early last month and sent them a copy of the receipt.  I haven't heard anything from them, however, and there is nothing indicating that that charge is under dispute.

I would be pissed if they somehow didn't get this.  I expected an answer sometime within the month of July.  I would have gotten on top of this sooner, but I got busy worrying about my life.  Now this shit happens.  Will I be charged interest because of this?  Did they not even fucking get my letter?  Now that would really set me off.

Man, I should have sent that fucking e-mail letter with return receipt.

Expenses Without Receipts

Since Wednesday, August 14:

• Wendy's for lunch ... good thing I'm remembering to put this down as soon as I ate it.  Used a coupon: Buy something, get chili cheese fries for free.  Got the 99-cent Monterrey Ranch Chicken Sandwich and 99-cent Coke.  With tax: $2.12.
• Tuesday the 13th ... Went to the coffeeshop that used to be in the mall closest to me at the U. for waffles and coffee.  Maybe I'm making this a weekly thing.  With tip: $5.75.
• After that I walked all the way to the West Bank at the U. to be a part of a Carlson experiment.  Thought I was going to get only $8 but, maybe because I did the right thing during the computerized research study (as did a whole bunch of other people, according to the log of entries we had to fill our contact information in once we got done with the experiment) I got $4 more.  Simple addition means an Infusion of: $12.
• Picked up a penny off the floor, somewhere.  Heads up, of course.  An Infusion of: 1 cent.
• Had time after the research study to go to the mall closest to me and Dairy Queen for Happy Hour.  A shake for: $1.61.
• On Sunday, August 11 I went to the Walker Art Center to catch the last day of its art after 1989 exhibit, The Living Years.  Although I got a receipt from it, I put it in my souvenir receipt bag, so I won't have a record of it when I go back and do my monthly reconciliation, so I'll put it here: $8.
• They have a food track at the Walker, although I think it's associated with the mini-golf set-up they had outside at the Sculpture Garden.  Didn't plan on buying any food to eat that day, especially since on the way home I was going to use one of my free McDonald's Monopoly pieces.  But I'm a sucker for food trucks now.  This is one that specializes in hot dogs, so I got a "Glo Dog," essentially a Chicago-style Dog.  With tip: $7.
• On Saturday the 10th the only EWR was a positive one: When I got home after getting chicken, Mother came up from downstairs, relayed quickly that I got chicken this day, Pizza Hut Thursday, and chicken the Monday before, and paid me back.  An Infusion of: $45.
• On Friday the 9th I went to the Saints game.  I was hedging a bit; I put on my porno shirt and porno pants because there was a chance ****e* and/or ***e* were going to ask me to help out at their parties, and in turn I was dressed for maximum porno time, namsain!  (I'll explain that last jumble of letters another time, maybe.)  While I was texting back-and-forth with the two I was sitting at the library, "doing work."  Turns out that the former's party was pushed back till next week and the latter didn't call me because she needed.  If either did, I would not have gone to the Saints game.  In light of these circumstances I went through with Plan A.  Scalped ticket (gentleman gave me a price break, as usually happens with the great and generous fans of the St. Paul Saints), program, hot dog and small souvenir beer with tip: $14.50.
• Thursday the 8th was the third straight Thursday we were eating Pizza Hut.  Serves as our "night out."  It's nice, although with all the things this family does we will abruptly end it, either when Pizza Hut stops its $6.55 large one-topping pizza carryout deal or whenever the parents decide to quit.  The best thing that goes with pizza still is Coke.  However, I still haven't bought any cans of Coke because I'm too poor.  However, I did go to the House of Hanson and buy a liter of Coke, and I'll put it in the refrigerator as soon as there's room, which is as soon as I drink both bottles of juice.  But I still wanted a Coke, so after I worked out I went over to the Coke vending machine and got one.  Had to stop by a gas station last Thursday to get one because the vending machine wasn't taking my change.  Thought it was cheaper, too.  But it turns out that it was more expensive buying it at the gas station than at the vending machine.  Weird.  At the vending machine it only cost: $1.50.
• On Wednesday, August 7 I did not get a receipt from the local gas station for the five Powerball tickets I got for Father -- even though not ten seconds before she printed out a receipt for the one Powerball ticket and coffee (which turned out to be free because of my frequent, uh, buyers' club points) I got on a separate purchase: $10.
• Later that evening, when I gave Father his tickets, he paid me back.  An Infusion of: $10.
• Then it was off into the night.  Went to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Version) to kill some time with ****e* et al.  Stripper-turned-waitress got my tip right, too.  With coffee and stage tips: $9.
• Then I went to the Fringe Festival that my friend was in (which, it turns out, also starred another person I know).  The Fringe extracts a one-time charge of $4, for which you get a button that you show for any performance thereafter for the rest of the festival that exempts you from needing to pay that again.  However, you still have to pay for a ticket to each show, which is twelve dollars.  So, all told it came to: $16.
• Tuesday the 6th ... Diamonds ... haven't been there in a while.  Haven't had anything hot there ever, so this was a first.  Oatmeal with raisins ... gosh, I've been on an oatmeal kick this summer.  Anyway, that plus coffee plus tip equaled: $4.75.
• I then went to Dairy Queen before hitting home.  They now serve Orange Julius.  That's cool, although I'm a traditionalist and will probably hit the one at the mall closest to my house.  However, most of the rest of this month DQ is offering all small OJ drinks for $1.49.  Sweet deal, made even sweeter that it was a humid day.  With tax: $1.60.
• Monday, August 5 ... went to the coffeeshop that was in the mall closest to me and is now at the U. because I needed to know the exact price of its waffle-and-coffee special that I got the middle of last month so I could write it down.  And with tip, I can finally write that down: $5.75.
• Sunday the 4th ... final day of the 3M Championships.  Decided after a while that I would just follow the golfers with a chance to win, which meant I walked back and forth between the final hole and the beginning of the 17th.  Unfortunately I missed Tom Pernice, Jr.'s 40-foot-plus putt to birdie the 17th.  Heard it while I was following Corey Pavin in the group ahead; the sudden roar coming from earlier in the course meant somebody did something good, I just didn't know what it was.  Pernice needed it; he tied Jeff Sluman (and, after he got done finishing his round with an easy but still important birdie try, Corey Pavin) for the lead with that birdie, and he set himself up with a two-putt on the relatively easy 18th hole for a one-shot victory.  Oh yeah, I got a Shock Top.  Pretty sure it was the Belgian White.  With tip: $7.
• To Saturday the 3rd ... second day of the 3M Championships.  Got this beer called Kona Big Wave Golden Ale.  Pretty good, even though I'm afraid that this is not the craft beer I am led to believe it is.  With tip: $7.
• That evening I worked out, then went to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Division).  Even though I didn't have the money, I wanted to make sure I pop in there from time to time so I can continue to walk in there without getting carded.  I wanted to give my stripper-turned-waitress a tip, but I needed the change back in singles so I could tip the dancers.  She didn't have enough singles on her, and then she asked me for a quarter; the price for coffee has been jacked up from a buck to $2.25.  (That's another reason why I won't be in there as much.)  Don't know why; I was going to give her 75 cents in tip and round it up to three bucks.  Instead she gave me eight bucks back.  "I gave her $10.25, right?"  And she nodded.  Didn't she want a tip?  On the other side, there was this one weird stripper who was working there, and she weirded me out as soon as she saw me.  I rejected her offer for a dance, and then she looked at me weird.  Sweetie, all I was doing was eating pretzels.  No tip for you.  Tips for the others, though, and with the drink it comes out to: $8.25.
• Kind of thought I would go have coffee, but moreso than most days or even more than any other day, I kind of didn't want to go.  I was on the computer enough; what was a few more hours of surfing the Internet?  That feeling intensified after leaving the stripclub, but I didn't want to go home because it was before midnight, and I somehow feel weird if I come home before Saturday Night Live ends.  I think I would feel bad that I didn't come home early enough to watch the whole show, or even not go out and watch SNL from the start at 10:30.  So to make sure I would come back past midnight but not too far past midnight, I just went down to Sebastian Joe's and got an ice cream.  Thought the night was a tad humid, but the line was small.  Ice cream with tip: $3.92.

I just woke up from a nap after hoping that I could pound out today's entry before dawn.  Am really tired, but I realized that this was just about done, and I wanted to do these EWRs more frequently so it wouldn't take so fucking long for me to try and remember stuff I bought without receipts four weeks prior.  Good; now I can go to bed because I'm real tired.  Done through the 14th.

I Brought In The Car, Again

After I got my car washed, I had a hell of a hard time accelerating between second and fourth gear (about 15 and 35 miles per hour) driving to the mall closest to me.  I wanted to delay any charges for my car till the next cycle, in about two weeks, but this, on top of the car not starting as fast as it should in the morning and the hesitation and the the resistance I feel while driving and "The Second Sound," I can't tolerate it anymore.

So this morning I brought the car into The Mechanic Around The Corner.  For one thing, the acceleration problem that suddenly cropped up frightened me into thinking the car might not make it the 15 or so miles to my favored mechanic.  For another, if the problem is big, such as bad ignition wires or faulty valve timing, I want to give these guys a second chance, for they are the ones that replaced the former and adjusted the latter.  Lastly, getting out around 8 keeps my parents on their toes; I don't want them to start complaining I'm not working at a decent time instead of 10, which I've done a lot lately.  Doing this makes them think "work" is asking me to come in at weird hours, which should make them think I'm still working.

I start my car -- and again, although it eventually did start, it still took a long time and paused just before it kicked in.  The rest of the stuff -- the acceleration, The Second Sound, etc. -- was not there, however.  The Mechanic Around The Corner alluded to the problem of not being able to spot the problem when I brought the car in.  He suggested I keep the car at their place overnight so they could look under the hood to see what is wrong on the cold start, but I can't tell my parents that I'm bringing in the car again.  So I went in with the possibility that they can't solve my problem, or there isn't a problem at all.

They were open when I came in, just a bit after 8.  I asked for a test drive when I made an appointment yesterday, and there was the person who usually looks at my car ready to go.  I asked him to drive so he can see what was going on, but unfortunately nothing was.  The car started up just fine, it didn't idle low or shake, and it appeared to accelerate at a good rate, if a bit hard.  I then took a turn at the wheel.  Same thing, though I wanted to alert him to what the thudding I heard while idling and the rough way it continues to accelerate when I hit the gas pedal.

However, his verdict: It's fine.  The vibrations may be coming from the motor mounts, something yet another car shop told me should be changed a decade ago, and I forgot to mention that the brakes were a little spotty till I made a right at the light.  But I think what he said was that although they were getting bad, they are not worth spending now until they get a lot worse.  That calms me down ... kind of.  I guess I should wait until either I speed into a ditch or the engine just falls off the chassis in the middle of the highway, but then, I'm not in much of a mood to spend money on this car, either.  The acceleration problems, according to him, is a result of me not stepping on the pedal fast and hard enough.  Everything else, however, he did not hear or see, so until he's sure he can replicate the problem -- such as leaving the car there overnight -- it'd be useless to look at the car.  So after ten or 15 minutes I dropped him off and left.

Well, shit.  On the one hand, maybe I am paranoid.  I want to trust The Mechanic Around The Corner when he said this car is safe.  But goddammit, this car is not driving as well as it has before, I know it.  He could say it's all in my head, but I told him about the hood popping up out of nowhere, too.  I may not be totally wrong.  I swear it's as if my car is a misbehaving brat, totally out-of-control when I'm the only one in the car with it, but when I show it to someone it sits there acting like an angel, and when I take it away it turns back to tormenting me again.

But for now, I guess this is the best I can do.  The next step, assuming the hard starts in the morning continue (or, worse, worsen), is to wait till my parents are away and bring it in overnight.  In the meantime I just hope the car continues to hold together, even if he tells me it's running good.  At least I didn't have to pay any money to do this this morning.

The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey

#-1: Twins (Last Week: -2).  HOLY SHIT, THE TWINS BEAT THE LYNX IN THE WEEKLY MINNESOTA SPORTS SURVEY!!!  QUICK, STOP THE PRESSES, GET ON TWITTER, SHOUT IT FROM THE ROOFTOPS -- THE TWINS BEAT THE LYNX IN THE WEEKLY MINNESOTA SPORTS SURVEY!!!

I kid -- sort of.  But I think this is the first time all year that the Twinks beat the Jynx in the WMNSS.  There haven't been too many weeks where the team has finished well above .500, so we should all savor the 5-2 showing they enjoyed.  Guess it helps playing the Chicago White Sox; by winning three-of-four, including both ends of the series-opening doubleheader Friday, it's clear that this year, the Twins will not be residing in the cellar of the American League Central.

This fact is freaking weird: All their runs the past five games and four days, all 22 runs, have come via the home run.  That's got to be some sort of a record, isn't it?  That aberration is even more incredible considering that this, well, is the Twins, a team whose philosophy basically shuns the long ball.  Where is this coming from, and why has this not been in our lives all along?  Writers continue to note that this team is shit with runners in scoring position.  I say, who gives a fuck if you're winning games by hitting dongers?

Two players that should be singled out.  The obvious one is the revelation who will inevitably crash down to earth after getting weighed down by our expectations, Pitcher Andrew Albers.  This guy, essentially a journeyman who has tried to come back ever since having Tommy John surgery a few years ago, was a spot starter Tuesday, and it turns out he was two outs short of a complete game in the only victory the Twinks got in Kansas City, 7-0.  Everybody howled that Manager Ron Gardenhire pulled him so close to a complete game, and I guess he gave us what we wanted by leaving Albers in Monday night in a tighter game and allowing him to go the distance in a confident 3-0 victory over a pretty good Cleveland squad.  To hell with Kyle Gibson, fuck Scott Diamond and screw that May kid!!!  Trade them all, we've got our new ace, Andrew Albers!!!  Yeah, he'll probably go only 2 1/3 next time and allow ten runs.  Just give us this, OK?

The other person is another person no one saw coming, but has built pretty good numbers since the All-Star Break: Brian Dozier.  I had no idea Dozier leads the team in ... OPS (?) since some point in the middle of the season. (?)  Star Tribune blogger Seth Stohs noted that Dozier has made a vast improvement defensively, as well.  Is it possible he's going to stick?  Is it possible that after almost a decade of fruitless searching, this club has finally found a leadoff hitter?

The Twins are in town for the rest of the screening week: After finishing up their series with Cleveland they have another four games against the ChiSox starting on Thursday, then will finally get around to making up that postponed game against the New York Mets from way back on April 14 Monday afternoon.  My friend and are going to try and see that game.  Will be interesting; first time I would be attending a matinee at Target Field.

(ETA: That I neglected to mention Jamey Carroll, Infielder and erstwhile Pitcher, was traded to the Royals this week.  A veteran presence that was supposed to teach the young'uns how to win.  Since they're not exactly winning, it was probably best for Carroll to be moved, and he was moved to K.C., which needed an extra infield body because Miguel Tejada got hurt.  Eh, what can I say?)

#-2: Lynx (Last Week: -1).  Well, goddamn it, this team is in trouble.  Big trouble.  After seeing that the Jynx lost Sunday to Chicago, I honestly got pissed.  This comes on the heels of Thursday's home loss to Washington, which ended their winning streak at ten and their winning streak at Target Center, stretching back to last year, at 18.  Only a 93-80 home win versus San Antonio Tuesday prevented this from being the team's first winless week.

Both losses have to be disconcerting because they both involve late-game rallies.  With 2:29 remaining in their game against the Mystics they were down 75-67, but managed to rip off eight in a row to tie it with 36.4 seconds left.  Unfortunately, Matee Ajavon was able to drive the lane to lay in the winning points of a 79-75 result.  Ajavon was able to drive the lane in part because Janel McCarville did not play in the game because of a concussion suffered in that win over the Silver Stars.  As a result, the Jynx were outrebounded 44-24.  Washington got 14 offensive rebounds.  Hell of a comeback, by championship teams don't need hellacious comebacks to force a tie late in the game.

It got even worse in Sunday's game in Chicago.  With 2:38 left in the third quarter the squad led the Sky 65-53 and promptly coughed that up.  With about three minutes left in the game they managed to score six straight to go from three down to three up with 12.2 seconds left, but Elena Delle Donne drained a three with 4.5 left to force overtime, where the Jynx were blasted off the court 15-7.  Final: Eastern Conference-leading Chicago 94, Western Conference- (and WNBA-, for now) leading Minnesota 86.  McCarville didn't play this game, either.  Reacting to the rebounding deficit in the loss to the Mystics, Head Coach Cheryl Reeve replaced Amber Harris with second-year player Devereaux Peters.  She collected only four rebounds, but at least the Jynx battled Chicago to a virtual draw (Minnesota won in total boards, 34-32).  But hell, Lindsay Whalen, the Point Guard, got ten of them.  Reeve got so pissed she was T'd up twice and thrown out of the game with 14.1 seconds left in OT.

As much as championship teams don't need to rally from big deficits, they certainly do not choke on big leads.  We have seen this team, this supposed championship squad, get run over two different ways.  I now admit that McCarville is a huge reason for this team's early success.  Maybe their run was too good to be true, and the first losing streak of the season is a good wake-up call.  But if they can't get the paint locked down, what was a promising year and an unstoppable team may not amount to a pound of shit.

Fuck, I'll say it right now: This team will not win the WNBA Championship this year.  Sad.

I wanted to take in Friday's game against Tulsa, but now I'm not so sure I'll be paying a ticket for a loss.  They also host New York Sunday.

#-3: Timberwolves (Re-Entry!).  Somehow the Jynx were saved from being the bottom of the WMNSS by the Woofie Dogs.  It was revealed early in the screening week that their first round pick in the NBA Draft, UCLA one-and-done Shabazz Muhammad, was thrown out of The Association's Rookie Transition Program for sneaking in a chick into his hotel room, ostensibly for some fucking.  Now I'm never against any man who's doing some consensual fucking, but since it was against the rules, he had to leave.

Moreover, I assume that Muhammad knew that it was against the rules to bring in anybody into his room ostensibly to fuck.  So now we can add "rule-breaker" to his list of strikes against, along with "me-first shooter," "immature presence in the locker room" and, potentially, "team cancer."  Man, Flip Saunders really fucked this one up.  He may have burned through all the goodwill he built up coaching this team lo those years ago by picking this dunderhead.

I Know I'm Paranoid About My Car ... But With Good Reason

I have resorted to starting my car at the beginning of my day with the front door open.  I do that because the car now has some trouble starting in the morning.  Not usually in the afternoon, although it sounded like it had a problem one afternoon and that freaked me out, but it's gotten to be a common occurrence: I crank the engine, it takes longer than it's supposed to, it sounds like it's finally about to start but there's a half-second where the engine goes completely silent before you hear the "whoosh" of the engine finally turning on.  It now happens virtually every morning.

It's starts fine through the day, but I'm scared that this fucking car will just break down, again.  And what happens if it breaks down in a spot where my parents didn't think I'd be, like the community center?  For example, I'm writing this at the library across the parking lot from the gym because I'm going to exercise after this.  If the car doesn't start, I'm stuck at the library.  My folks think I'm working.  How the fuck am I going to explain that?

It's a constant worry, my car.  I really shouldn't have to live like this.  But I've tolerated for about a year, ever since I got really concerned about the huge spills appearing underneath the car.  And you know what?  I tolerate them.  Why?  Maybe because I'm being too paranoid.  Maybe there is nothing wrong, or at least too wrong, for me to worry about, at least for the time being.

But I've got to tell you that I have earned my paranoia.  I've been with this car for 20 years, so I think I knew my car when it was young, and while driving it around, it sure as hell does not sound young.  I heard small cues, noises and pings that start up, then never go away.  And although the car seems to run fine, one day it doesn't.  I was indoctrinated into this panicky way of thinking when I heard the constant whistling and grinding underneath my car.  I drove it, but I was searching through books at Barnes & Noble to try and diagnose it myself.  Then one day driving home from working the night shift the car just cut out.  That noise was the timing belt on its last threads.

I've been paranoid ever since.  Now it's comprehensive and vague -- I just worry about something, anything happening to my car.  And that hood that popped up out of the blue, even though I new goddamn well that I closed that fucking hood, I knew it would happen because ... well, I expect the worst from this car.  I have been under a permanent dread, the feeling that in a moment, something bad or even weird would happen.  While dealing with a flung-open hood -- and I swear, nothing like that has ever happened to anyone, ever -- I did not realize till now that my fears, unfounded and irrational to some, were realized.

One other thing I need to remember in my back pocket: During our usually tense one-on-one dinners a couple weeks back, when my car's hood was still getting fixed, Father said that the spare car, my sister's car, is available.  I think this is the first time he's ever said it, and it's the first time I have not dismissed it out of hand.  Shit, there will come a time where I will find a reliable job and I will have to ditch this car because I need peace of mind.  I still love this car, I really do, but I forgot how even getting into a car and turning it on and backing down a driveway without giving a second thought to, "Will this car die and fuck me over today?" feels like.  In the meantime, I just have to cross my fingers that my baby won't get sick before I bring it in for its oil and transmission fluid change.

Oh, by the way, Shirley Manson (whom I'm facebook friends with): I know I'm paranoid:

I Want To Note That I Didn't Use Any Cash Saturday

It helps that your dad makes you food for breakfast, all you're doing in the afternoon is exercising (where you bring a banana to snack on), the art show you're going to is free, you do a lot of walking in the evening and -- I will admit I'm fudging a little here -- you use your credit card for the coffee and tiramisu you're going to snack on at the coffeeshop to end your night.

This is the first time I have not used cash to spend anything since June 19, my Nothing Day, where I just stayed at home and made it a point not to even open up the windows.  I was kvetching a lot about this then, but at least I didn't spend any money.  Every day since I had to reach into my wallet and give something.  And just for the sake of getting away from my parents every day.  Man, if they were still working, I could stay home and save my money once in a while.  Can't do that anymore.

Wish I Could, But I Can't; Maybe I Should, But I Didn't

This happened Thursday, July 11th, when I had the whole day ahead of me, goddammit, because we got done with our project super soon.  I mean, too soon.

As I've said before, my rule of thumb for these projects is to find the end date, count up the number of days set out for the project, divide it in half, round up if I end up with a half, and just assume that we will be working for that long.  Well, we were given seven days, so I thought we were good for four.  That Wednesday, however, we were told that we would probably get done by the next day, although there was a very small chance we'd get done on Friday.  Then, in the morning, my supervisor said that we probably wouldn't make it till lunch.  Then right before we had our morning break we were getting down to the very last papers.  The person overseeing the entire project -- essentially my supervisor's supervisor -- said that we would be paid for a half-day that day.  So we got paid for three-and-a-half days although we didn't make it even that far.  We barely met the very, very basic tenet of my rule of thumb, money-wise, and fell way short under the terms I usually use.  In other words, I was not too happy we got done so fast.

So what the fuck am I going to do?  At least I did plan on eating close by.  I also was planning on just walking across the street, but landscapers were working around where I parked my car, so just to get out of their way (even though they set up cones to mark off the parking spots they were going to use and I was a couple spots away) I drove the .2 miles to the restaurant's parking lot, in time, I think, to catch eat and watch the middle of a game the Twinks would eventually lose to the Bay Rays.  Since I didn't know exactly what to get, I resorted just to an appetizer.  Without giving the name of the restaurant away (because that might give away the place I work), let me say it is its signature item, a smaller version.

As I was getting down with my food, and as the Twinks continued to lose to the Bay Rays, the bartender was giving food to a customer who was just coming in to pick up an order.  Suddenly, he was holding a box and offering it everybody in the bar.  "Fries," he said.  And hey, free food, and I had free time.  What the hell?

The box is deceptively big.  The fries were good, and I thought I could just slowly thin its ranks by grazing.  It's not as if I had anything else to do.  But as a reminder that I wasn't half the man I was twenty or even ten years ago, my stomach hit a wall, so to speak.  My appetite slowed, then stopped.  And though I rarely get disgusted with putting food in my mouth, it got to the point where I literally resented the fries I was eating.

I may have made it halfway through the bottomless pit of fries when I did something I don't usually do: I pushed it away from me, telling the bartender that I couldn't take it anymore.  It's not like I paid for it, but I still felt bad for wasting what were perfectly good fries.  I just couldn't finish it all.

After paying and wobbling all the way to the bathroom and back, I glanced over at the bar.  Dutifully, the bartender had already taken away all my plates; it was if I was never there.  And I assume that he just threw the fries I couldn't eat into the trash.  I could have taken them home, but who wants leftover fries?  Still, what a waste.

---

Later that afternoon I was hanging out at the mall closest to me.  I've been hanging out at this place since I was able to walk.  Maybe I should grow up.  Naaaaaaaaaah, I like hanging out at the mall closest to me, doing nothing.  Feel safe there.

What I usually do is take a circuit around the mall, which is laid out in a "T" pattern.  That makes it easy for me to trace the exterior side of the mall because this mall has stores only on one side (not counting the kiosks in the middle of the hall).  While walking past the Auntie Anne's, I spot a card that looked familiar.  It had a pretzel stamp on it, meaning it was one of Auntie Anne's Frequent Eater Cards.

Could I have taken it?  Sure, I could.  But it wasn't mine.  And everybody could seem pick that card up off the floor.  No way could I just stick it in my pocket without someone noticing or, worse, the person whose card that was found me taking it.  Not worth it.

So I instead walked over to the Auntie Anne's counter and gave it to the woman manning the cash register.  "You know, I knew it had to be a card someone dropped," she may have said; I don't exactly remember what she said, but it was something like this.  As she was about to slide it underneath the cash register, though, she asked me, "Do you want this?"

Well, now that you're offering ...  You know, I eat there occasionally and if I could get a head start towards getting a free pretzel dog (I eschew the straight-up pretzel and get the pretzel dog instead, and I always get the cheese dip), all the better.  But I said no.  I couldn't just take this card that doesn't belong to me.  Besides, I already have two of these cards, both of which have been in my possession for at least -- and I ain't shittin' ya -- a decade.  I may not get around to even getting the card I picked up completely stamped out till I can collect Social Security.  It took me about a second to stick to my guns and politely decline the woman's offer of taking the card.

And as soon as I walked away I regretted it.  No, I may not ever get around to using it.  But it's one small slip of paper that I could keep in my wallet till the day I die.  So what if I don't use it -- better to have it and not need it than need it and not have it, you know ... sort of?  You never know if I could get around to using it.  Just as important is the fate of the card itself.  There's little chance its rightful owner would care enough to retrace her or his steps and ask the person at the Auntie Anne's counter if someone turned in her or his Frequent Eater Card.  In all likelihood that card, with that one solitary stamp, was thrown away, just like the fries I had earlier that afternoon.  If that's the case, I don't see why I couldn't give that card a home.  So I am disproportionately troubled by it.