The Temps Hate Me

There are a lot of temps that work at the place I work at now.  In fact I think my department is all temps.  And it's weird that I have not spoken to any of them, virtually not once, since I began working there.

And I think I know the reason why: They're assholes.

I'm not sure how many there are -- probably about a dozen, but don't quote me on that.  I think my supervisor heads up all of us temps.  We are cubicle creatures: We get in, sit in our chairs and we're staring at computer screens or phones for the next eight-and-a-half hours.  Unlike my flu biller job, for example, there is no reason for any of us to interact.  Now, that's not to say that we don't.  They do, or at least some of them do, but there really has been only two times I have ever interacted with any of the other temps.

One of them was one of the people doing my job, but that was when my supervisor took me around the office my first day there and introduced him to me, and we shook hands.  We have not spoken since.  The other time was when this guy asked me if I needed any help making a new pot of coffee.  I politely declined because I thought I knew how to do it because, well, I'm a man and a man don't ask for help.  Well, the week I left on vacation (I'll get to that in another post) I was coming into the office from the men's room and held the door open for him, and he didn't say thank you.  Is this silent treatment we're giving each other going to extend to manners?  Or is he mad that I didn't accept his help (or make eye contact with him while declining it) when I made coffee?  If the latter's true, man, that's a dick move.

But a bigger, less ambiguous dick move came from this woman who works to my three o'clock.  Very early on I noticed that while she calls people, she has an Internet window up on her screen.  For the first couple weeks all she was looking up were photos of Kate Middleton.  Seriously.  I'm not kidding.  She's moved on to other pictures, but it's mostly pictures.  Guess it ain't the most professional thing in the world, but my supervisor has said that as long as it doesn't damage your productivity and that you're not just surfing online, you can do it.  I've been doing it too.

Whatever, she's weird, I didn't think much of that, or her, beyond that psycho quirk.  But then I decided I wanted a late afternoon coffee run.  She dove into the elevator just before the doors were about to close.  I was standing by the buttons; she stopped at the back of the elevator.  But as we were going down -- and I hate this -- she creeps back towards the front of the door, almost flush besides me, as if she needs to get out of the elevator first.  I don't like that.  I think that's rude and unnecessary.  We're going down at the same speed, babe, and it's pretty fast, so any place you need to go, you'll get there.  Trust me.

To demonstrate that fact -- no, it's just to block her and piss her off -- I rotated myself kind of front of her, telling her with my body that, woman, I'm leaving first.  And I did.  We were going different directions, but I was determined to leave that elevator first.  Suck on that.

Now I await the consequences.  I don't know how social she is at work, but she has to be much more so than I.  Also to my detriment is my absence for the past one-and-a-half weeks because of vacation (yes, I'll get to that some point soon).  I wouldn't put it past her that she blabbed, "You know that guy sitting there, that guy who doesn't talk to anyone?  He pushed in front of me to get out of the elevator first!"  Sure, that's the way it totally happened.  You were never pushy, Kate Middleton Stalker.  Right.  For all I know she's gotten all the other temps on her side against me.  And I'll be outnumbered and forced out of my job despite the fact that WE'RE ALL JUST FUCKING TEMPS AND IT DOESN'T MATTER BECAUSE WE'RE GOING TO LOSE THESE JOBS ANYWAY!!!

Addendum To: Addendum To: Why Don't I Ever Anti-Pick Myself?

You couldn't hold on, could you, Costa Rica?  I don't know how in the hell that guy slowly kicked that ball into the corner like an 11-year girl rolled a bowling ball down the alley for a strike, but that's all I needed to win $100 and get out of this personal hellhole.

But first that guy had to pick up his second yellow card so you had to play with ten men.  And then the goalie couldn't handle the attempt off the corner, and so Greece banged in the rebound, and it was tied after 91 minutes, and my $25 two-leg parlay with you and Colombia went into the shitter.  I just turned around and ate the rest of my soups (two even though I ordered one because the wrong one was sent out to me and to make it up the guys at the Local gave me that one and got me the right one) because the game meant nothing to me anymore.

You guys could have saved me, but you couldn't.  You'll probably lose to the Dutch.  Vaya con Dios.

Now I have to have Brazil to win the whole damn thing or else I lose everything, all $300.

Don't ever start gambling.  It's a paved road to perdition.

WHY DO YOU HATE ME, GOD, WHY?!?!?!

I realized a day or so ago that I did not do a Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey this past Wednesday, which would have been OK if I did not have access to a computer and therefore not be able to compile one.  But from this blog post I obviously did have access to a computer (namely my parents' -- more on that later) and just completely forgot that Wednesday is always WMNSS day.

I will chalk it up to the haze of vacation, but really I should have remembered the day and have done it.  Can't do anything about that now, but I'll have two weeks' worth of stuff to lose it on the Twins.  At least this Wednesday I can write about the Wild and the Timberwolves' draft picks.

Addendum To: Why Don't I Ever Anti-Pick Myself?

And guess what?  I AM OUT $150!!!

Yep, Germany and the U.S. had to tie, and because of a rebound goal off some shaky defense, Germany won 1-0.  Better clearing and I would have had a tie there.  And yep, Portugal and Ghana had to tie, but the one of the Ghanaians had to commit an own-goal and the Ghana Goalkeeper batted the ball right to a wide-open Christiano Ronaldo instead of holding it and going to ground with it.  If the country avoided either mistake, at least I would have had a tie there.  But no.

But that two-leg parlay double loss was only for $25.  Oh, I was so sure I had Russia beating Algeria that I laid one hundred actually dollars on it.  The header by Russia six minutes into the game was great.  But partially due to some asshole shining a green laser beam into the Russian Goalie's face, the Algerians tied it on a corner.  So out that, too.

Therefore, you see that I am sportsbook poison.  As soon as I place a bet on a team, that team will lose.  It's the law of God.

And now I have to borrow money from my sister in order to complete my wagers: Brazil to win it all (at 5/2 odds) and some parlay for the weekend.  I know, I should quit while I'm behind.  I need to make up the money I've lost.  No, that's not true.  I am continuing to bet even though I have lost all three of my wagers so far because I'm a stupid motherfuck ... a stupid motherfuck who's about to be out $300.

---

One other thing: After the Russia tie/My loss, I was so run down I needed coffee.  I was exhausted after seeing my bets humiliate me over the course of five hours, but I was also very tired.  As grumpy as I was once my family picked me up and figured out what we were going to do and when, I fell asleep in my parents' car on the way to their home.  I doubt I was out for more than two minutes, but those two minutes totally refreshed me.  In fact, I am in a relatively good mood now.  I have not been as pissed off or dejected about pissing away $150 as I should be now that I had a very quick nap in the car.  I think there's something wrong with me.

Why Don't I Ever Anti-Pick Myself?

I bet $25 on Virginia to beat Vanderbilt in Game 3, the final game, the winner-take-all event of the College World Series last (Wednesday) night.  They were the overwhelming favorite as well as one of the eight national seeds and the highest remaining national seed since, I believe, the end of Regionals.

So what happens?  Of course the Cavaliers lose to the Commodores.  The Wahoos gave up a run in the top of the first due to shakiness from their starting pitcher, a bad error and a blown call at second, but they manage to tie it at two in the middle innings, even though they wound up leaving the bases loaded.  Sadly some UVa reliever coughed up a solo home run to left field in the eighth, and it stuck.  And I am now out twenty-five bucks.

Why don't I ever Anti-Pick myself?  I've run hypothetical wagers for NFL, college football and NCAA men's basketball tournament season, and I've been awful, and therefore anybody picking against me should be making a fortune.  So why the fuck am I not picking against myself?  After I decided that Virginia was going to win the game I should immediately have bet on Vanderbilt.  But no, I have to have my thought process -- which, when it comes to betting, equals my intellect -- validated by my winnings.  And despite the embarrassing results, I keep using my head.  I should just realize that any sports team I bet on will lose, guaranteed.

I've got a live two-leg parlay for today (Thursday): Germany and the U.S. draw, and Portugal and Ghana draw.  I made that bet during the College World Series game, and since the Cavs were trailing the Dores at the time, I decided to rachet down my parlay wager from $50 to $25.  Also, I intend to lay down $100 to flat-out win over Algeria some time tomorrow.  Which means that I could be out $150 without making a single goddamn cent.

WHY DO I DO THIS TO MYSELF?!?!?!

A Trio Of Unfinished Games To Christen My Scorebook

I know some time before I had talked about finally finding this baseball/softball scorebook I had bought at a long-dead sports apparel shop called Oshman's when the Mall of America was but a wee toddler.  I had put it somewhere unique (if not special), then promptly forgot it when I, suddenly, found it.  I then kept it in my closet and knew that I threw it in my closet so I could finally break its cherry when I was going to attend a game that was not going to sell scorecards.

That day was the University of Minnesota baseball team against Purdue.  But as I said in a previous Expenses Without Receipt blog post (I think), the game was suspended because of a rain storm.  And even though I wanted to stick around because I'm a baseball purist and diehards always stick around to the end of the game, I was too cold and tired to stay.  So I left Siebert Field while the game was in the middle of a rain delay.  (By the way, as I said before, they eventually pushed resumption of the game till the next morning, which means it was a very good idea to bolt.)

The next time I used my scorecard was in the Minneapolis Regional of the NCAA softball tournament, which the Golden Gophers were hosting for the first time in more than a decade.  The game I saw, Minnesota vs. North Dakota St., was very exciting, but I had to leave the game (in extra innings ... I think) because Mother was expecting me home at a decent dinner hour.  So even though the U. of M. eventually won in ten innings, I did not stick around to see the end, therefore I could not tie a bow on the game on my card.

I then headed back out to Cowles Stadium the next day for the final day of the Regional, where the U. was facing Auburn.  I attended the first game of what turned out to be a doubleheader, scorecard in hand, but this time I knew it was likely I would have to bug out early because the probably run time of the game ran into the home opener of the defending champion Minnesota Lynx.  So some time just after the end of the fifth inning, with the Tigers up 3-0, I left feeling that it was a good time to go.  Eventually the Gophs would tie it up with three in the top of the sixth and send the game into extras before losing 4-3 in eight innings.  (And to further digress in order to complete the picture, Minnesota would come from behind to beat Auburn 8-6 and advance to the Super Regional.)  Obviously, I left that game with an incomplete scorecard.

So that's why my scorecard looks like: One incomplete baseball game and two incomplete softball games, games that were completed but not recorded on my handy-dandy (and big) scorecard, the baseball game because it was suspended and the softball games because I had to leave early.  I don't know if any scorecard on Earth has its first three entries unfinished.  It seems very inauspicious a sign, as if that's the wrong thing to have.

But on the bright side, for both softball games I believe I stood next to new Minnesota women's basketball Head Coach Marlene Stollings, the Bison game on the first-base side of home plate and the Tiger game on the third-base side.  How coincidental is that?

Once Again I Hit Something Inadvertently And Weird Shit Happens

I should not be penalized for typing so fast.  But while I was surfing on this particular computer, specifically writing a comment on Facebook, I hit something with my left hand at the same time I hit something with my right hand, and the combination of which made me start typing in some Cyrillic alphabet.  The fuck?

Glad I had my smartphone with me.  With that I was able to Google search (in English) how the fuck to change the keyboard alphabet back to English -- well, actually the site I found through searching didn't help.  What did help was that there was that little "EN" logo on the lower right on the toolbar.  I clicked that and that gave me the languages I could see and use.  I thought it was Russian that the keyboard had suddenly started learning; actually it was Bulgarian.  That was reinforced when I checked the calendar by hitting the clock on the lower right on the toolbar and saw that it displayed both the local time and the time for Sofia.

Hopefully I can save this before I accidentally delete the whole thing.  Have I blogged about that yet?

Two Things About South Dakota (Scheduled Post)

In South Dakota, there are a lot of semis being used as billboards.

Also in South Dakota, there are only two kinds of radio stations: Country and classic rock.

So I stopped in after work for a beer at the place where our alumni group watch football games.  It's in downtown, in fact a few blocks away from where I'm working right now, so it was convenient, plus I should touch base with the guy to make sure everything is on track for the fall, plus I wanted to let him know I'm not just some guy who'll use him during football season, plus the men's soccer team was playing Ghana.

He wasn't there.  No matter; it was happy hour and Team USA was winning.  My waitress recognized me, which is good so that she hopefully will tell her boss, the general manager, the guy I came in to see, that I was there.

When she took my beer order I noticed a tattoo of a chemical formula on her right forearm.  Now I have seen some crazy tats; I still am very intrigued by women who have lines upon lines of words inked on their bodies.  I have to read them, the better for me to linger over their beautiful bodies!  But a chemical formula, something I haven't seen since I took organic chemistry in high school and college?

I had to ask her when she came around to check on me: What is that a symbol of?

"Serotonin."

"Why?"

"Depression."

"Oh."

Every picture tells a story, don't it?  There is something admirable about branding yourself with something so personal, especially if it's an ongoing struggle.

Something I noticed, that's all.

The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey

#-1: Twins (Last Week: -1).  The Twinks now are suffering through an offensive outage, which has caused them to lose four games in a row and fall five games below .500.  What started off as a promising screening week, with a Wednesday matinee win in Toronto, giving them a series win over the Blue Jays, and a tight 2-0 win to start off their series in Detroit Friday, is ending with great pitching outings by Kevin Correia and Phil Hughes turning into blueball wastes as they have dropped a pair of low-scoring, one-run decisions in Boston the past two days.  And don't forget the 4-3 loss to the Tigers Sunday, where Oswaldo Arcia fucked up a routine fly ball in right field which gave Detroit the victory.

They complete their long road trip this afternoon with a Wednesday matinee at Fenway, then finally come home, but only for a four-game series over the weekend against the White Sox.  They then go back out on the road starting Tuesday with a series against The Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim Angels of Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim Angels Of. ...

This Stripper And Her Weird Team Fan Logic

So on Sunday I was at My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Edition) when one of the girls, one of the five-buck girls I no longer tip, was working.  I had made it a principle to ignore her because, frankly, if I wasn't giving any money to her, there was no reason to even interact with her at all.  She may or may not have been happy with that, but she maintained her distance.  At least she didn't make something up in order to throw me out.

I had the waitress turn one of the TVs to the soccer game going on, the first time I've ever requested that and the first time I've seen them change the channel upon a customer's request.  As I was getting into it I saw this five-buck girl -- well, actually a woman, a middle-aged woman with big natural breasts, kind of a round face and a smile that would be described as cute if she were a little girl -- stopped and looked at the TV.

She then proceeded to start having a conversation with me -- surprising since I've given her no money at all since she told me she only dances for five many, many months ago.  But she abruptly changed the subject:

"Oh, which game are you watching?  Ooh-ooh-ooh -- did you watch the (Stanley Cup) Finals?  You're a L.A. Kings fan, aren't you?"

"Well," I said, "I thought the Rangers would win in seven."

"You're not a Blackhawks fan?"

"I lived in L.A. for a while."

"I love all the Chicago teams -- Blackhawks, Bears. ..."

"I noticed.  Are you from Chicago?"

"No, I'm from here."

"So, why don't you root for Minnesota teams?"

"Because they suck and Minnesota fans are the worst bandwagon fans in the world."

Wait ... huh?  We continue, although my paraphrasing is worse from this point forward because I was gobsmacked by what she said right here:

"Well, every team's fans have bandwagon fans."

"I know, but Minnesota's are worse.  When they're winning they're all 'Yeaaaah!' but when they're losing they're all, 'Boooooooo!' you stick with your team no matter what."

"All fans are like that."

"Nope.  ViQueens fans are the worst."

"But they're not.  I don't understand.  That doesn't make sense."  Well, I should stop the conversation here.  I don't know if I said this.  I wish I would have gotten to this point, then maybe gotten to the next logical point, which was how does not liking a team's fans make you no longer root for that team.  Why is she punishing the team because of its fans?

Whatever.  She was about to go on-stage, and to her credit, she hugged me.  At that point I had to confess that I didn't have five bucks to give her, and I think she said that was OK.  But I have to admit: Her belief that Minnesota fans are the worst, and that she now hates Minnesota teams because of it, is pretty stupid.

Lost House Key

My sister's in town.  She was going over to my brother's and sister-in-law's, and she didn't have a house key, so she took mine.  When she came back, we both realized that the house key I gave her was, in fact, mine.

I have a house key.  Well, had.  I looked all over for it.  The house key was in the same ring as my car key, but there were so many times where I went out to start the car and then forgot something inside the house, so I would have to turn off the car in order to go back inside.  After deciding fuck that, I'll just take out the house key from the ring, I just kept the house key loose.  One of the advantages to that (I've done that before) is that, if you ever lose one, you still have the other.  By keeping the keys together, if I lose them both, I can neither get back into the house and get the spare car key nor drive to my aunt's and get the spare house key.  I have options this way.

The downside is, of course, you increase the chance of losing one.  And not having it attached to anything else, even a ring, makes it that much easier to lose.  And it looks like I've lost it.  Can't find another spare, either.  I don't know how my parents are going to react, but they'll be pissed.

You know, while I was looking through my pockets for it, I realized that, not too long ago (a couple weeks, just about), I saw this house key while looking through my pockets.  I had a fleeting thought of, "Wow, I didn't notice this.  What if I lost this?"  And then I slipped it back into the pocket, not giving the thought of losing it a second thought.  Well, shit, I have a second thought right now.  Should've done something about it at the time, goddammit.

Dunkin' Donuts Creamer Sucks

I bought the Dunkin' Donuts creamer -- two of them, Original and Extra Extra -- because they were on sale.  And for the life of me, neither one of them gives any flavor to my coffee at all.  None.  Well, I should take that back; the Extra Extra is faintly sweet, not extra extra at all, so thank goodness it is extra extra sweet because if it was only extra sweet it wouldn't be sweet at all, and if it were merely sweet it would be shit.  But the Original?  I might as well put water in my coffee, it's so useless.

I tried giving it a chance.  There are two different blends of coffee at the current place I work at, and I tried drinking each type of creamer with both styles of coffee.  Still bland, horribly so.  Now it could be the coffee, since it makes both brands, but I now believe it's the creamer.

I have been reduced to using both when I get coffee -- the Extra Extra for what little taste it gives me, and the Original because I already bought it and I won't waste it.  I can't wait to be done with both.

When I first tasted how bland the Original was, I suddenly had thought that I had bought these before -- and that I vowed never to buy these again because they were so damn awful.  If I did ever have these before I must've forgot.  So, mental note: Never buy Dunkin' Donuts creamer again.

How Am I Gonna Tell Them About The Car?

So the taillight warning is now permanently on, the Check Engine comes on when I get up to highway speed, and on my way back home the transmission really felt like it was going to go.  In fact, just as I was getting home, I smelled this ungodly smell coming through the vents.  It smelled transmission fluid-like, and it came in combination with some more slippage/refusal to go faster when I stepped on the accelerator.  After I parked I popped open the hood to see if the guts of my tranny spilled all over the dipstick and if there were any huge leaks springing from a hose, but I saw neither.

So maybe it was "one of those things" that happens to an old car, or it could be just my imagination, or my car's really going to shit, or that it was Friday the 13th.  Unfortunate that I don't know which of these things it is because I need it to perform today (Saturday).  My sister and brother-in-law are in town, and the entire family is going to visit my brother and sister-in-law and their new baby.  Oh, have I told you I'm a brand-new uncle?  Well, she was born about three weeks ago and now the family can formally celebrate.  It's been touch-and-go for awhile, but this will be my second time seeing my niece, whereas it'll be my sister and brother-in-law's first time.  But we'll be piling into my car because, as roomy as the minivan is, it only has seats for three.

No, I have not told my parents about the Check Engine light or the scary lack of acceleration.  And yes, they will freak when we drive over to their place and see that the light comes on and that the cars are blowing by us because we're having a hell of a hard time getting past 40.  I've been thinking for many days of how to break the news to them, and I couldn't decide on anything.  So now this visit is coming up tomorrow and I am reduced to either warning them beforehand praying the car drives competently.

And I still don't know.  I'm guessing I'll drive around tomorrow, just around the neighborhood, to see if the really bad performance issues rear their ugly heads again.  Regardless, I might come home all worried and, when Father takes note of my body language cues and ask what's going on (or, better, how the car is), I'll then tell them that the Check Engine light comes on from time to time and it has a lot of trouble accelerating.  Maybe then he'll go easy on me about getting rid of this car, and maybe even gently suggest using my sister's SUV from now on, a suggestion I would welcome at this point.

Nah, he'll probably flip his shit and start yelling at me.

Wait A Second ... Where's The Piggy Bank?

For all our lives we had this huge piggy bank.  When I was young my brother and I would go to our parents' room with some change, and they would tell us to put our coins into it.  We had it forever.

Well, today I get home and Father says it's gone, probably taken by the assholes who broke into our house.  Oh, have I not told you that our house was broken into?  Our house was broken into.  Some time ago.  We didn't think they stole anything, and they got scared off when they were surprised by the alarm.  But I guess they did get something.

After he told me, suddenly I felt this loss.  There was a lot of change in that pig.  I would not be surprised if there was a grand worth of coins in that bank.  And now it's gone.  The pig, too.  I don't remember a time when we didn't have that bank.  That may have been in this house before I was born.  And now ... it's gone.

I think Father was upset about it, too.  He left the dinner table early to sit in the couch, then he tooled around upstairs after he got done cleaning the dishes.  He often putters around when he's thinking about something.  I thought it best to avoid him, so I went into my bedroom and didn't come out until he was done.  He even took the trash out because I was in my room.

But even though I separated myself from him, I think we were thinking the same thing: How in the hell did we forget about, or maybe more accurately not even notice, the piggy bank?  The robbery happened some time last year, in the fall but before the snow came.  So only now, up to six months after the incident, do we find out it's missing?

That brings up a thorny quandary I played in my head when I knew I could have prevented a robbery and come home early from work the day of the robbery instead of stopping at the coffee house close by the house: If you don't realize you lost something for a long time, do you really have the right to get emotional about losing it?  I feel a sense of loss over the piggybank, but the logic in my head stops me: "Why are you getting sad over it now when you didn't even know it was gone?  In fact, when was the last time you thought about it before being told it's been stolen just now?"  And so I feel guilty about caring.

But I do care.  I care that something very valuable was stolen from us.  I care that our sense of privacy was violated.  And I care that something that has been with this family for decades, and with me my whole life, has been taken from us.  And it really pisses me off that, if true, the sons-of-bitches who stole our piggy bank unplugged the hole underneath it and is going to the nearest bank to empty out and collect the change -- either that or they just broke the pig entirely.

One other thing: The bank was pretty big and heavy.  I hadn't held it in a while, but I remember being really young and not being able to even lift the thing.  Even though I was, like, six at the time, I don't think being a fully-grown person makes it a cinch to lift and carry the piggybank.  I mean, there were a lot of coins in it.

If that's the case, how in the hell did they get it out of the house with some alacrity?  And, come to think of it, did no one notice some guys walking out of our house with this huge yellow pig, leaving the front door open and the alarm blaring behind them?  Actually, you don't really need the pig.  This happened in broad daylight in the late afternoon.  No one noticed guys walking/running out of our house?  There were no kids or running back home from school, or retirees walking around the neighborhood?

DID NO ONE SEE THESE FUCKING PEOPLE BRAKE INTO OUR HOUSE?  NO ONE??

Wrong Clothes For The Weather

This was irksome to me, so I must write about it.

I've known for some time, at least when I checked the weather application on my smartphone, that the forecast for today (Thursday) was clouds.  It had been that way for a while.

I had not been able to check the weather forecast on TV last (Wednesday) night.  I did, however, look at my app on my smart all day yesterday (Wednesday) and it moderated the weather; partly cloudy, not cloudy.  Then again, the temperatures remained the same as they had been leading up to then: In the sixties, a slight dip in temp compared to the days before and after.

So, all this time, I had been thinking up how to dress.  Yes, just for today (Thursday).  I still have these green cargo pants I've worn twice, which means it's still clean enough to wear again.  I've been wearing my red checkered shorts to work all week, and I only change my bottoms weekly because, hey, that's me, and I'm just a fucking temp.  I had thought about switching to the pants, but then I saw the little sun underneath the little cloud, and then I imagined walking back from my lunchtime nap and sweating all the way back to work because I'm wearing pants, and so I thought the upgrade in conditions meant that I should keep to the shorts.  That the temperatures would remain in the sixties convinced me I should wear a button-up shirt so that I can take it off in case it gets too warm for me.  But I changed my mind from last (Wednesday) night to this morning, opting for a lighter, dressier shirt instead of the North Face zip-up because I was worried about getting too hot.

So I go to work dressed in a light shirt with my Tampa Bay Mutiny jersey underneath (to celebrate the beginning of the World Cup) and my red checkered shorts.  And it's overcast the whole day until I drive home from work and the sun is diving below the cloud deck on its way to the horizon.  And it's windy, too.  And the temperatures, I see in tonight's news, were in the lower 60's.

Therefore, I was cold.  I was not dressed up enough.  And it kind of bothered me.  Especially with the shorts.  I think my day would have been better if I had my green cargo pants on instead of the shorts.  And now I can't do anything about it because tomorrow's going to be sunny with highs in the seventies -- perfect for shorts, very, very bad for full-length pants.  So when am I supposed to wear those cargo pants again?

Rant over.

2014 World Cup Predictions

I'm excited.  I'm really getting into the World Cup.  Started four years ago, but I think I'm going to really immerse and simmer in it this time around.  I like it for the global spectacle; only the Olympics are a bigger and more important world sporting event.  But I also like it because it comes in the summer, where traditionally the sports consist of baseball, the WNBA, and individual sports like golf and tennis.  Sure, I wish the tournament in Brazil came about a month later; it's starting right in the thick of the NBA and Stanley Cup Finals, and it'd be better suited to where it was in the calendar four years ago, just after the Major League Baseball All-Star Game.  But I will be listening to the very start of the first game of the tournament at 3 in the afternoon at work when the Brazilians take on the Croats, and I'll try to follow closely for the whole month, even through the family roadtrip.

The U.S. chances?  Between slim and none.  Armchair prognosticators at first gave the Americans zero chance.  Then advanced stats people (and yes, there are now some in soccer) say that Germany will run away from the rest of the U.S.'s group, but we are not as far away from Portugal as many of us think.  My feeling?  There's a 50/50 chance we'll lose to Ghana and finish dead last in the tourney.  There is a darker-than-completely-faint chance that we'll finish scoreless.  I only say that because the recent history of Team USA shows that they alternate reaching the knockout stage/playoffs with group play flameouts, and they won their group in spectacular fashion four years ago, so that means they'll crap out this time around.

Other idle observations:

• While Group G (the Americans' group) has been routinely called the "Group of Death," probably because I have only heard my fellow Americans say it while living here in America, more sophisticated palates understand that Group D (Uruguay, Italy, England, Costa Rica) ain't no great shakes, either.  Neither, by the way, is Group B (Spain, Chile, Netherlands, Australia).
• On the flip side, people are pointing to Group H (Belguim, Russia, Algeria, South Korea) as the easiest group, but Group F is basically a walkover for Argentina, which should run all over Bosnia-Herzegovina, Iran and Nigeria.

This is the first time (or maybe the second; the first may have been a few or even several World Cups ago, when I was asked to participate in a fantasy WC tournament from a friend) that I tried prognosticating the WC.  I'm relying on two things: The predictions from FiveThirtyEight, whose founder, Nate Silver, pioneered the Soccer Power Index (SPI), which looks to be much more accurate and predictive than the official FIFA rankings, and ESPN.com brand new Giant Killers model and blog.  In fact, I should say that I'm picking winners based on Silver's projections, and most of the teams that'll finish second in their group by going all-in on what Giant Killers say are underrated teams.  Underrated doesn't mean they'll make the playoffs.  Nevertheless I put them all through.

The one thing I want to know is: How often do upsets occur?  I really don't think Iran nor Costa Rica have a chance to advance, but fuck, what do I know?  Are World Cups more chalk than, say the NCAA men's basketball tournament?  If so, that would be some good information to ascertain.

Who advances, in order, out of Group:

A: Brazil, then Mexico
B: Spain, then Chile
C: Columbia, then Greece
D: Uruguay, then Costa Rica
E: Ecuador, then France
F: Argentina, then Iran
G: Germany, then Portugal
H: Russia, then Belgium

I then go kind of nuts:

Eighthfinals:

• Brazil over Chile
• Spain over Mexico
• Colombia over Costa Rica
• Uruguay over Greece
• Ecuador over Iran
• France over Argentina (kind of ridiculous having the French finish second, but the WC can't all be chalk, right?  Midfielder Franck Ribery is hurt and will miss the WC, and that's why I thought they French will finish second in Group E, thus setting up a way-too-early mouth-watering match-up in the eighths against the Argentines -- which, while many people tout as a contender, to me still seems like Lionel Messi & Co.  If that's the case, I'll take the team, Ribery-less though they may be, over the individual, even if he may beat Pele as The Greatest Soccer Player Of All-Time)
• Belgium over Germany (my other shock pick.  The Germans have defensive issues and their psyche is considered to be fragile, thus allowing a Belgium side with a lot of frisky youngsters to spring the upset of yet another contender)
• Russia over Portugal (and don't sleep on the Russians, either; I think their defense will suffocate the Portuguese, who, like Argentina, is just one guy, Christiano Ronaldo)

Quarterfinals:

• Brazil over Colombia
• Spain over Uruguay
• Belgium over Ecuador (guess that makes the Belgians the Cinderella of the 2014 World Cup)
• France over Russia

Semifinals:

• Brazil over Belgium
• Spain over France

Third-Place Game (who cares?  What sport in the world still plays a third-place game?): Belgium over France

Final: Brazil over Spain (ETA at 11:18--11:23 p.m. Thursday, June 12 a note about Brazil.  I know that there are currently massive protests over the largesse of building for the World Cup at the expense of social programs designed to help the large swaths of the country's poor and bridging the gap of income inequality there.  But as is so often the case, I don't know if the protesters are aiming their ire at the team itself.  While there is pressure to win on home soil, I don't think the off-the-field turmoil wants them to lose.  The country is supporting Team Brazil, therefore I think that's one obstacle that's being raised that isn't quite accurate.)

Where I'm Reminded I'm A Temp

All day today (Wednesday) I was trying to figure out the best way to ask my supervisor that my family decided we needed to shift the days of our roadtrip and therefore have to ask for more days off, seven instead of five.  At the end I created a story in my head, just in case my supervisor questions how my family came up with that change, that I checked my messages on my phone just before the lunch hour and I got news that the family wanted to leave earlier in the month than previously scheduled.  And since 1) I think my supe doesn't mind communicating via e-mail even though our cubicles are 20 feet away from each other, 2) I'm afraid of telling this new news to her face-to-face if she doesn't like it, and 3) she may be younger than me, so young that she's one of those millennials that love to communicate indirectly and not be bothered by human contact (for all I know she could be 40, so I could totally be wrong about her), I decided to just e-mail her immediately before I went to lunch.  If she's mad, she wouldn't be able to do anything about it because I'm out to lunch.

When I got back, however, there was no such outburst, just an e-mail saying she needs to run it by her boss.  Then, near the end of the day, I got another e-mail from her saying that that's OK ... and then that we are going though the data entry pretty fast.  There is, like, three or four other people doing what I'm doing, and I am "the last guy in," so to speak, even though I think the other people are also temps.  My supervisor says they're going to be switched to other projects where they're needed, but if we continue to enter these ... "things" faster than they're coming in, I'll be let go.

Oh, that's right -- I'm a temp.

Stupid me, I thought I could work here through the summer before the flu billing position gets back to hiring again.  I kind of was led to believe that to be the case in our meeting on my first day at work.  But here I am, less than two weeks into what I thought was an ongoing project, and I might be let go.  That means only one thing: I will be let go, and soon.

She said she'll run the numbers Monday.  I want to take her at her word, so I think I'll be at work Monday.  Logically, if the work is running out, I will be told that I am done as soon as I have to start the family vacation, so don't come back, so last week would be the end.  If I can't continue on this job through the rest of the summer, I hope that, somehow, the end comes when my folks leave on another vacation around the 4th of July.  That'll give me time to finally get this surgery and done and find some work.  Finally, although I want to believe they're good people, there's always the chance that I could be let go before Monday -- say, for example, Friday, or even tomorrow (Thursday).

Maybe I should go back to school so I can stop being at temp.

The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey

#-1: Twins (Last Week: -1).  The big news of the week came Sunday and Monday, when the club announced they had signed what probably was the best remaining free agent in Major League Baseball, slugger Kendrys Morales, for the rest of the season.

How did the Twinks do it, especially when other teams such as the Yankees, Texas, Milwaukee, and the team that Morales was with last year, Seattle, were in hot pursuit of him as well, all places that seemingly are better than Minnesota?  I've been scouring all over cyberspace for the answer, and it seems to have stumped all the baseball scribes as well.

Morales will immediately be inserted into the heart of the lineup, probably playing Designated Hitter.  He could not fare any worse than the players that had been DH'ing: Chris Colabello, who started off the season with a fantastic April but has since been demoted to AAA; Josh Willingham, who started off the season on the disable list and has been lukewarm since rejoining the team; and Jason Kubel, who was brought back to the team he broke into the majors with but has been so awful that he was the person they cut loose in order to sign Morales, and who may be one of those guys who starts holding onto the dream of baseball by playing in an independent league.

So far, not a complete disaster: Since he was inserted into the lineup starting Monday's game in Toronto, he has one run, three hits, a walk and two strikeouts.  (They lost to the Blue Jays on Monday but shut them out -- thanks to the outing by oft-maligned Kevin Correia?! -- Tuesday.)  That might be good enough to flip for some minor players come the trade deadline, but I think for the Twins to be playoff contenders (which they are on the fringes of right now), they need Morales, who was a Poor Bastard in June of 2010 for missing the rest of the 2010 season after breaking his leg while jumping onto home plate to celebrate his game-ending grand slam, to do more.

Meanwhile, the squad went through a second straight 3-4 screening week.  They split the two games against Milwaukee played at Target Field, they lost two-of-three over the weekend to Houston, probably the only team that was worse than the Twinks over the past three seasons but whose fortunes may have exceeded those of the Twinks with the rapid promotion and production of their blue-chippers such as George Springer and Jon Singleton.  After playing the rubber match against the B. Jays this (Wednesday) afternoon), they'll have all day Thursday to travel from Toronto to Detroit, where they'll start a three-game series against the Tigers on Friday.  They will finish their road trip with a trio in Boston starting Monday.

Oh yeah -- the rotation has regressed somewhat after starting out mediocre.  Correia has been a disaster, even with his sterling performance against Toronto Tuesday night.  Ricky Nolasco has barely been above average, Kyle Gibson is still wending his way through the majors, and Samuel Deduno has been shelled recently.  Only Phil Hughes has been as good as advertised.  The other storyline on this organization is the lingering questions over Joe Mauer's hitting.  Seriously, what the hell is wrong with him?  Brian Dozier might be the best player in the lineup after hitting his 16th home run on Tuesday.  Is his conversion from Catcher to First Base to blame?  Mauer is hitting around .260 right now, and his struggles have many worried that he'll never come around this season.

#-2: Timberwolves (Last Week: -2).  The news with the Woofie Dogs is that Flip Saunders will take on not only his duties as team President (and part-Owner, a role I did not know he had until recently) but also that of Head Coach.  It'll be the second time he's coached this team.  His first tenure coincides with the best years in Timberwolves history, ending unceremoniously when former good friend Kevin McHale fired him midway through the season after the T-Wolves made the Western Conference Finals.

He may bring the franchise back to greatness.  Then again, I thought Rick Adelman was going to be that guy.  But the thing that irks many people is that the coaching search went on for many weeks and had a lot of candidates -- Dave Joerger, Vinny Del Negro, Sam Mitchell, George Karl.  But then, all of a sudden, the search, headed up by Saunders himself, stopped, apparently while Saunders was looking at a mirror, where he suddenly went, "Ah, fuck it, why don't I just do it?"

A lot of people, including the Common Man, thinks that was all bullshit -- that the new HC of the Woofs was always going to be Saunders, and that they misled the public and the remaining Wolves fans into believing the front office was doing its due diligence when they knew what they were doing without telling us.  Jury's out on whether Saunders can turn around the fortunes of this team on the sideline, but he and the rest of the braintrust could use a lot more transparency.

But hey, look on the bright side: At least there hasn't been any Kevin Love sightings in cities other than the Twin Cities, trolling the fanbase and sticking the fact that he's leaving as soon as he can in our eyes.

Gas Station Flunkie Wouldn't Give Me My Two Cents

Remember the time I insisted on getting five more cents discounted off the gas coupon I gave her because that was the correct amount?  I have always been afraid that I would get screwed on this at some point, at that point was earlier this evening.

After dinner I took my car to fill 'er up because I thought it'd save me more money in the long run to just use my coupon on Double Tuesdays.  I got 12.6 gallons of gas filled.  I brought my smartphone into the gas station with me and calculated the total amount of money I should get discounted, which is $2.42, right in front of the guy.  But the guy didn't fucking use a calculator, and instead just did some chintzy math in his head and just took off $2.40.

Now, I kind of pitched a fit over five cents almost four months ago, so it wouldn't be too much of a stretch to the same thing for two.  But after internally shaking my head over this loser's shitty math, I reach into my wallet and, just to be safe, look to the left of me.  There's a dude behind me, and a woman who came into the line just behind him.  I don't remember if there was a line four months ago, but this time, I let it go.  I just did not want to face any blowback from strangers I'll never see again just so I can stand on my principles and get the two cents I deserve.

So I paid for my gas with the extra two cents.  And I feel like I got screwed, big-time.

Expenses Without Receipts

Starting from Monday, June 9

• Went to *e**'s party.  Unfortunately, that spinner *e** said would be there wasn't.  In her place, however, was the girl who was The Other Girl when I was double-teamed for the first time in my life.  She and ***e* (the constant in what currently is my three three-ways) have since had a falling-out, and I had not seen her for a long time till now.  I really wanted to whip it out on her again, but there were too many men around and she wanted to keep this "clean."  Moreover, sadly, she charged me extra because we got to talking and that talking bled into the next song.  I never thought of her as a rip-off bitch, but that soured the rest of my night, led me to leave the party sooner than I wanted, and made me think twice about trying to get her number in order to arrange a sumpin'-sumpin' some other time, something she intimated she was willing to do in the middle of our lap dance.  On principle, I don't think I'm going to pursue it.  Now, if she apologizes and really wants me to cum over, well. ...: $25.
• On Sunday the 8th I had a party to go to, one that was related to the time last year where I got so drunk I was in no shape to drive home but did.  I believe one of the main reasons I got so inebriated (though I am not saying that having access to it would make driving home acceptable; it's still not) is that there was no food in my stomach while I was consuming all this alcohol.  To make sure that did not happen, I went to Wendy's and bought their new Steakhouse $1.49 burger thingy along with their Pulled Pork Barbecue Fries, just to get some fast food grease in my stomach that could soak up the beer I would be drinking.  I noticed that this Wendy's I went to did not give me a receipt.  The other does, at least sporadically.  Maybe I need to go to the other one more often to ensure I keep track of my expenses.  At least I typed the total of my lunch into the draft of Blogger: $5.75.
• Then the party, which took place at a brewery.  I think this is important enough to have its own blog post, so I'll withhold details until then.  But I will say that tips were asked, and I gave a buck, twice: $2.
• Saturday, June 7: Wanted to catch the Edward Hopper show, which is mainly his drawings, many of which were studies that led up to the paintings with his signature style, but I had to eat lunch first.  Arby's gave me a coupon for a free roast beef sandwich because it was the anniversary of my joining their frequent eaters' club.  But I had to print it out.  Thought it'd be better just to spend the money on a printout in the library, but dammit, the first time I tried to print the e-mail I got a blank page, so I had to have the librarian help me a second time (and after I allegedly "spent my hour" at the computer for the day).  The libraries in this county suck.  But at least the librarian was nice.  Total spent on two printouts: 20 cents.
• I then went to the Walker for the Hooper exhibition, and I totally did not know that there is no charge for admission to the Walker the first Saturday of each month.  Lucky!  I did spend some bucks on donations, though -- OK, only: $2.
• That evening I went to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Version), where I got a number from one stripper and gave my number to another.  Coffee, tips, and two dances, one from Betty and the other from ... well, let's call her *****a: $51.
• I then went to My Favorite Late-Night Italian Place for salad and soup.  Took advantage of the day's early rain, ensuing overcast skies the below-average temperatures.  In the summer this place either gets so humid the mosquitoes would be munching on me the same way I'd be munching down on the delicious food, or it'd be so cold my nipples would harden.  Either way, I'd stay away.  But not this night.  With tip: $9.25.
• To Friday the 6th ... had to get out that evening to work out more details on our impending road trip.  But first, strippers!  Coffee, tips, and a dance from this delectable delight named Logan at My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Division): $34.
• I then hit Caffetto, where I got a hot chocolate because I was all coffeed out from work at the strip bar.  With tip: $2.75.
• On Thursday the 5th I had to rush after work to the library in order to write a letter concerning the erroneous charge for a rental card I used points on when I went to Kansas City.  More than a year ago.  This was the one where the fucking customer service cut me off in February.  Now, after more than a year, I look at my statement and I think they put the amount back on.  Did they side with the rental card company and not even send me a fucking letter?  No, no, no, this aggression cannot stand.  So I went there to print out a letter for them, the same letter for me to keep, and a copy of the confirmation saying that the rental car was indeed free.  Total: 30 cents.
• Go all the way back to Sunday, June 1: One of the strippers who hosts house parties, ********a posted on Facebook that she was spearheading a fundraiser at this bar for her friend who's going through some tough times.  Even though I wasn't expressly invited, I wanted to help out.  There were raffles and people singing karaoke for a buck and shit.  I spent a little more than I wanted, so I'm just going to concentrate on this being all for a good cause.  Money for raffle tickets and tip for a beer that I won from a raffle drawing: $12.
• Friday, May 30 was the first day of my new temp job.  I guess just because I cut off my lunchtime nap time short so I could go to the Starbucks and get something.  I don't know, it seems to be the downtown thing to do.  Besides, I don't get to go to Starbucks that often.  Now, I do have this unofficial, passive-aggressive boycott of Starbucks because the founder and CEO intentionally sold the Seattle SuperSonics to an oil tycoon who lied about not stealing the team to Oklahoma City.  Well, if I need coffee, and if they don't have it at work, I think I will relent, at least for the tenure of this job -- assuming I have enough money to pay for a special mocha there, like I got on Friday the 30th.  With tip: $5.
• That evening I celebrated latching onto a new job by going to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Version).  The girl who pranced through the living room of a house party stark naked (the first EWR in this post) is, sadly, a five-dollar girl.  I was so cheap that when after I gave her two bucks and asked for five, I told her I wanted my $2 back.  Principles, people.  She did ask for a dance, and I was turned off by her tip edict, so I said no, but I should smooth it over with a dance the next time.  That's why the total for coffee and tips is a little elevated compared to the norm: $14.
• ETA something on Thursday, May 29: I had to have gone to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Division) because it was on the way to the airport, where I was picking up my parents that evening, and I specifically remember stopping by there.  For what, I am no longer sure, so I'm just going to say for coffee and tips: $11.
• Go back to Wednesday the 28th ... this was the day I got double-teamed for the third time, even though they did a poor job of cleaning the house, ostensibly the main reason they were here.  ***e* hustled me up five bucks, shit: $125.
• I "celebrated" my dual handjob by going to Caffetto for a tiramisu and iced mocha.  With tip: $8.50.
• Tuesday, May 27, aka The Start Of Summer ... went to the U. in case I wanted to take a class.  Besides it was a good thing to do while I had the mechanic in the area, The Mechanic My Father Trusts, look over my car.  I wanted to sit down and eat at a place in Dinkytown, and the review websites pushed me to Annie's Parlour, a well-known U. restaurant that I may or may not been to before.  All I remember is that the half order of fries was so fucking big I had to take most of it home to eat.  Not fun.  Nor was the bill.  With tip: $20.50.
• I caught X-Men Days Of Future Past later that day.  Ticket, popcorn and pop: $9.75.
• Monday, May 26, also known as Memorial Day -- My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Edition) was open that evening, yay!  Got to spend some time there with coffee, stage tips and a dance from Sasha: $31.
• Glad to also see that Caffetto, that leftist outpost, not only was open this federal holiday but was open regular hours.  Got a key lime pie with coffee, then I decided I wanted to try a bottle of Shirley Temple made by this company called Boylan, which has been around since 1891.  With tips the night there came out to: $7.75.
• On Sunday, May 25 I finally used the AMC pass I bought so many years ago for a Sunday night showing of Amazing Spider-Man 2.  And honestly, I was not impressed with the movie.  Go beyond the fact that the studio is contractually obligated to pump out a film with the character every few years or else it reverts back to Marvel.  They use the Green Goblin as a foil once again, and while I don't think James Franco put an indelible imprint on it, I couldn't help but think of him whenever I saw Dane Dehaan onscreen.  Worse for the movie, the character of Electro, played by Jamie Foxx, was a complete waste of time.  He's a minor cog in the vast Marvel universe being served up as the major antagonist here, and Electro's motivations are that of a stupid child.  Nice twist at the end of the movie, though.  Oh, and Andrew Garfield will be a character actor when he gets old, and I know he's just playing Spider-Man just so he can afford to actually take good roles in the future.  Grade: B-, maybe C+.  Since I used a coupon for the ticket, I just needed to buy popcorn and pop ... which turned out to be more expensive than all three things I could buy at my local theater on a Tuesday: $11.
• Later that day I went to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Edition).  I surprised the waitress working there when I ordered a beer instead of a coffee.  No big whoop, it's just that the next day was Memorial Day and I was not working at the time, so what the hell, glad I didn't get pulled over by the cops.  Forgot to tip the waitress, though.  The beer bottle plus the tips for the lovely girls: $13.50.
• I then went to a strip club downtown, one I hadn't been to in some time.  Just wanted to check it out.  Let's just say the A-Team wasn't working that night.  The fat girl I got a lap dance from was nice, though, and I think she got a pick of at least a part of my penis through my open fly.  This place still uses a ticket system, and somehow the Snapple cost me all my tickets.  Whatever; I think I'm good with this place for at least another three years.  Cover, drinks, tips, and a lapper from that stripper, named Diamond: $51.
• The only EWR for Friday Saturday the 24th came from My Favorite Stripclub (Cover Version).  My ATF was not there :( but at least the roster on the website did not list her; it may have been accurate for the first time ever.  The good news was I didn't feel the need to spend my usual three figures here.  What little money I spent went a long way -- about 2 1/2 hours.  Got a couple dances from Tara, a lovely, non-tattooed girl who just lifted up her shirt to flash me her boobs when she started dancing.  For some reason just lifting up a shirt to reveal mammaries makes me all hot and bothered.  It's so much better than unclasping a bra.  Two dances from her, plus the beer and all the tips I threw onto the stage equal: $51.

I hope I'm good through June 9.

A Vacation That Has Not Been Planned Yet

Vacations should be fun, shouldn't they?  Well, they're not.  Especially if you're planning for people beside you for something you've never done.

My sister and brother-in-law are coming into town this summer, and Father, enjoying his retirement, thought it'd be a great idea for us to take a road trip through Mt. Rushmore, Yellowstone, Salt Lake City and Las Vegas.  It is a good idea; after all, even though they're in great health, my parents aren't getting younger, and you know what they say about one day all of a sudden they're taken away from you, blah-blah-blah.  But there are many complications involved with taking a vacation.  And for all my ranting and raving I've historically done about this blog, me being afraid I won't be able to stand Father, Mother and my sister in a car for a week to the point of choking the life out of them isn't in the forefront of my mind.

First is the driving.  I hate roadtrips because I rely on the statistics that you are much more likely to die travelling by car then by plane, which is the mode I've always traveled and vastly prefer.  Now, I like to drive around, or at least I did until the price of gas made that too prohibitive.  But that would be in places where I know where to go.  Traveling for miles and miles, and not coming back home?  That's kind of daunting.

Add to that the fact that I'm going to places I've never been to.  I'm going because Father wants to do this, but I do share his interest in hitting these places, at least Mt. Rushmore and Yellowstone.  It's the planning and logistics that's driving me insane.  When do we go?  We haven't settled that yet, although we want to go very soon.  Is Mt. Rushmore only several hours, or do we stay for a whole day?  What about Yellowstone when I don't think any of us have been to a national park?  Do we even stop for an hour in Salt Lake City?  Father only wants to see the Mormon temple downtown, and as far as I know, there is no other reason to go.  We think we have driving times down, but that of course can be altered because of the weather.  And once (if?) we settle on an itinerary, I have to tell my boss when I'm taking off.  I gave her a heads-up last week, and she was cool with that, but I gave her a specific time when I'll be gone and there's a chance that has changed.  I don't know if she'll be cool with me telling her different dates.

The problem currently consuming my mind is transportation.  Neither of our cars have the endurance to survive the road trip.  Besides, Father's plan was to drive to Vegas and then fly back.  But research has revealed to me that one-way car rentals are obscenely expensive.  Father insists on a minivan (don't know why), and the cheapest we have seen for a rental for between six and eight days has been $1,500 (the most expensive has been $1,800).  They say the price is for getting the van back to Minneapolis-St. Paul.  Now, I've been calling around (no help from anyone) and I have already signed up for some membership clubs that could offer a discount.  I could also try Priceline and try and dangle a bid for something much cheaper, even though that may not be possible since we want to go soon.  But Father said Saturday morning that he's willing to bite the bullet and pay.  He shouldn't do that.  Unfortunately, I don't know if I have an alternative.

If there's anyone out there that reads my blog, I could use some help on this.  Any advice or tips on how to roadtrip?  Any ways to save money on rentals?  How about things to do in our places to go, particularly where to go in Yellowstone and, just as important, how long we should stay?  'Cause I have barely a clue.

Hos In All My Area Codes

I think I've had a successful weekend, whoring-wise.  I have been asked for my phone number from not one but two strippers, neither of whom I know very well.

Started off Friday night, when a girl who was a sub at *********'s party last month was working at My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Version).  While giving her a tip onstage, I was wishing that I could see her at a party real soon.  She said she hasn't been invited back to *********'s party and she might have to host her own.  I said I'd love to know, but I don't have her contact information.  So she invited me to give it to her -- surreptitiously, for exchanging phone numbers at the bar is frowned upon.

I didn't think about her or giving her my phone number the rest of my stay there.  But just as she was going to go back up on-stage, meaning it was time for me to go, she gave me added incentive to give my digits to her.  As I wished that we'd bump into each other again, she said, "Well, I hope it's soon.  You haven't shown me yours yet!"

Boing-oing-oing-oing-oing!!!

OK, I'll give you my number.  So I went outside, remembered that I forgot to pack my pens in my computer bag, remembered that I did have another pen I kept in my car, went back in, got three cocktail napkins, and sneezed into two of them in order to (hopefully) secretly write my number down.  I then had to go onstage and slide the number to her with another dollar; she was hustling me all night.  I have her five bucks total instead of my usual two.

---

Then I didn't hear from her the rest of the night.  I got concerned -- more than that she was bullshitting, but that she gave it to her pimp.  (If she has one, of course.)  So the next afternoon (yesterday, Saturday afternoon) I was coming back from an art show and the place on the way, so I dropped in really quick to see that the girl was working the evening.  I was going to stay in, but honestly, this was important to me.  Yeah, I was thinking with my dick.

So I made an excuse to leave my parents at home and go back to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Edition).  Saw her again.  She didn't think I was a stalker -- hopefully.  She walked towards me and then got on my lap.  So I took the opportunity to get her digits, which I did as I typed them into my smartphone on my hand away from the prying eyes of the bouncers -- hopefully.  Finally, as a thank you, I got a dance from her.

Shit, I spent $27 on this girl.  Hope her skills are worth it.

---

The same visit, the same night (last night, Saturday night) I saw another girl, one I hadn't seen in a while.  She is kind of pudgy, but I certainly would not kick her out of her bed.  I made a night out of it, so I went onstage and gave her two bucks.  And she immediately said, "Oh, there's gonna be a party!"

Party?  When has she ever invited me to a party?  Never.  Has she confused me with someone else?  "Oh, wait -- do I have your number?"

No, but fuck yeah I'll give it to you!  So like with the previous woman, I went outside, grabbed a pen, wrote my number down on a napkin and gave it to her, this time putting in her hand while I was "saying goodbye" to her once she got off-stage.  I warned her that I might not be able to make the date of this party, but she's got sumptuous tits, so hopefully one day I'll be able to partake in touching them at one of her parties.  And hopefully she'll return the favor.

Man, I now feel like Ludacris, even all the strippers all seem to have numbers from only one area code.



---

Wow -- this is getting me all juiced up for the party I'm going to tomorrow.  I haven't been to *e**'s place in a long time because she hasn't been regularly planning them at her place.  But she's invited me to one tomorrow, and it might be really good because a girl from My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Division) is going to be there for the first time.  She's really cute, but I never thought she'd allow anyone to grab her boobies.  Hopefully tomorrow till be that day!

Sleeping With My Hair Still Wet

Having work during the day means I crash late at night.  When I'm unemployed I can get my body to settle back into its natural cycle, which means I can go to sleep at 5 in the morning and wake up at 1 in the afternoon.  But oftentimes these days I'm doing what I did last night: Pushing my body to the point where I know, absolutely know, I can't stay up past 2 o'clock no matter how hard I try.


Too bad for me that I decided to take a shower last night for the first time in three days.  Should have pushed it back another day, because when I felt the tug of unconsciousness I knew I was fucked because I had to set my wet head on something, and fast.


What's the problem with that?  I was told at a very young age never to go to bed with wet hair because it makes you dizzy.  Like you're pressing the water into your scalp which is then absorbed by the skin which ... puts the balance of the water in your body out of whack, or something.  I was just told never to do that.  Plus, it's annoying.  I probably think it's annoying because I grew up believing this potential wives' tale, but that's how I feel.


The last time this happened was in the early evening.  I decided to sleep face-down, resting on my arms, which felt totally shot when I woke up later.  But I didn't want to do that.  I knew, in my rapidly logging-off brain, that if I go down, I'm down for the rest of the night, and I don't want to wake up with my arms devoid of blood for the past several hours.


My hair's getting long, I surmised when I touched the back of my head and felt it was wet.  Well, kind of wet.  Not soaking wet, not just-stepped-out-of-the-shower wet, but it wasn't dry, either.  I didn't have the energy to find the hair dyer, either.  So I touched the side of my hair and thought it was a tad wetter, so I can't sleep on my side.


I had to do it: I had to fall asleep, face-up, with my hair still wet underneath.  Ick, I thought to myself as I nodded to and fro, feeling the moisture in both ear canals bug me back into settling in a position where my nose is pointed upward.


Woke up just fine, though very early.  Hair's all dry.  Looks like crap, although I don't care because my unkempt hair will look like crap.  And yet I feel like ... I don't know, kind of oogy, kind of like I slept in one of the puddles forming during the rain we had overnight/are having right now.  And is this dizziness I feel from a lack of rest or from some nebulous sense of guilt?

Right Hip's Bothering (Well, Bothered) Me

For the second time in about seven weeks, I have (well, actually had) this intense pain in the joint of my right hip.  I try walking, and when I have to plant my right leg I almost buckle.  It has (well, actually had) gotten to the point where, when I'm putting pants on, when I have to shoot my left leg through, I would either have to lean against the wall or, when I'm in my bedroom, sit on the corner of the bed.

The first time happened at the beginning of the test scoring project.  That leadership position necessitated a lot of walking, and so when I had to go around the room, everyone could see me walking with a limp.  At least only one person, the weirdo that pissed me off, acknowledged it.  (Just saw that in that blog post I said it was my bum foot.  I was totally wrong; it was the hip then, and I don't know why I didn't say or detect that then.)  Weird: I started the project walking with a bad hip, and I ended it getting humbled with allergies.

My current workplace isn't helping my hip.  Seems as if it comes on when I sleep a lot, like I did last weekend (boo), and sitting in place only makes it worse.  Unfortunately there is no reason for me to walk around in this new job unless I am slacking off.  Also, this time around my supervisor noticed it.

However, since yesterday (Thursday morning) it has gotten appreciably better.  Maybe the fact that I sleep less, about five or six hours the previous two nights, alleviates the pain.  If it's gone, that's great ... but somehow I feel bad that I didn't write about it sooner.

Oh, well.  Have less than half an hour to file this.

Another Instance Of My Awesomely Bad Luck

So I decide to finally get the car door fixed this (Wednesday) morning.  I figured that the problem is self-evident enough that I could get there when they open at 8, get an estimate and be out of there by the time I'm supposed to be at work, which I've established to be 9.  At the very least I wouldn't have to miss out on too much time that I'll need to make up the rest of the week.

Ah, didn't turn out to be the case.  Guess I should have made it known that I wanted only an estimate, but after I got there (like, seven minutes after 8, I swear) the guy took my car ... and I waited.  For over an hour.  I finally got it back around 15, 20 minutes after 9.  However, they didn't just diagnose the car but they also fixed it.  Had to use epoxy and MacGuyver some clips or something, but they put the door back together.  That saves me a second trip I planned on making next week.  And after begging my supervisor for some slack, she was OK with me coming in late due to "car trouble."  I only have to make up a half-hour, and hopefully she'll be cool with that, too.

The only thing I have to worry about is the tape they put around the door to keep it together so the epoxy has time to bind together.  There are several long stretches of tape, and I was told it had to be on for 24 hours, so I can take it off first thing tomorrow morning.  Good.  All I have to do now is wait and make sure my parents don't see it, lest they ask questions.  I did a similar thing when some fuckers broke and took my driver's-side side mirror.  It was taken when I was parked in downtown Minneapolis when I went to see an MLS Cup on a Sunday night.  I brought it into the same auto body shop the next day, where they said they would contact me when they got a replacement driver's-side side mirror.  They called me the next day saying they got one, and I told them to take the whole day to color it the right color.  The afternoon of the day after that I came in and got my car back, with new mirror, in an hour.  And my folks do not know because then they left for work before me and got back home before me.  It helps that I was able to park in the garage, lest one of them wandered out to the driveway for some reason and saw the busted mirror.

That is not possible these days; for dinner Father regaled me on all the stuff he notices with the neighbors, since he has nothing else to do, and the garage is now stuffed with my sister's SUV and my parents' dream car that they never will get around to fixing.  However, they don't actually leave the house much.  If anything, they put-put around the backyard, making dinner and tending to their garden.  They'll get out to buy groceries and stuff, and of course they need to get the mail and mow the lawn, but once they know they'll be home for good, they tend to keep the front door shut.  For that reason I initially didn't think I needed to worry about the tell-tale tape when I got home.

But then, during dinner, they mentioned something about garbage pick-up.  Oh, crap.  Many weeks ago they wanted me to look up the companies that pick up the trash in this city.  I didn't hear anything after that, and I thought that's because we put out such little garbage that we could just run and dump it at the nearest gas station.  Would save us money not needing to subscribe to a garbage company, too.  But they told me that the bags have to be put out before tomorrow morning and the company will in turn give us new customers a new bin.

Now I can envision them going out to put said bags at the end of our driveway, go back up and, while making a beeline to the front door, see all this tape on the side of my door.  Then they'll go upstairs and interrupt me watching So You Think You Can Dance to ask, "What's the tape on your door?  Where did you go to fix that?  How much did it cost?  Are you throwing away money again??  Why can't you just dump the car and use your sister's??  What is wrong with you?!?!  WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO WITH YOUR LIFE???  YOU'RE THIRTY-EIGHT YEARS OLD AND YOU'RE PISSING YOUR MONEY AWAY!!!"  And then I'll yell and throw things at them, and our planned road trip (oops, have I not told you that?) will be aborted, and I'll have to worry about being thrown out again.

There is one thing that could have prevented this.  Our driveway is three cars wide.  If I nestled my car right next to theirs, they would be going down the driveway down my car's passenger/non-tape side.  So there's a chance Father or Mother would not notice the tape when they come back up.  They certainly might, and there's always a chance they throw something into their minivan, which they sometimes do after dinner.  But if I knew they ordered garbage service, or if I heard the really faint voice in the back of my head to park in the middle of the driveway just in case, I could have tried this and, maybe, just maybe, I could have stayed home.  Instead I parked in my usual spot, the spot closest to the front door, right under the big tree.  So Father and/or Mother would walked inbetween our cars and see the tape right in front of them.

Only I could try and get something done and run into this unusual, if not extraordinary, event that could cause such unnecessary upheaval in my life.  You've got to be kidding me!

I tried asking if I can put the bags out for them -- you know, just tryin' to be a good son. ;)  But they said they'll take care of it after they get done cleaning up after dinner and preparing for tomorrow's dinner.  With that tactic getting shot down, I resorted to Plan B: Going out under the excuse that I need to check something "at the library," then coming back right around dusk, well after they put out the bags because, to them, being outside after dark is scary.

Told them that, and they were cool.  Was planning to be out only 30-45 (I left at ten to 8), but I knew that I would take longer, because I always do.  I actually was going to go to the library ... to blog about this, actually.  But then I thought, well, I did get an Amazon certificate, and I do need a new TV -- why not go through Consumer Reports' recommendations for TVs and write them down again (because I had written them down and checked them out physically at Best Buy before)?  So I went to the closest library to me (now that the one that's actually closest to our house is closed for renovations), only to walk up at a minute before eight and see some young punk start locking the doors because on Wednesdays they close at 8.

These are the times when the next county over does it better than mine.  They're quite more urbane, too.  (That's for another time, if I ever get around to it.)  Their libraries during the week stay open until 9.  I'll go there -- and that's good enough of an excuse to say that I'll be out longer than the 30-45 minutes I said I'll be out, even if I knew I would be out for more than an hour regardless.

So on a night when I thought I would stay home and enjoy watching SYTYCD and then the end of the first game of the Stanley Cup Finals, I instead kind of ran away and hid, looking for TV recommendations and blogging -- all to ensure that my parents don't see the tape job on the side of my door.

And they didn't, since I came home just before 9, almost 75 minutes after I left.  They neatly collected three or four small plastic bags (all of which could be crammed into a gas station trash can just fine) at the end of the driveway behind where their minivan is parked.  That means that they have no reason to go outside for the rest of the night.  And so, barring the incredibly unprecedented, they will never know that I had my driver's-side door fixed, mwah-hah-hah-haaaaaaaaaah!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Addendum To: The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey

I forgot to add this important thing to the Timberwolves entry, in particular about the just-about-gone Kevin Love: He is scheduled to participate in the All-Star Legends And Celebrities Softball Game at Target Field as part of the Major League Baseball All-Star festivities leading up to the MLB All-Star Game.

He can't do it anymore, right?  I mean, that would be stupid.  As soon as he steps onto the field the fans will boo him.  Hell, they'll probably start throwing spitballs and beer cans full of piss at him.  After letting all these passive-aggressive feelers out about how he wants to get the eff out of Minnesota, how can he just show up and play batting practice just steps away from the arena he so wants to get away from?  It's insane.  There will be all-out anarchy if he shows his face there that Sunday, July 13.

Love has to cancel his appearance now, right?  It'd be stupid, and downright dangerous, if he didn't, right?

The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey

#-1: Twins (Last Week: -1).  This is how the WMNSS is going to be until mid-August: A less-than-.500 screening week for the Twinks, which will put them in the top spot of the survey because no other Twin Cities team is playing now.  And yet it will feel as if the team is improving -- which in very small and incremental ways, it is.  Brian Dozier is solidifying his place in the show, and Phil Hughes without fighting the bandboxes in the American League East has shaped out to be a pretty good staff ace.

The flip side to all this, though, is Joe Mauer, who may have started swinging the bat batter but is nonetheless dozens of points off his batting average.  And that has led to an interesting revelation: He is constantly hearing boos from his home team (and hometown) crowd.  Mauer has done nothing off the field to deserve it, but after suffering through three straight seasons of 90+ losses, I think Twins fans have run out of other reasons to boo.  Nevertheless, it would help if he started hitting more.

A 3-4 week, by the way.  They dropped three-of-four at home to Texas, then went to Yankees Stadium (to see Derek Jeter play in the Bronx for the last time -- oh, Jeter! /sarcasm) and won a series there for the second year in a row for the first time in more than a decade, if that made grammatical sense.  Then then began a split home-and-home series with Milwaukee by, well, splitting the first two games in Miller Park.  I fell asleep early in the game I was listening to on the radio Tuesday, but woke up just in time for bottom of the ninth, where Glen Perkins, who had walked only three batters until that game, walked the first two batters he faced before yielding only a run and finally closing the game out, a 6-4 victory.  Afterward, he had a fairly funny tweet that showed he is One Of Us (he's born and raised here) and, frankly, shoved an historic Twins whipping boy under the bus again:

I just did my best Ron Davis impression in these damn throwback jerseys.
— Glen Perkins (@glen_perkins) June 4, 2014

They play the back end of the four-game interleague series with the Brewers at Target Field tonight (Wednesday night) and Thursday night, which begins a five game homestand culminating in a weekend series with Houston, possibly the only team worse in Major League Baseball the past few years but also a team whose future looks a lot brighter.  Then then begin a three-game set in Toronto.

#-2: Timberwolves (Last Week: -2).  OK, this Kevin Love trolling bullshit is getting to be too much.

NEW PHOTO: Kevin Love & Rajon Rondo hugging it out outside the Fenway EMC Club Sunday afternoon. pic.twitter.com/XAChHwjmHL
— Only In Boston (@OnlyInBOS) June 2, 2014

I really don't care if Love nor his people did not orchestrate that picture.  The fact that they have done nothing to squelch it, not even comment on it, means that they don't give a shit about what image he's portraying to the team he's currently under contract with.  I'm surprised that people don't believe the relationship between the Woofie Dogs and Love is nothing less than toxic.

For his part, front office exec-turned-Head-Coach-to-be Flip Saunders has stated that he expects Love to be on the team next year.  That's good.  He'd better play to his full potential so that the Wolves can get maximum value out of him come the trade deadline.  He wants to pout about still being a Woof, he can make himself look bad before we ship him out.  However, I have one caveat.  If teams are willing to dangle a first-round pick in this year's draft, Saunders should listen.  This may be the most loaded draft class in National Basketball Association history.  The Timberwolves are supposed to get someone with the 13th pick better than the player teams usually get at 13.  But there are some very good players closer to the top.  If a team dangles, say, one of those picks, a young player and an expiring contract in exchange for Love and #13?  Flip should listen.

Teams that could do it include Cleveland, who have the #1 overall pick for the second year in a row and third time in the last four seasons.  They have embattled brat Dion Waters and the expiring contract of Anderson Varejao.  The Lakers, who I think pick seventh, don't seem to be one to draft a building block superstar, even if the last time they did that they got Kobe Bryant.  And a third team that could trade its first-round pick is ... well, shit, Boston.

Oh, speaking of Boston, as well as former players on Minnesota teams who have won after leaving Minnesota, David Ortiz probably pissed off a lot of Minnesota fans with this tweet:

Yo @kevinlove if you need advice on moving from Minnesota to Boston just let me know #CityOfChamps
— David Ortiz (@davidortiz) June 1, 2014

When I first heard about this on the news I thought he was trashing the Twin Cities.  Then I saw that he really was only playing up his new favorite city, Boston, and not necessarily calling us the #CityofChumps.  Nevertheless, when he comes to the Bullseye for the All-Star Game, he'll be lustily booed by all the Twins fans ... as much if not more so than all the other former Twins players who'll be playing the ASG representing other teams.

Parking Lot Pimpin'!

You know, whenever something fucking nasty happens to me I'm all over it.  But this was so mind-blowingly hot, so perverted that I wouldn't have minded if I got caught and put into jail over it, that I wanted the words to be perfect, and if they weren't, well, I wouldn't dare to even start.  But this shit happened more than nine months ago, during the late summer of 2013, so I think it's about time to finish writing, after about nine months of stopping, starting, daydreaming and reliving, about our tryst.

So there's ****e*, this grizzled veteran from My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Division) whom I've seen at parties getting a little more down with shit, right?  The sign that she truly wanted to play was when I heard she was going to be at a party where my ATF, ***e*, is, and pee-pees are getting wanked everywhere.  However, when I hit that party, which was along Eat Street, I saw that she was not there.  When I was then told by ***e* that she came and left within minutes, I thought that maybe she in fact wasn't one to play and that she horribly misunderstood what kind of party this was.

I went back to My Favorites Stripclub (Non-Cover Version) one Saturday afternoon because they were holding a fundraiser for a bouncer there.  On my way from finally finding a space to park my car I saw ****e* in her car talking to another of the old strippers who works there.  Figured I'd be able to talk to her once I got in.  But as I walked by her car she hollered at me.

Looking back, this is how those old, awesome Penthouse pictorials begin, don't they?

So I walk up to ****e*, who's smoking a cigarette while sitting in the driver's seat of her car, which she had on.  The friend, who works as *****e*, excuses herself as goes inside.  Then, ****e* gets right to the heart of what she probably knew I was thinking.

"If that's what you want, why don't you come to my house?"

"I don't know where you live," I said.  So she proceeds to give me her address, which is actually on the toney parts west of the metro area.

While punching her address into my flip phone I tell her that discovering that she's down for doin' the dirty and giving me her address is making me all hot and bothered, and that my dick was getting so, so hard.  Then and there she said the two magic words that sent me on what probably is the dirtiest, riskiest thing I've ever done:

"Get in."

With that I obliged ****e* and tossed myself, Spider-Man style, into the passenger seat.  Now that I think about it I don't know if I had the right to think these impure thoughts, but it turns out she was thinking exactly what I was thinking.  In fact, she looked at the bulge in my shorts and, while I fumbled my way through unbuckling, started to tease me by giving my rock-hard dick some quick squeezes.  I was acting all coy -- "Stop, I'm not done yet!" I think I said -- but I kept my hands steady enough to pull down my shorts, revealing more exact contours of my erection, which she in turn touched as well.  Then, because I was wearing my boy briefs instead of my usual boxers, I showed ****e* the result of her slutty revelation; I pulled down my underwear to expose, in the virtually full parking lot of My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Edition), amid a weekend sunny day, my hard-on.

And as soon as I flashed myself, ****e* grabbed it and started yanking on it like she was trying to clear a drain.  I probably have had better handjobs in my lifetime, but reliving my emotions of the, oh, three-to-five minutes I was in her car as she was jerking me off it feels like this one is far and away the best I've ever had.  Her technique was honest -- no need for lotion or even her saliva, she just went at it, and me, hard, brutally mechanized, her hand a pumpin' piston choking the life out of my chicken.  But honestly this was The Greatest Handjob In My Life because of the exhibitionist nature of what we were doing, and the danger.  Remember that the parking lot was full because there was a special benefit going on.  Although there were no more parking spaces, there definitely were going to be cars zooming back and forth assuming that there were.  Any one of them could have glanced over and saw us looking down, or her looking down at my genitals while I was rolling my eyes heavenward.  Shit, someone might have been able to find a spot and totally would've spotted her wanking me out while walking into the bar.  I'm pretty sure, if I recall correctly, that one car did drive past while we doing our thing.  If I got caught, it would be something I would totally regret for the rest of my life.  But it's one of those things where, at that moment, you don't care.  This is something totally taboo, and thus totally fucking satisfying.

The hot, humid day only added to the magic of the HJ.  While she was rubbing me out and playing with my pubic hairs -- she said she wanted to braid them! -- the sun heated up her car through the rolled-up side windows.  She had her sunroof open, and she had the air conditioning on, too, although it seemed it was not working then.  While she was knobbing me off with one hand she was banging on the console with the other, trying to figure out why it was only blowing hot air.  The humidity fazed me little; in fact it added to the delirium of the moment, and to what I was feeling, the oh-my-God-I-can't-believe-this-is-happening-to-me!!! ecstasy that's giving me a chubby just as I type this.

****e*, by the way, was gorgeous.  Well, she was gorgeous partly because she was giving me a handjob in the middle of a parking lot pretty much out in the open.  But she was wearing a black sundress, something feminine I had not seen her wear at all before, either on stage or after she was done with work.  I should have reached down that dress to really crank at her tits, or even, if I were so bold, to reach up that dress and play with her twat, assuming she wasn't wearing any panties, which may not be the case.  She did kiss me, though, simultaneously with her handjob.  Ah, ****e*.

Unfortunately my hesitation started to creep into my mind.  I was scared about splooging all over her cabin; she said she could wipe it up, but the toilet paper she had underneath the parking brake was only, like, eight squares long and it looked single-ply.  Then my parsimony creeped into my mind; I certainly didn't go to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Division) with the thought of getting a parking lot handjob.  I only brought, like, twenty bucks with me to donate, and I didn't want ****e* pissed at me for making me cum all over her car and then only giving her twenty bucks.  So despite my blueballs, I had to stop her and pay her that much only for her time masturbating me.  She did not seem happy at all; in fact, she initially looked stunned, as if I was shortchanging her.  But she did understand that I did not expect to have her do me like that when I went to the charity event.  Also, at least she didn't, say, take out her gun and force me to get more money for her work (and by the way, she said she does own a gun).  I went inside, scrounged up some more money to donate (though not as much as I planned) and after a short bit I saw her inside the bar and said goodbye to her (she was there most of the day cooking food for the event).

---

I was really, really sorry if I led ****e* on.  More importantly, I wanted her to know that I don't mind paying top dollar if I could get what I want from her.

She was working a shift a couple weeks after.  Once she got done we got to talking about That Time In Her Car.  Pretty soon we got down to negotiating.  This was outright pimpin', but ****e* said a couple of times, "Whatever, I don't give a fuck."  Let's just say that she didn't completely discount outright fucking her without a condom.

But then my flip phone went to shit and erased the newest batch of numbers I added on to it, including ****e*'s.  Shit!  I knew I should've written it down in my day planner!  In the meantime she's gotten scarce.  I have only seen her a few times on the schedule at My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Version), and I always come in at a time when she's already done.  Another time we've missed each other was when I attended another stripper party where she was supposed to work.  She had left early, and the other girls there said that a guy waiting outside for her picked her up.  When that guy telephoned the house to ask for ****e*, he asked ********a, the host of the party, if she was a cop.

OK, so she's a whore by trade, and I would not be the first customer to get at her goods.  So what?  I'm approaching 40 and I'm still a virgin.  If this vet wants to fuck me in the raw, that's fine, and I don't mind dipping into my savings account in order to do it.  I'm that desperate.

One other thing to all this: I was told by this hostess, ********a, that ****e* has a chronic renal condition.  It's possible that the reason I haven't seen her at all lately (these times when I miss her at the bar were some time ago) is that she may be taking time off, or that she's really sick.  She has her number, but she hasn't given it to me because she respects her privacy.  She did tell ****e* that I want her number, but she has yet to tell ********a that it's OK.  So either I slipped her mind or, gulp, she's still mad at me for giving her only $20 for a handjob.

But oh, what a handjob!  God, I need to see ****e* again, I love her!!!