So I got done with my work for the week; not enough. It'll be even worse next week; supervisor says there's one-and-a-half days' worth of work tops. Good thing I go back to the flu billing position the following week. Wish I could work at least two more days, but I'll at least have time to do other stuff.
When I went to her cubicle to tell her, unlike last week, where she e-mailed her boss before telling me to leave, she said there was no point and I was done for the week. She kind of dissuaded me to come back on Monday, but I told her I had nothing else to do.
"So," I then asked, "Same deal as before -- see you Monday, leave now, but put down eight hours. ... ?"
"No, no, no," she replied, "You put down how much you worked."
Oh.
First time she's ever snapped at me like that. Whoops.
Oh, well. Won't ever have to see her again after Tuesday, I guess.
Thursday, July 31, 2014
Can't Let This Go 'Cause I'm Responsible
This time yesterday morning I checked facebook. The person I wrote this long and admittedly strangely confessional apology has not replied to me yet. That would be bad, however fb indicated that she has not seen it either. So maybe she's busy. Then again, I'm going through facebook right now (playing Mafia Wars actually) and I don't have the heart yet to see if she's seen it yet. So there's also possibility that she truly is pissed to the point where she's going to ignore me completely.
If so, let me say this: I thought we had a good vibe together, and if she were upset she would be able to approach me and raise her concerns. To shut me out and complain about me through third parties, that is ... I wouldn't expect that from her. And of course this hurts.
Meanwhile, on second thought, I think I'll hold off on apologizing to my predecessor. Upon further reflection, maybe he wasn't undermining me so much as cleaning up the mess that I essentially made. Therefore, maybe the last thing he wants to hear after all the crap I did and did not do is me apologizing again. If he has any angry feelings towards me, maybe (hopefully) it'll have cooled off by, say, next week.
I really can't stop blogging about this event, let alone relax, until everything is done. And I'm not at that stage yet.
If so, let me say this: I thought we had a good vibe together, and if she were upset she would be able to approach me and raise her concerns. To shut me out and complain about me through third parties, that is ... I wouldn't expect that from her. And of course this hurts.
Meanwhile, on second thought, I think I'll hold off on apologizing to my predecessor. Upon further reflection, maybe he wasn't undermining me so much as cleaning up the mess that I essentially made. Therefore, maybe the last thing he wants to hear after all the crap I did and did not do is me apologizing again. If he has any angry feelings towards me, maybe (hopefully) it'll have cooled off by, say, next week.
I really can't stop blogging about this event, let alone relax, until everything is done. And I'm not at that stage yet.
Wednesday, July 30, 2014
The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey
#-1: Twins (Last Week: -1). I've been running around all week not planning stuff, putting out fires and cleaning up after my messes that I haven't really noticed that the Twinks finished this screening week at 3-3. Those three losses came consecutively in the first three games of a four-game series against the Chicago White Sox at home, a streak that had made their season dead-dead-dead and could really have turned the heat up on Ron Gardenhire. But they avoided a sweep Sunday in the bottom of the seventh or eighth inning, and with Kyle Gibson's very good outing in a 2-1 win over Kansas City Tuesday they somehow are back where they were the week before.
Anything else? Well, the trade deadline's coming up and the most notable player on the team is Kurt Suzuki, in regards to whether he'll get dealt or not.
I have nothing else to say. Well, besides that they go to Comiskey after they finish up their series at the Royals, then on Tuesday they return to Target Field to play the first of another weird mid-week two-game series -- the only one at home before they head back out on the road, surprisingly -- against lowly San Diego.
Anything else? Well, the trade deadline's coming up and the most notable player on the team is Kurt Suzuki, in regards to whether he'll get dealt or not.
I have nothing else to say. Well, besides that they go to Comiskey after they finish up their series at the Royals, then on Tuesday they return to Target Field to play the first of another weird mid-week two-game series -- the only one at home before they head back out on the road, surprisingly -- against lowly San Diego.
Tuesday, July 29, 2014
So I just sent out an apology letter to the person whom I believe felt taken advantage of when they were hosting the club.
A part of me still can't understand why she would be so upset. She never let on that we were treating them like dicks. So a part of me is hoping, in the best-case scenario, that she would reply to my letter with a, "What in the hell are you talking about?"
But as my mind slowly gravitates towards thinking that is the case, a part of me is still afraid that what I actually heard, stitched together from two conversations and synthesized with my analysis, is exactly what I have concluded: That we took all their food without giving any and I was being a strange asshole talking into the air. I didn't see that we were acting like juveniles during the games, and I don't think that they dropped any hints. But as perplexing an about-face would be, I have to make contingency plans if that's the case.
Corollary: I'm afraid she'll look at the letter, go, "What in the hell is this?" and instead of talking to me, she reaches out to other people from whom I had heard she was mad at me. And even though I think saying sorry is the first thing you should do in order to make things right, spreading this letter to third parties might make the situation worse. I don't know if either party she might talk to would then start yelling at me for misconstruing what they said ... which leads me back to saying and doing the wrong thing, which got me in trouble in the first place (I think).
Major damage control; it sucks.
A part of me still can't understand why she would be so upset. She never let on that we were treating them like dicks. So a part of me is hoping, in the best-case scenario, that she would reply to my letter with a, "What in the hell are you talking about?"
But as my mind slowly gravitates towards thinking that is the case, a part of me is still afraid that what I actually heard, stitched together from two conversations and synthesized with my analysis, is exactly what I have concluded: That we took all their food without giving any and I was being a strange asshole talking into the air. I didn't see that we were acting like juveniles during the games, and I don't think that they dropped any hints. But as perplexing an about-face would be, I have to make contingency plans if that's the case.
Corollary: I'm afraid she'll look at the letter, go, "What in the hell is this?" and instead of talking to me, she reaches out to other people from whom I had heard she was mad at me. And even though I think saying sorry is the first thing you should do in order to make things right, spreading this letter to third parties might make the situation worse. I don't know if either party she might talk to would then start yelling at me for misconstruing what they said ... which leads me back to saying and doing the wrong thing, which got me in trouble in the first place (I think).
Major damage control; it sucks.
Monday, July 28, 2014
OK, Now Can I Run Home And Hide?
And I must say that it was a smashing time -- no thanks to me, of course, because I really didn't do shit. The lofty grandeur of the party was awesome. And I think the attendees could sense that this could not only be good for them and their kids, but it could be just plain awesome to go to. This was the largest annual gathering of this I can remember. Totally epic party, at least far as chaste shindigs go ... and I contributed little to nothing.
After it was over the host/director of the party and I sat down for a chat. Do you remember movies where there's a scene in which the good guy sits down and has dinner with the bad guy, and it seems all peaceful on the surface but you can sense the tension underneath? Yeah, that's kind of what our little chat after the party was. This was a dressing down/this-is-what-happened speech. And -- and I totally mean this -- she calmly told me how she took control. She did this because she is a bitch. She said that about herself. Also, she knew that although I couldn't get answers about anything from my alma mater, she can. And then she cackled. And then I cackled -- partly because I knew that to be an indisputable fact, partly because I think she could have my degree revoked if she wanted.
But I will say this: She ordered up a tremendous party. And I think she, as well as you, would agree that Bitches Get Shit Done. Given her behavior and attitude I would have been upset with her if I knew I had more invested in this party. But since I totally underestimated what it would be and became overwhelmed by what it had become, this was clearly her show, and I cannot dispute the results. And as she continued to explain herself (over the course of a few hours, in fact -- I decided to cancel dinner at home with my parents, we were having such a good time), as she continued to give examples from her life that she knew I could take as bitchy ... well, I've got to admit, the more I like her. The more I saw that we were two vastly different people, the more I like -- or at least admire/respect -- her.
Now, do I want to get on her bad side? I don't want to even think about that.
---
Now, onto damage control. ...
I still don't understand this completely, but I am going on the assumption that a person who hosts us for games no longer wants to do that because the group who watches, as well as I, have taken advantage of their generosity. I don't understand why they would not have told me this first; I have no reason to believe that we do not have a good vibe. But I need to deal with this with an apology. Besides, I'm getting mixed messages; not only have I caught wind of her anger from two different sources (albeit secondhand, and one of these sources could have told the other, so really it would only be one source), but what was mentioned were me talking to myself and acting out -- two things that only someone who's been around me would know.
After that I have to talk to my predecessor. I'm glad this is all over, but I may have bollixed this up so much that maybe I'm not cut out for this. I'm just not ... well, I'm worn out, partly because I feel responsible for being irresponsible in setting up this party. After getting home all I wanted to do was curl up in my bed and hide under the covers for the rest of my life. This socializing stuff isn't for me.
After it was over the host/director of the party and I sat down for a chat. Do you remember movies where there's a scene in which the good guy sits down and has dinner with the bad guy, and it seems all peaceful on the surface but you can sense the tension underneath? Yeah, that's kind of what our little chat after the party was. This was a dressing down/this-is-what-happened speech. And -- and I totally mean this -- she calmly told me how she took control. She did this because she is a bitch. She said that about herself. Also, she knew that although I couldn't get answers about anything from my alma mater, she can. And then she cackled. And then I cackled -- partly because I knew that to be an indisputable fact, partly because I think she could have my degree revoked if she wanted.
But I will say this: She ordered up a tremendous party. And I think she, as well as you, would agree that Bitches Get Shit Done. Given her behavior and attitude I would have been upset with her if I knew I had more invested in this party. But since I totally underestimated what it would be and became overwhelmed by what it had become, this was clearly her show, and I cannot dispute the results. And as she continued to explain herself (over the course of a few hours, in fact -- I decided to cancel dinner at home with my parents, we were having such a good time), as she continued to give examples from her life that she knew I could take as bitchy ... well, I've got to admit, the more I like her. The more I saw that we were two vastly different people, the more I like -- or at least admire/respect -- her.
Now, do I want to get on her bad side? I don't want to even think about that.
---
Now, onto damage control. ...
I still don't understand this completely, but I am going on the assumption that a person who hosts us for games no longer wants to do that because the group who watches, as well as I, have taken advantage of their generosity. I don't understand why they would not have told me this first; I have no reason to believe that we do not have a good vibe. But I need to deal with this with an apology. Besides, I'm getting mixed messages; not only have I caught wind of her anger from two different sources (albeit secondhand, and one of these sources could have told the other, so really it would only be one source), but what was mentioned were me talking to myself and acting out -- two things that only someone who's been around me would know.
After that I have to talk to my predecessor. I'm glad this is all over, but I may have bollixed this up so much that maybe I'm not cut out for this. I'm just not ... well, I'm worn out, partly because I feel responsible for being irresponsible in setting up this party. After getting home all I wanted to do was curl up in my bed and hide under the covers for the rest of my life. This socializing stuff isn't for me.
Sunday, July 27, 2014
I came in and for the next four hours I was largely useless. I wiped, and I moved a bit, but mostly I was a bystander to others' plans. I would have been OK with that, except that my leadership, competence and manhood has been questioned by someone ... someone whom I may have tried working with today.
The worse part of the day was helping this guy move a rug. I thought I was helping, but I didn't get a good enough grip on it, and just before it hits the floor the guy tells me to give up my end. I thought he was going to let me get another chance to grip it, but instead he reaches out to grab my side. So see him clutch both sides of a wide carpet in a "V" shape, while he's walking bowlegged to the far end of the room. Obviously it's a two-man job. And I was just standing there, with my limp dick in my hands 'cause I couldn't help this guy carry fucking one-half of a rug.
---
What am I doing here? They're doing all the credit; from what I heard last week, I'm about to get all the blame.
But then I realized something: I hold the pursestrings. They're expecting to get reimbursed by me. Ah! So that's why I'm here. This is a reason for existence! I have to keep saying that to myself: I hold the money ... I hold the money ... I hold the money. ...
But then I realize that I've been allowing them to buy all the shit. Not only that, I tell them to save the receipts so I can pay them back. That doesn't mean they're limiting themselves to some phantom budget even I haven't articulated. So they've just run roughshod over me. This is going to eat up the whole fucking account, isn't it?
---
Oh yeah, just like Friday night, there was a party, and I was in a similar attitude of "Fuck it, why not have fun while I'm going down in flames?"
This time, though, there was no crowd, nor was there some weird protector who threatened me while not looking at me. Most of the girls were away, but so were nearly all of the customers.
I missed my ****a, who left a bit earlier than I thought was the end time of the party wearing this fucking hot bebe body stocking. But there was only one girl dancing for one guy there, while another guy was waiting. The waiting guy left, and the guy getting a dance got done (he also got done doing something with his pants, which I unfortunately noticed while I was looking in to see if they were finished). But ... hey, no guys! In fact, the host of the party, a guy, was downstairs cleaning up the food. He told me to go back upstairs and wait. He didn't care, and/or he didn't suspect a thing.
Maybe I should cum to this guy's parties more often.
So I wait for her to get done, to go back to the dressing room and pee. We go back into the large living room that serves as the dancing room -- again, for the first time I've seen it, just us two -- and she immediately takes me to the coasters with pictures of vaginas. The host, by the way, has pictures of his now-grown sons, as well as a screed against taxes. Hardcore libertarian contrarian, I believe -- probably a guy I would not want to talk to, yet he's awesome when it comes to parties.
Oh yeah -- I decided that this girl -- er, woman -- showing me these vagina coasters meant that she would want me to reciprocate. BAM! Went out my cock! And she goes, "No, we can't do that here."
"But do you do that?"
"No."
Oh, fuck. That didn't stop her from groping/rubbing me over my pants ... except that she forgot that I did not button my fly, therefore her fingers slipped into my netheregions and she did touch my pee-pee, at least for a second!
That's all I got, although she let me touch her all over the place, to the point of finger-banging, in fact. At the end, when I pleaded with her to touch it, she replied, "Maybe some other time?"
So you're saying there's a chance?
By the way, the stripper I'm talking about is the one I've referred to in the past as Chelsea Handler rode hard and put away wet.
---
Back to the party. My body is feeling good, like the day will be a good day. My heart betrays my mind, which knows -- knows -- that something unforeseen will blindside me and I will once again be stuck looking like a goddamn fool. I just have to hope that people will not disrespect me ... and that I don't give them a reason to ridicule and/or ignore me.
What I have to avoid, I have no fucking idea. But apparently my predecessor may have already done that. While trying to sleep earlier this evening I re-read the e-mail blast. I noticed something: It made no mention of me. I was just shunted off to the side, like I didn't matter.
Maybe he forgot to add me in. But I sure as fuck am entitled to some respect, respect he apparently refuses to give me.
I thought he was a cool guy. Now -- now, I have the right to ask him some questions. Like, this week.
The worse part of the day was helping this guy move a rug. I thought I was helping, but I didn't get a good enough grip on it, and just before it hits the floor the guy tells me to give up my end. I thought he was going to let me get another chance to grip it, but instead he reaches out to grab my side. So see him clutch both sides of a wide carpet in a "V" shape, while he's walking bowlegged to the far end of the room. Obviously it's a two-man job. And I was just standing there, with my limp dick in my hands 'cause I couldn't help this guy carry fucking one-half of a rug.
---
What am I doing here? They're doing all the credit; from what I heard last week, I'm about to get all the blame.
But then I realized something: I hold the pursestrings. They're expecting to get reimbursed by me. Ah! So that's why I'm here. This is a reason for existence! I have to keep saying that to myself: I hold the money ... I hold the money ... I hold the money. ...
But then I realize that I've been allowing them to buy all the shit. Not only that, I tell them to save the receipts so I can pay them back. That doesn't mean they're limiting themselves to some phantom budget even I haven't articulated. So they've just run roughshod over me. This is going to eat up the whole fucking account, isn't it?
---
Oh yeah, just like Friday night, there was a party, and I was in a similar attitude of "Fuck it, why not have fun while I'm going down in flames?"
This time, though, there was no crowd, nor was there some weird protector who threatened me while not looking at me. Most of the girls were away, but so were nearly all of the customers.
I missed my ****a, who left a bit earlier than I thought was the end time of the party wearing this fucking hot bebe body stocking. But there was only one girl dancing for one guy there, while another guy was waiting. The waiting guy left, and the guy getting a dance got done (he also got done doing something with his pants, which I unfortunately noticed while I was looking in to see if they were finished). But ... hey, no guys! In fact, the host of the party, a guy, was downstairs cleaning up the food. He told me to go back upstairs and wait. He didn't care, and/or he didn't suspect a thing.
Maybe I should cum to this guy's parties more often.
So I wait for her to get done, to go back to the dressing room and pee. We go back into the large living room that serves as the dancing room -- again, for the first time I've seen it, just us two -- and she immediately takes me to the coasters with pictures of vaginas. The host, by the way, has pictures of his now-grown sons, as well as a screed against taxes. Hardcore libertarian contrarian, I believe -- probably a guy I would not want to talk to, yet he's awesome when it comes to parties.
Oh yeah -- I decided that this girl -- er, woman -- showing me these vagina coasters meant that she would want me to reciprocate. BAM! Went out my cock! And she goes, "No, we can't do that here."
"But do you do that?"
"No."
Oh, fuck. That didn't stop her from groping/rubbing me over my pants ... except that she forgot that I did not button my fly, therefore her fingers slipped into my netheregions and she did touch my pee-pee, at least for a second!
That's all I got, although she let me touch her all over the place, to the point of finger-banging, in fact. At the end, when I pleaded with her to touch it, she replied, "Maybe some other time?"
So you're saying there's a chance?
By the way, the stripper I'm talking about is the one I've referred to in the past as Chelsea Handler rode hard and put away wet.
---
Back to the party. My body is feeling good, like the day will be a good day. My heart betrays my mind, which knows -- knows -- that something unforeseen will blindside me and I will once again be stuck looking like a goddamn fool. I just have to hope that people will not disrespect me ... and that I don't give them a reason to ridicule and/or ignore me.
What I have to avoid, I have no fucking idea. But apparently my predecessor may have already done that. While trying to sleep earlier this evening I re-read the e-mail blast. I noticed something: It made no mention of me. I was just shunted off to the side, like I didn't matter.
Maybe he forgot to add me in. But I sure as fuck am entitled to some respect, respect he apparently refuses to give me.
I thought he was a cool guy. Now -- now, I have the right to ask him some questions. Like, this week.
Saturday, July 26, 2014
So because I was feeling self-destructive tonight -- so, someone thinks I shouldn't be president? Well, maybe I really shouldn't -- I decided to go to a house party last night. Probably unbecoming, if not firable, to do so, but I no longer gave a shit. Touched a girl's boobs, opened my fly up for her to see my dick fur, she told me to keep it closed, but when I gave her my money I made sure my dick head was sticking out. I just hope the guy on the other side of the room didn't see it.
---
Earlier in the hour I was there I was about to go down some stairs when some guy, the host's friend, warned ... no, threatened me not to go down there without a lady. "You know the rules. I don't want to have to kick you out." The creepiest thing about him when he said that, and that just makes me more pissed off, is that when he threatened me, he stood up but didn't look at me. No, he was facing 90 degrees away from me. That's just fucking weird. So he's dead to me, fuck him. I was trying to give it back to him the rest of the night.
Then it turns out there were a lot of guys just going down the stairs to hang out. Maybe that's why he decided to get on my case. However, I never saw him threaten anybody else. So, I don't appreciate how he threatened me, but there was a reason to get all snippy about it. And, in retrospect, it may not have been a good idea to yell at and ignore a friend of a stripper.
---
The only good thing to come out what's shaping up to be an incredibly shitty week: I found my house key! I was looking for something else when it was in one of my bags o' stuff. I found both things lying next to each other. Good -- I didn't lose it after all!
---
So after hitting the bed at 11:30 I've been up since just before 5. There's no reason for me to be up, yet I'm stressing out over the stuff I have to get to. There's so much shit I still need to do, but I don't know if I can do it.
So, maybe this person who thinks I suck is right. Maybe I'm not cut out for this job. This is so overwhelming.
I'm a fraud, a fake, a no-good bastard. Why would anyone think I could lead anything? I'm going to make a fool out of myself.
What am I doing?
---
Earlier in the hour I was there I was about to go down some stairs when some guy, the host's friend, warned ... no, threatened me not to go down there without a lady. "You know the rules. I don't want to have to kick you out." The creepiest thing about him when he said that, and that just makes me more pissed off, is that when he threatened me, he stood up but didn't look at me. No, he was facing 90 degrees away from me. That's just fucking weird. So he's dead to me, fuck him. I was trying to give it back to him the rest of the night.
Then it turns out there were a lot of guys just going down the stairs to hang out. Maybe that's why he decided to get on my case. However, I never saw him threaten anybody else. So, I don't appreciate how he threatened me, but there was a reason to get all snippy about it. And, in retrospect, it may not have been a good idea to yell at and ignore a friend of a stripper.
---
The only good thing to come out what's shaping up to be an incredibly shitty week: I found my house key! I was looking for something else when it was in one of my bags o' stuff. I found both things lying next to each other. Good -- I didn't lose it after all!
---
So after hitting the bed at 11:30 I've been up since just before 5. There's no reason for me to be up, yet I'm stressing out over the stuff I have to get to. There's so much shit I still need to do, but I don't know if I can do it.
So, maybe this person who thinks I suck is right. Maybe I'm not cut out for this job. This is so overwhelming.
I'm a fraud, a fake, a no-good bastard. Why would anyone think I could lead anything? I'm going to make a fool out of myself.
What am I doing?
Friday, July 25, 2014
Stuff I Am Giving To Goodwill
- White socks with old red "adidas" logo and red stripes (one of them has a big hole, but they can't stay up)
- Socks, heather-colored (?) with white ring (can't stay up)
- Grey socks, blue-and-black checkered (holes in both)
- White socks (one of them has a big hole, but they can't stay up)
- Socks, black (holes in both)
- Purple Gap boxers with white double stripes (can't stay up)
- Baby blue Gap briefs with white-black-dark green-black-white band (can't stay up)
- Dark checkered Gap shorts (vertical tear to the right side of the left seat pocket)
- Porno pants (tear, inner right thigh)
Oh, You Weren't Gonna Yell At Me?
Mother asks me, "Hey, have you sent the 529 application yet?"
I tell the truth: "Uhhh ... no."
"Why the hell haven't you? What's wrong with you? I've got to get our granddaughter on a college plan right now!!!"
So I didn't say that. Instead, what I actually said was a lie: "Yeah."
To which Mother replied, actually, "Oh, I ask because if you didn't, I'd call them to ask about fees."
So then I changed my mind and told the truth: "Oh! Well, in that case, I hadn't sent it in yet."
To which Mother replied, "Why you say you sent it in and not you say didn't send it? Were you lying to me then or are you lying to me now? Why do you lie?!"
But I didn't say that, either. I mean, that's weird, right? Saying that you did, then saying that you didn't. I mean, who does that? Well, to be honest, My Father does that a lot. Shows how ... well, cowardly he is when his answers depend on what reactions the person speaking to her gives him. That's where I get that visceral reaction from. Also, I kind of understand his point.
So, to make sure that I actually did what I said I already did, I have to send an application that, if my parents had their druthers, would rather not be sent. Just so I stick to my story. What a waste of a stamp.
Maybe I'll wait and instead make a call to the brokerage house on my own anyway. Maybe at the end of it all it doesn't matter if it gets sent now or later or not at all. But let me say, this has been an extremely shitty past 48 hours.
I tell the truth: "Uhhh ... no."
"Why the hell haven't you? What's wrong with you? I've got to get our granddaughter on a college plan right now!!!"
So I didn't say that. Instead, what I actually said was a lie: "Yeah."
To which Mother replied, actually, "Oh, I ask because if you didn't, I'd call them to ask about fees."
So then I changed my mind and told the truth: "Oh! Well, in that case, I hadn't sent it in yet."
To which Mother replied, "Why you say you sent it in and not you say didn't send it? Were you lying to me then or are you lying to me now? Why do you lie?!"
But I didn't say that, either. I mean, that's weird, right? Saying that you did, then saying that you didn't. I mean, who does that? Well, to be honest, My Father does that a lot. Shows how ... well, cowardly he is when his answers depend on what reactions the person speaking to her gives him. That's where I get that visceral reaction from. Also, I kind of understand his point.
So, to make sure that I actually did what I said I already did, I have to send an application that, if my parents had their druthers, would rather not be sent. Just so I stick to my story. What a waste of a stamp.
Maybe I'll wait and instead make a call to the brokerage house on my own anyway. Maybe at the end of it all it doesn't matter if it gets sent now or later or not at all. But let me say, this has been an extremely shitty past 48 hours.
Thursday, July 24, 2014
Questioned, Attacked, Challenged ... And, Finally, Undermined
I really felt good about the party Sunday yesterday (Wednesday) morning. Honestly, I didn't feel that way before. All the planning and stuff was overwhelming. But for about an hour we, the host and I hashed things out. The host of this party likes to, uh, party, and said she was more than happy to prepare the food, which is one of the big things we needed to tackle. From there we made a list of what we needed to buy, stuff that can be done over the weekend. She added some things that went way over my head, shit like signage and balloons. So you mean I have to go get a sign made? And balloons made, too? But I'm no party planner, and so I defer to her judgement.
But then my predecessor leaves me a voicemail after work. He was, to put it mildly, not happy. He got wind of some, shall we say, rumblings about -- ahem -- me. Shit about what I'm doing, and not doing, for Sunday, as well as the all-important parties in the fall. First of all, I don't know how he's getting questions. He's not with the club anymore, so why are people coming to him?
I was in knots after I left him a message asking him to call me back. I've never heard him this concerned, if not angry, before.
When he called back for dinner, the other shoe dropped. He had a laundry list of issues concerning my leadership -- none of which was communicated to me, at all, till now, several days before this big day.
I will attempt to refute these issues one-by-one:
Great; I have all these suspicious people in the shadows trying to take me down. I don't know who it is that doesn't like me, but I'm scared that I'll see them Sunday. What the fuck am I supposed to do?
And in the meantime I still need to order the cake, maybe get the balloons, maybe get the sign ... goddamn, all of these things that I thought I could handle I don't think I can handle now because someone who I trust a lot now doubts that I can handle it. You know, how many balloons do we need, anyway? And do we really have to have a sign? (Do you think she's getting pissed that I'm asking so many questions? Is she the one who complained about me? You know, if I weren't so lost in preparing for this party, I would consider her to be overbearing. Then again, the possibility that she did an end-run around me to lodge a complaint about me would make her overbearing as well.)
All I can do is the best I can. I buy, I get, I prepare, I make, I talk, hopefully I smile, and I tolerate. And people will tolerate me. Maybe. The best that I can do. If he doesn't think that's good enough ... well, that's a problem.
---
I was going to sleep on this. Maybe I'm being defensive, or overreacting, or even paranoid. But when I came back on the Internet to type this it turns out he did make good on something he alluded to in our one-sided conversation: He got back onto the e-mail blast and asked people to help prepare for the party.
I wish he hadn't done that.
Look ... well, let me back up a bit. He's the first president of the club, and as he told me, he busted his ass in order to get this club up and running. The way he describes it, there was and is a lot more toil than I guess he's intimating I have done for this club. Beyond the fact that we didn't do a whole lot while he was president, I was making sure I hit the big dates in the calendar just to keep the club alive. But he doesn't think I've been doing my job, or else he wouldn't have e-mailed everyone late tonight begging for help.
Let's be real: The optics -- how this looks -- totally undercuts my authority. Everyone who got that e-mail has to be going, "Wait ... why is he getting into the middle of this?" And I have no answer. I totally got my manhood taken away from me. Totally uncalled for. Maybe it was necessary, maybe it was deserved. But there were so many better ways to ask for help, all of them without the need to call me out like this.
This hurts. A lot.
He has a direction for this club. And he seems to be worried about how I "represent" it. If who I am and how I act results in damage to the club, I truly, sincerely think I need to step aside. It would be better for all of us, and the club, if I just fucking leave if I'm such a goddamn embarrassment. Looks like he wants it; he put the wheels in motion tonight.
---
This is how obsessed I am over this now: My car was totally acting up on the way home, had a bitch of a time accelerating. It's to the point where I have to tell my parents I'm bringing it into the shop, so they might need to drop me off at work next week. Despite that, I can tell you right now that I am totally not worried about that because I have to worry about all this the party, my job, the whole goddamn thing.
And I need to go to sleep so I can function at work tomorrow, but I'm not tired at all. I tried to take a nap this evening but I'm so wired fucking worrying about this bullshit.
Am I going to lose all that I hold dear just because some people have a crisis in confidence over me?
---
I wonder if someone found out about me. Whether it was through my facebook, where I do not hide the fact that I friend a lot of Playboy, fitness and weightlifting babes, or ... well, this blog. Is either thing unbecoming of a leader of a club? Maybe I should have thought about it more once I got hired, but I do remember having a couple fleeting thoughts of, "Wait a second -- will this make me look bad?" And then I follow that up with, "Oh, who cares, she's hot!!!"
Hey! You! Are you out there? You don't like who I friend or what I talk about? So now you're gonna question and attack and challenge my authority -- behind my back?! Why don't you do me a favor and have the decency to say it to my face, could ya? PLEASE?!?!?! Really, seriously, please, 'cause if I'm hurting the club, I like to know, I REALLY WANT TO FUCKING KNOW!!!
But then my predecessor leaves me a voicemail after work. He was, to put it mildly, not happy. He got wind of some, shall we say, rumblings about -- ahem -- me. Shit about what I'm doing, and not doing, for Sunday, as well as the all-important parties in the fall. First of all, I don't know how he's getting questions. He's not with the club anymore, so why are people coming to him?
I was in knots after I left him a message asking him to call me back. I've never heard him this concerned, if not angry, before.
When he called back for dinner, the other shoe dropped. He had a laundry list of issues concerning my leadership -- none of which was communicated to me, at all, till now, several days before this big day.
I will attempt to refute these issues one-by-one:
- Lack of Communication Concerning Sunday: Maybe I'm being a little insular. But honestly, I'm giving myself a pass over this. Not only have we hashed things out (at least I think we have -- I suspect that one of the people who complained about me is the person who's hosting the event), but I am going into this with the assumption that no one is able to help me. I remember helping out last year and it was just me, my predecessor, and the person who is hosting the event. This year it's just me and her; both the predecessor and the other current board member are out of town this weekend. So let's just say we have not had a good track record of getting volunteers, so why bother to ask? Now, I didn't think it'd be a problem; I'll be helping prepare Saturday for a couple hours, then be back for a couple more on Sunday. These parties have been so small that setting up and tearing down have never been a huge operation. The two of us would have been able to do it just fine. Guess somebody begs to differ.
- Refusing To Go To Our Fall Parties: I kind of don't get this, even though he tried to explain it to me again and again. Someone told him that he or she weren't coming -- anymore, at all, never have, don't know. Again, I'm blindsided by this. I was going to get things rolling next month, but someone seems to take issue with ... well, I thought it was the venue, but turns out it is me. Regardless of that, my attitude is, I was going to make an announcement during the party, then ramp up communication over the month, and we'll have all our diehards and if anyone else wants to show up, cool. I see no problem with that. But back to me ...
- I Wandered Off At The House Once: OK ... um ... this is humiliating to hear this. It was brought to his attention that I walked around the house during one of the fall parties. I don't remember this at all, but since I talk to myself constantly, I probably walked to -- oh, I don't know, the far end of the kitchen or something. I know I did not go where I was not allowed. But apparently someone saw me doing something that he or she thought was creepy, and therefore brought it to my predecessor's attention. I have no idea how this affects my leadership, yet this is the thing that freaks me out the most: Being known as a weirdo. How the fuck am I supposed to defend myself against this accusation? (BTW, if the person raising this complaint is the one who hosted those particular parties ... well, the fact that she or he seemed cool to me and yet didn't address this issue to my face is ... very, very disappointing.)
- Professionalism: OK, this is the one that bugs me the most. I'm not sure if he cited a specific example. But it seems as if this is a broad concept that, from what he hears, is lacking in me. This is the most vexing problem to the club, and yet, in my opinion, it's the most superfluous and juvenile. Seriously, who in the fuck cares how professional I carry myself? But he devoted the majority of his call to reminding me that I'm the representative of the university, and how this party is the first exposure many of these guys have to the club, etc. This criticism hurts, it really does. And yet this is the one where I know, for a fact, I will not change about me. Guys, I'm a temp who lives at home with his parents, and who doesn't like to shower nor shave. And I'm the president. Sad but true.
Great; I have all these suspicious people in the shadows trying to take me down. I don't know who it is that doesn't like me, but I'm scared that I'll see them Sunday. What the fuck am I supposed to do?
And in the meantime I still need to order the cake, maybe get the balloons, maybe get the sign ... goddamn, all of these things that I thought I could handle I don't think I can handle now because someone who I trust a lot now doubts that I can handle it. You know, how many balloons do we need, anyway? And do we really have to have a sign? (Do you think she's getting pissed that I'm asking so many questions? Is she the one who complained about me? You know, if I weren't so lost in preparing for this party, I would consider her to be overbearing. Then again, the possibility that she did an end-run around me to lodge a complaint about me would make her overbearing as well.)
All I can do is the best I can. I buy, I get, I prepare, I make, I talk, hopefully I smile, and I tolerate. And people will tolerate me. Maybe. The best that I can do. If he doesn't think that's good enough ... well, that's a problem.
---
I was going to sleep on this. Maybe I'm being defensive, or overreacting, or even paranoid. But when I came back on the Internet to type this it turns out he did make good on something he alluded to in our one-sided conversation: He got back onto the e-mail blast and asked people to help prepare for the party.
I wish he hadn't done that.
Look ... well, let me back up a bit. He's the first president of the club, and as he told me, he busted his ass in order to get this club up and running. The way he describes it, there was and is a lot more toil than I guess he's intimating I have done for this club. Beyond the fact that we didn't do a whole lot while he was president, I was making sure I hit the big dates in the calendar just to keep the club alive. But he doesn't think I've been doing my job, or else he wouldn't have e-mailed everyone late tonight begging for help.
Let's be real: The optics -- how this looks -- totally undercuts my authority. Everyone who got that e-mail has to be going, "Wait ... why is he getting into the middle of this?" And I have no answer. I totally got my manhood taken away from me. Totally uncalled for. Maybe it was necessary, maybe it was deserved. But there were so many better ways to ask for help, all of them without the need to call me out like this.
This hurts. A lot.
He has a direction for this club. And he seems to be worried about how I "represent" it. If who I am and how I act results in damage to the club, I truly, sincerely think I need to step aside. It would be better for all of us, and the club, if I just fucking leave if I'm such a goddamn embarrassment. Looks like he wants it; he put the wheels in motion tonight.
---
This is how obsessed I am over this now: My car was totally acting up on the way home, had a bitch of a time accelerating. It's to the point where I have to tell my parents I'm bringing it into the shop, so they might need to drop me off at work next week. Despite that, I can tell you right now that I am totally not worried about that because I have to worry about all this the party, my job, the whole goddamn thing.
And I need to go to sleep so I can function at work tomorrow, but I'm not tired at all. I tried to take a nap this evening but I'm so wired fucking worrying about this bullshit.
Am I going to lose all that I hold dear just because some people have a crisis in confidence over me?
---
I wonder if someone found out about me. Whether it was through my facebook, where I do not hide the fact that I friend a lot of Playboy, fitness and weightlifting babes, or ... well, this blog. Is either thing unbecoming of a leader of a club? Maybe I should have thought about it more once I got hired, but I do remember having a couple fleeting thoughts of, "Wait a second -- will this make me look bad?" And then I follow that up with, "Oh, who cares, she's hot!!!"
Hey! You! Are you out there? You don't like who I friend or what I talk about? So now you're gonna question and attack and challenge my authority -- behind my back?! Why don't you do me a favor and have the decency to say it to my face, could ya? PLEASE?!?!?! Really, seriously, please, 'cause if I'm hurting the club, I like to know, I REALLY WANT TO FUCKING KNOW!!!
Wednesday, July 23, 2014
The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey
#-1: Twins (Last Week: -1). Well, you need one of two things to happen to reach the top spot in the WMNSS with a 1-4 week. Either you have to be the only team in town in-season, or all the other teams are in the news for all the wrong reasons.
The Twinks have to thank their lucky stars, then, that both things happened to them in order to deflect local sports attention, let alone help them reach the top spot in the survey, despite the fact that they opened the second half of the Major League Baseball season by getting swept, at home, but the Tampa Bay Rays, a team that has very little fan loyalty but has overcome a horrible beginning to their year to play respectably behind all the young talent they've been able to find (though not necessarily pay for; expect staff ace David Price to be moved before the trade deadline). Contrast that to the Twinks, who had four days off and are currently acting like they're taking the rest of the season off.
Tuesday I was able to tune into the late innings of the game against Cleveland. The squad had a runner on third in the bottom of the eighth trailing 4-2, but the guy batting (didn't catch the name, but who cares?) swung through strike three on a curve. Matt Guerrier, who once performed very well several years ago in his first stint with the club, pissed himself and coughed up four more runs in the top of the ninth (oh yeah, the Twins are playing at home through the weekend) to put the game out of reach. In fact, the Twins should be winless for the week. Only an eighth-inning home run on Monday off the bat of the otherwise-still-cold Josh Willingham averted a winless week (they beat Cleveland 4-3). Once again the team's problems boil down to two things: Offense and pitching.
They finish the season with Cleveland this (Wednesday) morning, then host the White Sox for four game before heading back out on the road by beginning a three-game series against Kansas City Tuesday.
#-2: Vikings (Re-Entry!). ViQueens, ViQueens, ViQueens ... don't you guys ever fucking change. I believe that every National Football League franchise is the most popular team in their metropolitan area. (And as soon as I type this I know that's not true: New York has the Yankees and St. Louis the Cardinals, to cite two examples. Never mind.) But I swear that only Minnesota is interested in the Vikings just as much for all the drama they can whip up off the field as their prospects of success on it. This organization, starting as far back as I could remember to Tommy Kramer's DUI, through Randy Moss and the Whizzinator and The Love Boat, has always been able to trip over their own dicks and spill off the sports page and onto the front page.
What they did wrong this time (and specifically the Chris Kluwe/Special Teams Coach Mike Priefer controversy) is half-ass their response towards Priefer's homophobic comments. Apparently their own "investigation" revealed that Priefer did indeed say something to the effect of, "We should round up all the gay guys, put them on an island, and then nuke the island until it glows." Since Priefer initially denied saying that, not only does his comments break NFL policy regarding hateful statements, he lied to his employer. That appears to be a fireable offense, but instead he's been suspended three games -- two if he completes sensitivity training. So the team is saying that he did something wrong, but it wasn't so wrong that he should be shitcanned. I don't think that satisfies anyone; therefore they've waddled into the median of a two-lane highway and allowed itself to be run over both ways.
Then, to show that they ultimately are taking Priefer's side of this over Kluwe's, they have resorted to underhanded and mudslinging -- and in turn Kluwe decided to play in the mud with them. First of all, they were accused by Kluwe's representation for not releasing a completely unexpurgated copy of their investigation. Kluwe then announced that he was going to sue in order to prove that the Vikes cut him because he was outspoken in favor of gay rights. Finally, he got off the high road and intimated (in his very busy Twitter account) that he knows a lot of dirt on former Vikings players and coaches, most lurid an incident he witnessed where two ex-Vikings tried to fuck an underage young woman.
The organization, in a move that kind of surprises me because franchises usually don't like to play in the shit against former players, leaked an incident where Kluwe made fun of a member of the team support staff in the wake of the Penn St./Gerry Sandusky controvery. The team actually said that Kluwe cut a hole into his underwear where his anus is and pretended like this staff member, who is a Penn St. alum, raped him.
And this is where Kluwe, a guy who I thought had a lot of things going for him, burned through much of his currency with me. He admitted that he made fun of the Sandusky story and this Nittany Lion alum, then dismissed his actions by saying it pales in comparison to Priefer's comments about gays. I understand, logically, when Kluwe says the two things aren't the same. But when you're talking about rights for victims, be it homosexuals or molested children, one would think that a person sensitive to one issue would also be at least sympathetic towards the other. So I don't quite understand how Kluwe could blow the whistle on homophobia while at the same time dismissing a story involving the molestation of kids as horseplay.
I took a couple classes on the law while in college, and the one thing I took away from it is that you have to separate what you think is "moral" from what you think is "right." Because only the written law, and the rights derived thereof, is the matter of the court system. Any thinking of morality is thrown out the window -- quickly, in this particular case.
Both sides are obviously trying to paint the other as horribly as possible if and when Kluwe's wrongful termination lawsuit goes to court. The Vikings look like gay bashers and, worse, accomplices to a cover-up. Kluwe looks like a tattletale and now, worse a hypocrite. And yet none of that shit will matter once this officially hits the judicial system.
Who wins? Honestly, sports-talk radio and those who like to make fun of the Vikings. These guys are a never-ending shitshow, yet it's so fascinating to see how they fuck up in public that you can't help but watch. These guys find newer ways to embarrass themselves every couple years, and every single time it distracts from their play in games (and usually that's a good thing). So don't believe anyone who rolls his eyes whenever you talk about Kluwe and the soon-to-come civil suit. You know and that person knows as big a walking disaster the Minnesota Vikings are, they can always be counted on to give you something to talk about. And in the quietest part of the sports calendar, to a sports fan, such he-said he-said controversy fills the air with the joyful noise of schadenfreude.
The Twinks have to thank their lucky stars, then, that both things happened to them in order to deflect local sports attention, let alone help them reach the top spot in the survey, despite the fact that they opened the second half of the Major League Baseball season by getting swept, at home, but the Tampa Bay Rays, a team that has very little fan loyalty but has overcome a horrible beginning to their year to play respectably behind all the young talent they've been able to find (though not necessarily pay for; expect staff ace David Price to be moved before the trade deadline). Contrast that to the Twinks, who had four days off and are currently acting like they're taking the rest of the season off.
Tuesday I was able to tune into the late innings of the game against Cleveland. The squad had a runner on third in the bottom of the eighth trailing 4-2, but the guy batting (didn't catch the name, but who cares?) swung through strike three on a curve. Matt Guerrier, who once performed very well several years ago in his first stint with the club, pissed himself and coughed up four more runs in the top of the ninth (oh yeah, the Twins are playing at home through the weekend) to put the game out of reach. In fact, the Twins should be winless for the week. Only an eighth-inning home run on Monday off the bat of the otherwise-still-cold Josh Willingham averted a winless week (they beat Cleveland 4-3). Once again the team's problems boil down to two things: Offense and pitching.
They finish the season with Cleveland this (Wednesday) morning, then host the White Sox for four game before heading back out on the road by beginning a three-game series against Kansas City Tuesday.
#-2: Vikings (Re-Entry!). ViQueens, ViQueens, ViQueens ... don't you guys ever fucking change. I believe that every National Football League franchise is the most popular team in their metropolitan area. (And as soon as I type this I know that's not true: New York has the Yankees and St. Louis the Cardinals, to cite two examples. Never mind.) But I swear that only Minnesota is interested in the Vikings just as much for all the drama they can whip up off the field as their prospects of success on it. This organization, starting as far back as I could remember to Tommy Kramer's DUI, through Randy Moss and the Whizzinator and The Love Boat, has always been able to trip over their own dicks and spill off the sports page and onto the front page.
What they did wrong this time (and specifically the Chris Kluwe/Special Teams Coach Mike Priefer controversy) is half-ass their response towards Priefer's homophobic comments. Apparently their own "investigation" revealed that Priefer did indeed say something to the effect of, "We should round up all the gay guys, put them on an island, and then nuke the island until it glows." Since Priefer initially denied saying that, not only does his comments break NFL policy regarding hateful statements, he lied to his employer. That appears to be a fireable offense, but instead he's been suspended three games -- two if he completes sensitivity training. So the team is saying that he did something wrong, but it wasn't so wrong that he should be shitcanned. I don't think that satisfies anyone; therefore they've waddled into the median of a two-lane highway and allowed itself to be run over both ways.
Then, to show that they ultimately are taking Priefer's side of this over Kluwe's, they have resorted to underhanded and mudslinging -- and in turn Kluwe decided to play in the mud with them. First of all, they were accused by Kluwe's representation for not releasing a completely unexpurgated copy of their investigation. Kluwe then announced that he was going to sue in order to prove that the Vikes cut him because he was outspoken in favor of gay rights. Finally, he got off the high road and intimated (in his very busy Twitter account) that he knows a lot of dirt on former Vikings players and coaches, most lurid an incident he witnessed where two ex-Vikings tried to fuck an underage young woman.
The organization, in a move that kind of surprises me because franchises usually don't like to play in the shit against former players, leaked an incident where Kluwe made fun of a member of the team support staff in the wake of the Penn St./Gerry Sandusky controvery. The team actually said that Kluwe cut a hole into his underwear where his anus is and pretended like this staff member, who is a Penn St. alum, raped him.
And this is where Kluwe, a guy who I thought had a lot of things going for him, burned through much of his currency with me. He admitted that he made fun of the Sandusky story and this Nittany Lion alum, then dismissed his actions by saying it pales in comparison to Priefer's comments about gays. I understand, logically, when Kluwe says the two things aren't the same. But when you're talking about rights for victims, be it homosexuals or molested children, one would think that a person sensitive to one issue would also be at least sympathetic towards the other. So I don't quite understand how Kluwe could blow the whistle on homophobia while at the same time dismissing a story involving the molestation of kids as horseplay.
I took a couple classes on the law while in college, and the one thing I took away from it is that you have to separate what you think is "moral" from what you think is "right." Because only the written law, and the rights derived thereof, is the matter of the court system. Any thinking of morality is thrown out the window -- quickly, in this particular case.
Both sides are obviously trying to paint the other as horribly as possible if and when Kluwe's wrongful termination lawsuit goes to court. The Vikings look like gay bashers and, worse, accomplices to a cover-up. Kluwe looks like a tattletale and now, worse a hypocrite. And yet none of that shit will matter once this officially hits the judicial system.
Who wins? Honestly, sports-talk radio and those who like to make fun of the Vikings. These guys are a never-ending shitshow, yet it's so fascinating to see how they fuck up in public that you can't help but watch. These guys find newer ways to embarrass themselves every couple years, and every single time it distracts from their play in games (and usually that's a good thing). So don't believe anyone who rolls his eyes whenever you talk about Kluwe and the soon-to-come civil suit. You know and that person knows as big a walking disaster the Minnesota Vikings are, they can always be counted on to give you something to talk about. And in the quietest part of the sports calendar, to a sports fan, such he-said he-said controversy fills the air with the joyful noise of schadenfreude.
Tuesday, July 22, 2014
Anxiety, Anxiety
OK, the car really acted up now. On the way back from work I wanted to take side streets so that the Check Engine light wouldn't go on. Unfortunately it went on anyway. Worse, I had real trouble accelerating the car -- I mean, really bad trouble, really, really bad trouble. This wasn't in my head. Shifting through the gears was well nigh impossible, and I was stepping my foot on the gas pedal. It was really frustrating, even humiliating to see all these cars zip by me while they were only doing the speed limit, then see the car behind me that couldn't help tailgate finally have the next lane clear in order to get around me. I had a really hard time getting up to speed all the way home. Now maybe it was the weather; this was the first real humid workday of the summer, and maybe my car's reacting to that. But now I'm deathly afraid that it's going to happen again tomorrow, and that in fact it's going to be how it's acting until I have the chance to get it fixed, which, because of the cycle of my maxed-out credit card, probably is a couple weeks away. Will my car make it that long?
I get home and receive the results of a phone call I had with my alumni contact at my alma mater. I'm hosting this party this weekend and I'd started to get exasperated because I needed a head count so I could figure out how far into the club's coffers I'd need to feed this party. Well, the initial roster is way, way, way more than I thought it'd be. Great. So now I need to basically double/blow my budget for a party that everybody and their money seems to be attending. I'm low on funds everywhere; now I have to worry about the club's, too?
Because of the car and the party, I do what I usually do when I panic: Look at Internet porn and masturbate. And I did -- twice. And it doesn't help. A temporary moment of (self-)pleasure, then you realize that your problems are still there, dammit.
I get home and receive the results of a phone call I had with my alumni contact at my alma mater. I'm hosting this party this weekend and I'd started to get exasperated because I needed a head count so I could figure out how far into the club's coffers I'd need to feed this party. Well, the initial roster is way, way, way more than I thought it'd be. Great. So now I need to basically double/blow my budget for a party that everybody and their money seems to be attending. I'm low on funds everywhere; now I have to worry about the club's, too?
Because of the car and the party, I do what I usually do when I panic: Look at Internet porn and masturbate. And I did -- twice. And it doesn't help. A temporary moment of (self-)pleasure, then you realize that your problems are still there, dammit.
Monday, July 21, 2014
Road Trip, Part I (South Dakota)
OK, some pithy thoughts on the start our road trip across America:
- On the morning of June 19, the start of our road trip, it was pouring rain. I mean buckets, I mean biblical rain. Thank Buddha Enterprise picks us up; even if their branch was within walking distance, I would have been soaking wet if I tried doing that.
- My Fucking Father kind of made a fool of himself when he tried haggling over the price, specifically getting insurance to cover our huge one-way ride. I don't know if he believed if the amount he tossed out was one they accepted, but basically the guy who was helping us offered us a third tier of coverage, the addition of which was still acceptable to My Father to use his card. You know, maybe Father really is just hard of hearing.
- These rains that hit in the morning really affected southern Minnesota -- to the point where parts of 169 in Mankato were closed down due to standing water. That really fucked up our plans; all of the directions I printed out and AAA gave to us had us going through here. And since I've never driven through (or even been in) this part of the state, I didn't know where else I could turn. The saving grace, I guess, was the GPS, which, along with generally knowing where west and south were, allowed us to take side streets down beautiful Minnesota farmland and finally connect to a part of 169 that was still open. Probably set us back a couple hours, though.
- After escaping Mankato, and with the exception of one brief shower, the rain stopped and at some point during our drive out of Minnesota the sun came out.
- I heard people say that Big Sky country/the Great Plains/the part of America that's least populated is flat, and I can tell you that South Dakota certainly is. We were flying through the land, which basically is a lot of short, light green grass, at lightning speed without worry about either hills or curves.
- Not to say that South Dakota is ugly. I'll just tip you guys off that the next part of our trip, the states surrounding Yellowstone and the Grand Tetons, were much more bucolic. But I found the flat land of S.D. to have its own desolate beauty. You could see this overlooked piece of country for miles on some parts of the drive on 90 West. Maybe to some it's miles of nuthin'. But not to me. When I was a passenger I took several pictures, and I didn't mind the scenery at all.
- Expounding on the fact that we arrived at our Rapid City, S.D. hotel, the Howard Johnson (and it's technically not Howard Johnson's -- no possessive apostrophe "s") just as their Happy Hour was wrapping up, I kind of looked around and there are a few franchises that have something similar, and not in any adjoining restaurant but their own breakfast room (Portland, a couple places in Florida). If HoJo is the only hotel chain that does this, I might frequent them a little more.
- I may have heard it from people who've seen it before we did, but if I did hear this before, they are right: Mt. Rushmore is a lot smaller than I thought. There is an overlook, but from there you'll have to crane your head up to see the monument fairly off in the distance. There is a trail that takes you to what I think is the base of it, but if that's the case, you'd have to look straight up then. We didn't take the trail; in fact I don't think we spent more than half an hour there. It's like the time me and my cousins went to the Grand Canyon back in 1994; I doubt we spent more than 20 minutes looking over the gigantic gorge. I mean, it's not like we could just dive in there and look around. We took our pics then took off for, uh, Lake Powell, I think. I think I remember Matt Lauer telling Jay Leno on The Tonight Show a long time ago that a survey showed that a tourist spends an average of only that much at the Grand Canyon. So maybe I got that 20 minutes from that, and we spent a lot more time there. In fact I remember that I bought a shirt there. OK, maybe we stopped by the souvenir shop. Anyway, the point is we didn't stay there long because even though it's one of the most well-known landmarks of America, there isn't a whole lot you can do besides stare at it.
- After leaving Mt. Rushmore it got be really important to me to make sure I was behind the wheel driving the minivan full of my parents' stuff through at least a portion of every single state we were going to drive through. And not to sound like a dick, I also wanted Mother and my sister to do the same, to a lesser extent. To a lesser extent because I know this is one of those weird OCD things only I really cared about. But I can say with some authority that not only is this family not going to do this particular road trip again, there are parts of this country we went through almost a month ago that we never will set foot on again.
Sunday, July 20, 2014
Prisoner-Privatized Worker Sex: Two Comments
Click this link on a piece from a journalist, Paul Egan, doing actual journalism for an actual journalism outfit (aren't all journalism outfits embattled these days?), the Detroit Free Press.
My two things, each coming from the polar opposite sides that make up me, Unforgivable Wetness:
Grown-Up Point: This is yet another reason why privatizing public services is a fucking sham and needs to be stopped. Yeah, so what if it gets expensive. As I get older I realize that the public commonwealth/good cannot be run for profit if the services it provides keeps order in the citizenry. In fact, if it loses money, fine, so long as it does its job and everyone (besides anyone who's trying to make a buck off of it) is satisfied.
I'm just afraid that this fuck-up by Aramark will be swept aside because we're dealing with prisoners, the lowest form of human life. I assume, in fact, that Aramark banked on that, or at least the perception of that, in order to make their millions without public scrutiny. Even with this investigative report they could get away with it because I don't think a lot of people give a shit that prisoners are getting sick from maggot-infested food. I really don't, either. But if privatizing this public service results in lawsuits or, if I may be allowed to think alarmingly, prisoner revolt where they break out and start killing the people of Detroit (or at least what's left of them), why don't we just bring these prisons and jails under government control?
Perverted Point: So, Aramark whores sign up to work in jails because they get wet for prisoners, and so they took turns going into this walk-in cooler to kiss and give them handjobs ... and it was all caught on camera ... and since everything is on camera these days they had to have known they were being recorded ... and they probably didn't care?
I swear I must have seen that in a pictorial in Penthouse or Hustler, and if I didn't, they should done one like that, because God help me, that is fucking hot, if I weren't in a library right now I'd be jaggin' off to thinking about what that would be like! Of course, if it were a porn spread, the women, if not both men and women, would have to be white, not black like all the participants probably are.
My two things, each coming from the polar opposite sides that make up me, Unforgivable Wetness:
Grown-Up Point: This is yet another reason why privatizing public services is a fucking sham and needs to be stopped. Yeah, so what if it gets expensive. As I get older I realize that the public commonwealth/good cannot be run for profit if the services it provides keeps order in the citizenry. In fact, if it loses money, fine, so long as it does its job and everyone (besides anyone who's trying to make a buck off of it) is satisfied.
I'm just afraid that this fuck-up by Aramark will be swept aside because we're dealing with prisoners, the lowest form of human life. I assume, in fact, that Aramark banked on that, or at least the perception of that, in order to make their millions without public scrutiny. Even with this investigative report they could get away with it because I don't think a lot of people give a shit that prisoners are getting sick from maggot-infested food. I really don't, either. But if privatizing this public service results in lawsuits or, if I may be allowed to think alarmingly, prisoner revolt where they break out and start killing the people of Detroit (or at least what's left of them), why don't we just bring these prisons and jails under government control?
Perverted Point: So, Aramark whores sign up to work in jails because they get wet for prisoners, and so they took turns going into this walk-in cooler to kiss and give them handjobs ... and it was all caught on camera ... and since everything is on camera these days they had to have known they were being recorded ... and they probably didn't care?
I swear I must have seen that in a pictorial in Penthouse or Hustler, and if I didn't, they should done one like that, because God help me, that is fucking hot, if I weren't in a library right now I'd be jaggin' off to thinking about what that would be like! Of course, if it were a porn spread, the women, if not both men and women, would have to be white, not black like all the participants probably are.
Feeling Burned Tonight
So when I was at the intersection, which I was diverted to because one of the main thoroughfares remain closed southbound, I was at a crossroads. I had just been to the Minnesota United FC game, a 2-0 friendly win over Swansea, the first time a team from the English Premier League has ever played in this great state. While I enjoyed myself at the game, spending $36 depleted the $60 I took out that morning.
My plans were an and/or: I could go to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Division), or I could go to My Favorite Late-Night Italian Place. I checked out the balance of my checking account when I got the money that morning, and I was quickly chastened.
Another thing: I'm getting really good mileage on my car. The needle was barely below the full notch, but the 160 miles I've already racked up means that that needle should be at half full. Taking rights keep it up, but I know that eventually it'll go down, and I don't know if I wanted to aid that by going downtown and then going back to where I was just to eat.
But then I then started changing my mind:
Fine, fine, fine. I probably made that promise, and an impromptu dance on a night like this (when all the girls were giving at least two dances in the hour I was there, a first in my decade-plus patronizing this place) was the reason I extracted another $40. But then *****y shortchanged the time of her lapdance and reneged on her promise to watch my (admittedly boring) photos. She screwed me over, basically. *****y works like that, hustling especially on nights where it seems money is to be had. But a promise is a promise, and her mercenary tactics rubbed me the wrong way, particularly when I'm not rolling in the dough right now. Yeah, I guess I could have not gone, but that doesn't excuse her from what she did.
Then other stuff bothered me. Another of the dancers, Heaven, scratched my back while she was on-stage. Hard. Like I needed one of the other strippers to check my back to make sure I wasn't bleeding. Welts and a lot of pain. Surprised me; I thought Heaven had a more level head than this, but seeing that she basically let a guy paw her twat without getting money from him first, she really was blasted out of her mind like she said.
I did go back up to My Favorite Late-Night Italian Place -- right where I was -- and that's where I'm writing this ... while getting eaten alive by mosquitoes. Like I said before, yet risked going back because it was humid but virtually cloudy all day.
So I was paralyzed by indecision, spent money I shouldn't have spent, got taken advantage of by a stripper, was physically assaulted by a woman and insects, and wasted what appears to be a quarter tank of gas. Just because I decided to take a left rather than a right at a literal crossroads.
And the top of my back still hurts like fuck.
My plans were an and/or: I could go to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Division), or I could go to My Favorite Late-Night Italian Place. I checked out the balance of my checking account when I got the money that morning, and I was quickly chastened.
Another thing: I'm getting really good mileage on my car. The needle was barely below the full notch, but the 160 miles I've already racked up means that that needle should be at half full. Taking rights keep it up, but I know that eventually it'll go down, and I don't know if I wanted to aid that by going downtown and then going back to where I was just to eat.
But then I then started changing my mind:
- It's Saturday, and I haven't been down to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Edition) in at least a week, so I should go ...
- While waiting for the soccer traffic to clear I checked my wallet and I saw that I had only $10 -- or at least I thought I only had $10 -- so that seems as if I should not go ...
- But the road close means I'll be diverted to the other thoroughfare that sends me to the club, so I'll be going in that direction, therefore I should go ...
- Only to realize that at this intersection, I just need to take a right and I'll be at My Favorite Late-Night Italian Place, so why don't I just go there and not go ...
- But I was in the left turn lane, so I might as well go ...
- Wait a second ... I only have $10. That's not enough for me to eat, let alone enjoy with titties. Might as well get money on my way to the stripclub.
Fine, fine, fine. I probably made that promise, and an impromptu dance on a night like this (when all the girls were giving at least two dances in the hour I was there, a first in my decade-plus patronizing this place) was the reason I extracted another $40. But then *****y shortchanged the time of her lapdance and reneged on her promise to watch my (admittedly boring) photos. She screwed me over, basically. *****y works like that, hustling especially on nights where it seems money is to be had. But a promise is a promise, and her mercenary tactics rubbed me the wrong way, particularly when I'm not rolling in the dough right now. Yeah, I guess I could have not gone, but that doesn't excuse her from what she did.
Then other stuff bothered me. Another of the dancers, Heaven, scratched my back while she was on-stage. Hard. Like I needed one of the other strippers to check my back to make sure I wasn't bleeding. Welts and a lot of pain. Surprised me; I thought Heaven had a more level head than this, but seeing that she basically let a guy paw her twat without getting money from him first, she really was blasted out of her mind like she said.
I did go back up to My Favorite Late-Night Italian Place -- right where I was -- and that's where I'm writing this ... while getting eaten alive by mosquitoes. Like I said before, yet risked going back because it was humid but virtually cloudy all day.
So I was paralyzed by indecision, spent money I shouldn't have spent, got taken advantage of by a stripper, was physically assaulted by a woman and insects, and wasted what appears to be a quarter tank of gas. Just because I decided to take a left rather than a right at a literal crossroads.
And the top of my back still hurts like fuck.
Saturday, July 19, 2014
The Rush Job
OK, so this is the fourth time I've had ***e* come over to clean my house before my parents come back from vacation so they don't hammer me for not cleaning the house while I'm gone. This time I was able to keep her price for cleaning my house and then "giving me a dance" (one of the most useless euphemisms I've ever heard, but hey, it's for a handjob) to the $120 we had agreed to before she started bringing other girls in to help with the house and with me. But the reason for that probably was she was doing it alone.
I don't know if someone fell through, she couldn't find someone, or if, from what I gather, she needed the money and decided to not split the money I'm spending on another girl. There also was the fact that I kind of complained about the job ***e* and *******y (which is her stripper name, and I just realized it when I opened up the page to the blog post about the last time I had the house cleaned ... for the record, her real name is *******e), and I think she thought *******y/*******e didn't do her part of the job.
Honestly, however, I wasn't really happy about the job ***e* did this week either. One of my huge complaints about the time before was that they gave me the feeling they needed to immediately go somewhere after they were done with the house and me. That isn't good all around; the house doesn't get done to my satisfaction, and then I feel like I have to ejaculate when I'm not ready or in the mood.
In response I asked ***e* to slow down when she came by, and at first I was happy with the cleaning. She was pretty good with my bathroom, she did a very thorough job with the master bathroom downstairs (which they completely missed the last time) and she tackled the massive job of cleaning the basement floor.
But seeing her at work in the now four times she's been here, I'm getting the feeling that working slow is something she just can't or won't do. This time around was complicated by yet another thing: She apparently has this new roommate who needed a ride from his one job to his next, and there was a possibility that she would have to go in the middle of cleaning to give this guy a ride. She promised she would be back, however, and I had -- and really have -- no reason not to believe her.
However, she continued to go faster in her cleaning, and her results showed that she started missing some stuff I asked her to do. Meanwhile this guy wasn't exactly calling when I thought he would. Finally, ***e* called him, apparently he said he could wait a bit, and according to her she was done enough with the house where she told me it was sexytime, and then she was done. Huh?!
Oh yeah, I guess I should have mentioned earlier that I was naked the whole time. I do that just to be a pervert, and I guess it made the sexual activity we did quicker. But I don't know if I could see this HJ was "fun," even beyond the fact she didn't strip me. Everything was so ... rushed. I told ***e* to take her time, but she really didn't the whole 90 minutes she was there. So, well, no, ***e*, I didn't tell you when I came. Surprise! That was the highlight of the night for me. (And she was going to charge me extra for springing my semen on her like that, too, and I definitely would not like that.)
So after I kissed her and she took off light a bat out of hell, I took inventory to see what she missed this time. I asked her to do the blinds and she did a half-assed job with them; I saw that she took a rag to most of them but she did it for, like, five minutes, and I think she missed the one in the downstairs bathroom. I wanted her to clean my bedroom, but besides the floor she left it untouched (and after failing to smell for ammonia, I'm not even sure she mopped it). There was one very big cobweb at the top step that I took down. And she missed the floor underneath the piano. She did wipe the furniture like I asked, but I suspect she went over each piece of furniture for, like, five seconds.
Don't get me wrong, the house is clean, or at least cleaner than before. Well, at least there's the clean smell hanging over the air. But it was still disappointing that ***e* didn't give me the time I wanted, and she still didn't do the job (either job) to my satisfaction. I can't just have the house dirty the next time my parents come back from a long vacation, but I don't know if I can go through with this again.
I don't know if someone fell through, she couldn't find someone, or if, from what I gather, she needed the money and decided to not split the money I'm spending on another girl. There also was the fact that I kind of complained about the job ***e* and *******y (which is her stripper name, and I just realized it when I opened up the page to the blog post about the last time I had the house cleaned ... for the record, her real name is *******e), and I think she thought *******y/*******e didn't do her part of the job.
Honestly, however, I wasn't really happy about the job ***e* did this week either. One of my huge complaints about the time before was that they gave me the feeling they needed to immediately go somewhere after they were done with the house and me. That isn't good all around; the house doesn't get done to my satisfaction, and then I feel like I have to ejaculate when I'm not ready or in the mood.
In response I asked ***e* to slow down when she came by, and at first I was happy with the cleaning. She was pretty good with my bathroom, she did a very thorough job with the master bathroom downstairs (which they completely missed the last time) and she tackled the massive job of cleaning the basement floor.
But seeing her at work in the now four times she's been here, I'm getting the feeling that working slow is something she just can't or won't do. This time around was complicated by yet another thing: She apparently has this new roommate who needed a ride from his one job to his next, and there was a possibility that she would have to go in the middle of cleaning to give this guy a ride. She promised she would be back, however, and I had -- and really have -- no reason not to believe her.
However, she continued to go faster in her cleaning, and her results showed that she started missing some stuff I asked her to do. Meanwhile this guy wasn't exactly calling when I thought he would. Finally, ***e* called him, apparently he said he could wait a bit, and according to her she was done enough with the house where she told me it was sexytime, and then she was done. Huh?!
Oh yeah, I guess I should have mentioned earlier that I was naked the whole time. I do that just to be a pervert, and I guess it made the sexual activity we did quicker. But I don't know if I could see this HJ was "fun," even beyond the fact she didn't strip me. Everything was so ... rushed. I told ***e* to take her time, but she really didn't the whole 90 minutes she was there. So, well, no, ***e*, I didn't tell you when I came. Surprise! That was the highlight of the night for me. (And she was going to charge me extra for springing my semen on her like that, too, and I definitely would not like that.)
So after I kissed her and she took off light a bat out of hell, I took inventory to see what she missed this time. I asked her to do the blinds and she did a half-assed job with them; I saw that she took a rag to most of them but she did it for, like, five minutes, and I think she missed the one in the downstairs bathroom. I wanted her to clean my bedroom, but besides the floor she left it untouched (and after failing to smell for ammonia, I'm not even sure she mopped it). There was one very big cobweb at the top step that I took down. And she missed the floor underneath the piano. She did wipe the furniture like I asked, but I suspect she went over each piece of furniture for, like, five seconds.
Don't get me wrong, the house is clean, or at least cleaner than before. Well, at least there's the clean smell hanging over the air. But it was still disappointing that ***e* didn't give me the time I wanted, and she still didn't do the job (either job) to my satisfaction. I can't just have the house dirty the next time my parents come back from a long vacation, but I don't know if I can go through with this again.
Friday, July 18, 2014
I Am An Uncle Now
I have a nephew through marriage; my brother married a wonderful, smart, nice, beautiful woman who has a grown-up son from a previous relationship. (Haven't spoken to him much, but he seems really nice and cool.) But in the fall, before my parents took a vacation or a cruise or a trip or something, we had dinner at their place. I kind of had the feeling that one of these dinners they were going to drop a bomb; otherwise, why have dinner? And so finally they made their announcement -- after we ate, he took out ultrasound pictures of this fetus in my sister-in-law's womb. There's going to be a new addition to the family!
She was born a couple months ago ... but she wasn't supposed to. They told me she was going to be born in May, but she came out about three weeks early. So she spent a lot of time in the NICU, where I think it was a little more touch-and-go than my brother let on. But after a couple weeks she was able to come home.
The first time I saw her I heard her. My parents told me that my bro and sis-in-law were going to a party and were going to leave her with my folks. It was a Saturday, so I drove out to find something to do. In the late afternoon I came back to the loud sounds of her screaming.
I walked up the stairs to see my parents tending to my niece -- well, Mother was holding her while Father was looking on -- and despite all their best efforts, they couldn't quiet her. I never saw them take care of my sister, so maybe they have no experience taking care of babies. OK, cheap shot.
They (well, Mother) finally got her to quiet down, but while she got quiet, Mother got really fussy about the clothes she was wearing. She finally decided that she was crying not because she's a baby, but because her clothes were suffocating her. Or something. So she bolted to get new clothes for her brand new granddaughter at Kohl's or some other place, leaving Father and I -- two bumbling men -- to take care of her in case she acts up. Thank Buddha she really didn't. I couldn't imagine either one of us holding her in order to gentle her down. We'd probably drop her.
The only time I deigned to get close to her (for fear of dropping her or, not to sound too paranoid, giving her a cold or the flu or some virus -- I mean, she was still in a weakened state, I think) was when Mother was cradling her in her arms again and told me to put her hat on her head. I did with as little contact with her skin as possible.
When I saw my sister for the first time it was when I went down to the master bathroom to ask my parents for something. Father opened the door and told me to come in and meet my new sibling. My sister was nestled against the wall (where I sometimes dig for their porn, but that's another blog post). She was extremely tiny, wrinkled -- and very, very dark. I really thought that this living being I was seeing before me was black. Swear to God my sister had dark skin, and somehow it -- oh, this is gonna sound so racist -- cleared up over time. My new niece was not that dark, but she was several shades, uh, shadier than us, although she also has lightened over time.
She fussed up once after Mother came home, threw away the old clothes (I wonder if her parents got pissed, because I would -- she's her granddaughter, but she's got a Mom) and put on brand new ones, and despite her daunting first impression, the few times I've seen her she's been quite sanguine. Her days in intensive care seem to be behind her; she's getting bigger and heavier and, well, healthier.
Now I wonder how it's going to be seeing her grow. I officially do have a nephew, or at least a step-nephew, if there is such a term. But not to de-legitimize his existence, my niece makes it official that there is a newer generation behind us now. We aren't kids anymore, but the birth of my niece means we definitely are not kids anymore. I can feel us being pushed towards the edge of the cliff called Death now.
Will this change me? Initially I thought how it could not change me -- and I was looking forward to it, too. I hear all the time about how someone's life changes for the better once they have a child. I thought it would be the same for me even if it wasn't mine. Yeah, I get to be the cool uncle, the one who always takes her to the fun places, and whenever she acts up or if I get overwhelmed taking care of her, I can always take her back to her parents! And to make sure I'm not an embarrassment I'll finally get that steady job my parents have been hounding me to find!! Hell, I even thought that eventually I would give up -- gulp -- going to stripclubs now that I have a female that is going to look up to me!!!
But upon further reflection ... uh, do you know that I'm still living with my folks? I'm a stubborn SOB, and despite me getting steady work (even if I have to go from job to job) I can safely say my life has not changed. And I've realized that I only see my niece for family functions. I don't think my relationship with my brother has changed to the point where I feel I can just drop by just to see the baby. And if that's the case, sadly she'll be out of sight, out of mind. Besides, I like who I am right now -- schlubby, angry, underachieving old me.
Nevertheless, the fact that I am an uncle still blows me away. Despite my fantasies I am not uncle material. To be honest with you, I don't think my brother is father material. I was absolutely shocked to find out they were having a baby, and even more so when my sister later told me that it was his idea to have her. Given our tumultuous upbringing I am kind of scared that we don't have the example of good parenting that'll ensure she'll have a safe and happy childhood. Regardless of success or failure, though, she's here, and it's our job not to screw this up. Hey, maybe trying to fulfill that mission will make me become a better man. Who knows?
So yeah, that's my story about my niece being born and how I feel about it.
She was born a couple months ago ... but she wasn't supposed to. They told me she was going to be born in May, but she came out about three weeks early. So she spent a lot of time in the NICU, where I think it was a little more touch-and-go than my brother let on. But after a couple weeks she was able to come home.
The first time I saw her I heard her. My parents told me that my bro and sis-in-law were going to a party and were going to leave her with my folks. It was a Saturday, so I drove out to find something to do. In the late afternoon I came back to the loud sounds of her screaming.
I walked up the stairs to see my parents tending to my niece -- well, Mother was holding her while Father was looking on -- and despite all their best efforts, they couldn't quiet her. I never saw them take care of my sister, so maybe they have no experience taking care of babies. OK, cheap shot.
They (well, Mother) finally got her to quiet down, but while she got quiet, Mother got really fussy about the clothes she was wearing. She finally decided that she was crying not because she's a baby, but because her clothes were suffocating her. Or something. So she bolted to get new clothes for her brand new granddaughter at Kohl's or some other place, leaving Father and I -- two bumbling men -- to take care of her in case she acts up. Thank Buddha she really didn't. I couldn't imagine either one of us holding her in order to gentle her down. We'd probably drop her.
The only time I deigned to get close to her (for fear of dropping her or, not to sound too paranoid, giving her a cold or the flu or some virus -- I mean, she was still in a weakened state, I think) was when Mother was cradling her in her arms again and told me to put her hat on her head. I did with as little contact with her skin as possible.
When I saw my sister for the first time it was when I went down to the master bathroom to ask my parents for something. Father opened the door and told me to come in and meet my new sibling. My sister was nestled against the wall (where I sometimes dig for their porn, but that's another blog post). She was extremely tiny, wrinkled -- and very, very dark. I really thought that this living being I was seeing before me was black. Swear to God my sister had dark skin, and somehow it -- oh, this is gonna sound so racist -- cleared up over time. My new niece was not that dark, but she was several shades, uh, shadier than us, although she also has lightened over time.
She fussed up once after Mother came home, threw away the old clothes (I wonder if her parents got pissed, because I would -- she's her granddaughter, but she's got a Mom) and put on brand new ones, and despite her daunting first impression, the few times I've seen her she's been quite sanguine. Her days in intensive care seem to be behind her; she's getting bigger and heavier and, well, healthier.
Now I wonder how it's going to be seeing her grow. I officially do have a nephew, or at least a step-nephew, if there is such a term. But not to de-legitimize his existence, my niece makes it official that there is a newer generation behind us now. We aren't kids anymore, but the birth of my niece means we definitely are not kids anymore. I can feel us being pushed towards the edge of the cliff called Death now.
Will this change me? Initially I thought how it could not change me -- and I was looking forward to it, too. I hear all the time about how someone's life changes for the better once they have a child. I thought it would be the same for me even if it wasn't mine. Yeah, I get to be the cool uncle, the one who always takes her to the fun places, and whenever she acts up or if I get overwhelmed taking care of her, I can always take her back to her parents! And to make sure I'm not an embarrassment I'll finally get that steady job my parents have been hounding me to find!! Hell, I even thought that eventually I would give up -- gulp -- going to stripclubs now that I have a female that is going to look up to me!!!
But upon further reflection ... uh, do you know that I'm still living with my folks? I'm a stubborn SOB, and despite me getting steady work (even if I have to go from job to job) I can safely say my life has not changed. And I've realized that I only see my niece for family functions. I don't think my relationship with my brother has changed to the point where I feel I can just drop by just to see the baby. And if that's the case, sadly she'll be out of sight, out of mind. Besides, I like who I am right now -- schlubby, angry, underachieving old me.
Nevertheless, the fact that I am an uncle still blows me away. Despite my fantasies I am not uncle material. To be honest with you, I don't think my brother is father material. I was absolutely shocked to find out they were having a baby, and even more so when my sister later told me that it was his idea to have her. Given our tumultuous upbringing I am kind of scared that we don't have the example of good parenting that'll ensure she'll have a safe and happy childhood. Regardless of success or failure, though, she's here, and it's our job not to screw this up. Hey, maybe trying to fulfill that mission will make me become a better man. Who knows?
So yeah, that's my story about my niece being born and how I feel about it.
Thursday, July 17, 2014
Beautiful Radio Silence
OK, I'll be honest: My parents have been away on vacation for about a week-and-a-half. With the exception of an e-mail I just checked out from presumably Mother about an hour ago, I have not been in contact with them, at all, since I took them to the airport -- not even a "We are here safe."
And you know what? I have been extraordinarily happy. No worrying about whether Father's going to come down on me if he thinks I didn't clean the house enough, or Mother asking some stupid question of why some thing's on her laptop and she wants it gone, NOW!!! Them not being here means no nagging from either parental unit. And the resulting silence has been bliss, pure bliss.
Since they were in Europe their opportunities to communicate with me have been few and far between. We were in touch the last time they went across the pond, but the guess here is that since there were no incidents then, they didn't feel the need to get to a hotel with wi-fi in order to Skype me. Wait, just realized: I don't have Skype on my computer, and the only one of their laps with Skype is in Las Vegas.
Oh, so that's why they wanted me to download these applications Viber and Tango -- so they could keep in touch with me in case a weird bill comes in or something. I'm still not quite sure what they do because I was never able to use them successfully. I'd wake up in the morning and I'd see on my smartphone that Mother called me using either app, and I guess I slept through my phone ringing. Then I'd try to call back through Viber or Tango (I think they're interchangeable) and she wouldn't pick up. Couldn't she text through either app? Don't know because I never saw one.
So we haven't spoken to each other in over a week. Oh, shucky darn. Guess we'll catch up now. I might ask them how their trip went. And then I may or may not tell them that I was indeed able to eat all the leftovers Mother left for me, or that I had my ATF ***e* come over Wednesday evening in order to clean the house (halfassedly, again) before giving me a handjob. I then may or may not volunteer that I took in the new Planet of the Apes movie late Tuesday night, or that I stayed up surfing the Internet with the TV cranked up loud in the dining room, things I wouldn't dream of doing if they were home. And then I probably won't tell them that I loved being home alone because I don't like talking to them. No, I definitely won't tell them that. I won't have to; they probably know that already and were thinking that while they were in Europe -- "Eh, leave him alone, he doesn't want to talk to us."
Now, will that mean they believe they have a right to make up for all of the silence between us and begin to assail me with questions as soon as I pick them up this (Wednesday) evening? Will they pick a fight with me -- say the house is not clean enough, or ask me why I didn't pay their bills for them? Or will we just be able to get back to living as one family unit without resorting to getting on each other's nerves?
(sigh) I will miss having the house all to myself.
And you know what? I have been extraordinarily happy. No worrying about whether Father's going to come down on me if he thinks I didn't clean the house enough, or Mother asking some stupid question of why some thing's on her laptop and she wants it gone, NOW!!! Them not being here means no nagging from either parental unit. And the resulting silence has been bliss, pure bliss.
Since they were in Europe their opportunities to communicate with me have been few and far between. We were in touch the last time they went across the pond, but the guess here is that since there were no incidents then, they didn't feel the need to get to a hotel with wi-fi in order to Skype me. Wait, just realized: I don't have Skype on my computer, and the only one of their laps with Skype is in Las Vegas.
Oh, so that's why they wanted me to download these applications Viber and Tango -- so they could keep in touch with me in case a weird bill comes in or something. I'm still not quite sure what they do because I was never able to use them successfully. I'd wake up in the morning and I'd see on my smartphone that Mother called me using either app, and I guess I slept through my phone ringing. Then I'd try to call back through Viber or Tango (I think they're interchangeable) and she wouldn't pick up. Couldn't she text through either app? Don't know because I never saw one.
So we haven't spoken to each other in over a week. Oh, shucky darn. Guess we'll catch up now. I might ask them how their trip went. And then I may or may not tell them that I was indeed able to eat all the leftovers Mother left for me, or that I had my ATF ***e* come over Wednesday evening in order to clean the house (halfassedly, again) before giving me a handjob. I then may or may not volunteer that I took in the new Planet of the Apes movie late Tuesday night, or that I stayed up surfing the Internet with the TV cranked up loud in the dining room, things I wouldn't dream of doing if they were home. And then I probably won't tell them that I loved being home alone because I don't like talking to them. No, I definitely won't tell them that. I won't have to; they probably know that already and were thinking that while they were in Europe -- "Eh, leave him alone, he doesn't want to talk to us."
Now, will that mean they believe they have a right to make up for all of the silence between us and begin to assail me with questions as soon as I pick them up this (Wednesday) evening? Will they pick a fight with me -- say the house is not clean enough, or ask me why I didn't pay their bills for them? Or will we just be able to get back to living as one family unit without resorting to getting on each other's nerves?
(sigh) I will miss having the house all to myself.
Wednesday, July 16, 2014
The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey
#-1: Twins (Last Week: -1). Amazing how the perception of a team changes when it goes into an extended break winning four-of-five. Sure, the Twinks are several games below .500, but when you go on this hot streak on the road, win a series (and a four-game series at that) in Seattle for the first time in seven or eight years, then take two-of-three from Colorado, whom one commenter on a sports blog I frequent said had "the worst ownership no one knows about," you have to give them credit.
Now, to be realistic, they are only a few (maybe several?) wins ahead of last year's pace. Is it significant improvement? No. But it sure beats the alternative of being a few wins behind. Neither the lineup nor the starting rotation shows signs of improving, Miguel Sano is still gone for the year, and Byron Buxton was banged up earlier this year and therefore probably won't be rushed anywhere close to the big leagues this year. So it's up to these guys to look inwards and see if they have anything new to bring to the table.
Now comes what possibly is the other shoe to drop: Life After The All-Star Game. Attendance at Target Field has been dwindling ever since the club went into the shitter three years ago. I fear that a lot of season ticket-holders kept giving them their hard-earned cash to gain priority for the ASG, which was last (Tuesday) night. But now that it's over, they have no incentive to renew. The squad knew they had to show some improvement or hope for the future to have any chance of retaining any of those people with one foot off the bandwagon. I don't know if a sub-.500 club with their two best prospects being a least a year away from the majors qualifies. Translation: Expect to see fire sales from scalpers starting this weekend, and a precipitous drop in season ticket renewals the start of next year. These are frightening times to be a Twink, and deservedly so.
But hey, at least the American League won the game! And even better, in a perfect storybook finish, the closing battery for the Twinks, Glen Perkins to Kurt Suzuki, finished the ninth inning to complete the Amer. League's 5-3 victory!! Congrats to the organization for giving the A.L. home-field advantage for the World Series, a series the Twinks won't even come close to reaching!!!
Major League Baseball needed nine days to set up All-Star Game regalia in The Bullseye, but only two days to tear everything down? Guess it would be faster; after all, you're just striking shit down and you can throw that anywhere. But wouldn't it make more sense to give a stadium a week before and a week after the ASG? You know, just to let things breathe a little there? Instead the Twins immediately begin a ten-game homestand this weekend against the Tampa Bay Rays, then host Cleveland for three games starting on Monday.
Now, to be realistic, they are only a few (maybe several?) wins ahead of last year's pace. Is it significant improvement? No. But it sure beats the alternative of being a few wins behind. Neither the lineup nor the starting rotation shows signs of improving, Miguel Sano is still gone for the year, and Byron Buxton was banged up earlier this year and therefore probably won't be rushed anywhere close to the big leagues this year. So it's up to these guys to look inwards and see if they have anything new to bring to the table.
Now comes what possibly is the other shoe to drop: Life After The All-Star Game. Attendance at Target Field has been dwindling ever since the club went into the shitter three years ago. I fear that a lot of season ticket-holders kept giving them their hard-earned cash to gain priority for the ASG, which was last (Tuesday) night. But now that it's over, they have no incentive to renew. The squad knew they had to show some improvement or hope for the future to have any chance of retaining any of those people with one foot off the bandwagon. I don't know if a sub-.500 club with their two best prospects being a least a year away from the majors qualifies. Translation: Expect to see fire sales from scalpers starting this weekend, and a precipitous drop in season ticket renewals the start of next year. These are frightening times to be a Twink, and deservedly so.
But hey, at least the American League won the game! And even better, in a perfect storybook finish, the closing battery for the Twinks, Glen Perkins to Kurt Suzuki, finished the ninth inning to complete the Amer. League's 5-3 victory!! Congrats to the organization for giving the A.L. home-field advantage for the World Series, a series the Twinks won't even come close to reaching!!!
Major League Baseball needed nine days to set up All-Star Game regalia in The Bullseye, but only two days to tear everything down? Guess it would be faster; after all, you're just striking shit down and you can throw that anywhere. But wouldn't it make more sense to give a stadium a week before and a week after the ASG? You know, just to let things breathe a little there? Instead the Twins immediately begin a ten-game homestand this weekend against the Tampa Bay Rays, then host Cleveland for three games starting on Monday.
Tuesday, July 15, 2014
Scary Weird Woman In The Neighborhood
So Saturday evening, as I was driving to the stripclub out of town, I saw this big, beautiful dog trundle off of the side street. I slow down, just in case. Then I see the owner/handler catch up to it ... then fall, almost on top of the dog, into one of the rather large ... well, I wouldn't say potholes but the cracks in the pavement. Worse yet, we had a small but pretty intense outburst of rain that afternoon, so she stepped into not just a puddle but a, well, quickly-made pool. I have never seen that before.
What happened next gave me a lot of pause. This woman had trouble getting up. At first I thought she just had to step out of this big pool. But as the seconds went by and I kept my car idling at the stop sign just down the street, she still wasn't getting up. She wasn't quite struggling to get up in a prompt manner, either. She was ... well, moving, but she wasn't composing herself in order to get out of the water. What I'm trying to say is this woman wasn't acting as if she knew how to get up. That's when what I saw started to get weird.
My next instinct was to just run. But while staring at her this dog wandered away from her. I think he/she walked over to my side of my car, then in front of the car, but while continuing to watch this weird woman, I lost track of he/she. Now I don't want to run over the dog. So I was stuck. Thank goodness this wasn't a workday morning or afternoon; the way this idiot remained prone in the rainwater and unable to grab the dog, I could have been there for a long time.
Eventually I pushed down my window and asked, "Are you alright?" She didn't look up. I had no idea what to do. I didn't want to go and potentially run over the dog if he or she was underneath my car. But honestly I didn't want to step out of the car and find the dog or help her out of the puddle because she might have a disease or a knife. So I stayed there, paralyzed.
Finally, she got/stumbled up. As she started to walk away from me, I could see the waterline soaked up the left side of the jeans. I was going to roll down my window again to ask if she was OK, but she turned her face to me. She had a cut on her face and the blood was trickling down. But she held her finger up at a speed slower than a person with all of her or his faculties would raise and whimpered, I think, "No."
A few feet in front of my parents' minivan she stooped down; that's when she grabbed the dog's leash. Oh, glad I didn't move; I would have run the dog over. And when I looked through my windshield I saw, also at this three-way stop, three cars waiting to drive the other way. Happy to see other people were witnessing this insane shit show. We all saw her stumble away, clumsily grabbing the dog's leash.
With the coast clear I wanted to get the hell away from this. Before I did, one of the cars coming the other way rolled her window down and gestured me to stop. The driver of that car said she called 911 on that woman. Oh, so she's been acting like this around the neighborhood. She also said she was worried about the dog. Didn't think of that. Now I'm scared he or she was/is in real danger.
I was going to drive down my neighborhood's main street, but it appeared this weirdo was walking down it, so I went down a side street. As I was about to leave my neighborhood I saw a police car driving towards where all of this was happening, and driving at speed, well, not conducive to the neighborhood. As I drove past the main street I expected to see two figures zigzagging my way, but I didn't. Maybe she took the dog down another side street, or onto some guy's lawn?
Hope she's still not out here.
What happened next gave me a lot of pause. This woman had trouble getting up. At first I thought she just had to step out of this big pool. But as the seconds went by and I kept my car idling at the stop sign just down the street, she still wasn't getting up. She wasn't quite struggling to get up in a prompt manner, either. She was ... well, moving, but she wasn't composing herself in order to get out of the water. What I'm trying to say is this woman wasn't acting as if she knew how to get up. That's when what I saw started to get weird.
My next instinct was to just run. But while staring at her this dog wandered away from her. I think he/she walked over to my side of my car, then in front of the car, but while continuing to watch this weird woman, I lost track of he/she. Now I don't want to run over the dog. So I was stuck. Thank goodness this wasn't a workday morning or afternoon; the way this idiot remained prone in the rainwater and unable to grab the dog, I could have been there for a long time.
Eventually I pushed down my window and asked, "Are you alright?" She didn't look up. I had no idea what to do. I didn't want to go and potentially run over the dog if he or she was underneath my car. But honestly I didn't want to step out of the car and find the dog or help her out of the puddle because she might have a disease or a knife. So I stayed there, paralyzed.
Finally, she got/stumbled up. As she started to walk away from me, I could see the waterline soaked up the left side of the jeans. I was going to roll down my window again to ask if she was OK, but she turned her face to me. She had a cut on her face and the blood was trickling down. But she held her finger up at a speed slower than a person with all of her or his faculties would raise and whimpered, I think, "No."
A few feet in front of my parents' minivan she stooped down; that's when she grabbed the dog's leash. Oh, glad I didn't move; I would have run the dog over. And when I looked through my windshield I saw, also at this three-way stop, three cars waiting to drive the other way. Happy to see other people were witnessing this insane shit show. We all saw her stumble away, clumsily grabbing the dog's leash.
With the coast clear I wanted to get the hell away from this. Before I did, one of the cars coming the other way rolled her window down and gestured me to stop. The driver of that car said she called 911 on that woman. Oh, so she's been acting like this around the neighborhood. She also said she was worried about the dog. Didn't think of that. Now I'm scared he or she was/is in real danger.
I was going to drive down my neighborhood's main street, but it appeared this weirdo was walking down it, so I went down a side street. As I was about to leave my neighborhood I saw a police car driving towards where all of this was happening, and driving at speed, well, not conducive to the neighborhood. As I drove past the main street I expected to see two figures zigzagging my way, but I didn't. Maybe she took the dog down another side street, or onto some guy's lawn?
Hope she's still not out here.
Monday, July 14, 2014
The Eyes Of The World Are On My City, And I Won't Even Be Seen
So because the Twins suck, I won't be hired to help with any baseball games this year ... save for one, the All-Star Game, which will be held Tuesday at Target Field ... except that I haven't been called. Which surprises me.
All I would do is help out, run some stuff up to the booth, maybe get coffee or batteries or other things they discovered they'd need. And I would think they would need my help more so now than ever. It is, after all, the Midsummer Classic, and all eyes (dwindling ratings notwithstanding) would be at The Bullseye, so I would think my employer (actually, come to think of it, my employers, since another broadcasting entity whom I once worked for also is in town for All-Star Game festivities) would want all hands on deck to make sure everybody got everything they needed to ensure a fantastic broadcast befitting the All-Star Game.
To make sure of this I contacted my friend, who used to work for them. He recommended I talk to the person who would be making the hires for the game. I've never been that proactive before; we're not union, so we're at the whims of the person who's working the Twins or Vikings game. So what's the use of calling/begging for work? Every year except for the 2012 season I have not been hired for at least one Vikings home game. I accept that. When I get asked for none, that's when I get worried.
Maybe I shouldn't get bent out of shape over not being used for the only game they'd be in this season. But, for one, if they are only here once, wouldn't they get a guy who's been with the company for a long time? And, I'll admit, the cachet of working the All-Star Game, to be at the stadium, and to be in the truck when the camera shots and edits are called -- I would want to be there just for that. So that's why I called.
I got no answer. I tried calling two more times, each time being more afraid I would do more harm than good. But by Friday afternoon, after leaving a third voicemail, I had to accept he wasn't going to hire me. It would have been sweet, working the All-Star Game in that capacity. But, sadly, I was rejected.
The thing that bothers me the most is that I didn't even get an answer. Am I not on some list? Was I not even on this guy's radar? Does he even know me? I would think that ten years of putting one foot in front of the other and not tripping too much would be enough to get hired for something as important as this. But I don't even get a, "No thanks?" It would suck if, for example, they already hired some other local, but then I would at least know. Not getting a reply back is just rude.
So I vented to my friend, who said there could be a lot of reasons I wasn't hired: They did find someone else (and if they did, I think I know just who it is); they used guys from the local regional sports network; this job was so big that they actual told their own guys to demote themselves and go back to running on Tuesday. Whatever the case, I'm not working it.
Worse yet; he told me the process of hiring us day players has changed. Now hiring will be done through a department, the staff of which I don't know and probably don't know me. Will this mean I won't do any Vikings games anymore? Am I officially done with these guys? And for what?
Does ten years of service mean nothing?!?!
---
In the meantime, I have no reason to be downtown for the All-Star Game (and the Home Run Derby, which is tonight). But I will be downtown for work; I'll just have no reason to be around in the evening, when both events take place. It's weird; the spotlight's on my city, specifically a football field away from where I work, and yet I don't feel welcome. I don't want to just mill around a place where I wasn't "invited." But why I am running away from the center of all the action on Tuesday? I'm torn.
Tonight I have ***e* and possibly her friend cleaning my house and then cleaning my hose, if you know what I mean. But if I had the ability to work the Derby, by all means, I would. Then on Tuesday, I couldn't help but feel the need to be around Target Field for the game. So I plan on doing something I've wanted to do, eat at one of the best restaurants in the Twin Cities which is within walking distance of both my place of work and the parking ramp, then, before the rate of parking goes way up because I'd been there for more than 12 hours, I'll just walk down to the stadium and see if I can catch a glimpse of this meaningless exhibition. Hey, it'll be another generation before the Major League Baseball All-Star Game comes back here. I might be dead by then. Might as well try to see if I can get a free peek, even if it will look as pathetic as it sounds.
All I would do is help out, run some stuff up to the booth, maybe get coffee or batteries or other things they discovered they'd need. And I would think they would need my help more so now than ever. It is, after all, the Midsummer Classic, and all eyes (dwindling ratings notwithstanding) would be at The Bullseye, so I would think my employer (actually, come to think of it, my employers, since another broadcasting entity whom I once worked for also is in town for All-Star Game festivities) would want all hands on deck to make sure everybody got everything they needed to ensure a fantastic broadcast befitting the All-Star Game.
To make sure of this I contacted my friend, who used to work for them. He recommended I talk to the person who would be making the hires for the game. I've never been that proactive before; we're not union, so we're at the whims of the person who's working the Twins or Vikings game. So what's the use of calling/begging for work? Every year except for the 2012 season I have not been hired for at least one Vikings home game. I accept that. When I get asked for none, that's when I get worried.
Maybe I shouldn't get bent out of shape over not being used for the only game they'd be in this season. But, for one, if they are only here once, wouldn't they get a guy who's been with the company for a long time? And, I'll admit, the cachet of working the All-Star Game, to be at the stadium, and to be in the truck when the camera shots and edits are called -- I would want to be there just for that. So that's why I called.
I got no answer. I tried calling two more times, each time being more afraid I would do more harm than good. But by Friday afternoon, after leaving a third voicemail, I had to accept he wasn't going to hire me. It would have been sweet, working the All-Star Game in that capacity. But, sadly, I was rejected.
The thing that bothers me the most is that I didn't even get an answer. Am I not on some list? Was I not even on this guy's radar? Does he even know me? I would think that ten years of putting one foot in front of the other and not tripping too much would be enough to get hired for something as important as this. But I don't even get a, "No thanks?" It would suck if, for example, they already hired some other local, but then I would at least know. Not getting a reply back is just rude.
So I vented to my friend, who said there could be a lot of reasons I wasn't hired: They did find someone else (and if they did, I think I know just who it is); they used guys from the local regional sports network; this job was so big that they actual told their own guys to demote themselves and go back to running on Tuesday. Whatever the case, I'm not working it.
Worse yet; he told me the process of hiring us day players has changed. Now hiring will be done through a department, the staff of which I don't know and probably don't know me. Will this mean I won't do any Vikings games anymore? Am I officially done with these guys? And for what?
Does ten years of service mean nothing?!?!
---
In the meantime, I have no reason to be downtown for the All-Star Game (and the Home Run Derby, which is tonight). But I will be downtown for work; I'll just have no reason to be around in the evening, when both events take place. It's weird; the spotlight's on my city, specifically a football field away from where I work, and yet I don't feel welcome. I don't want to just mill around a place where I wasn't "invited." But why I am running away from the center of all the action on Tuesday? I'm torn.
Tonight I have ***e* and possibly her friend cleaning my house and then cleaning my hose, if you know what I mean. But if I had the ability to work the Derby, by all means, I would. Then on Tuesday, I couldn't help but feel the need to be around Target Field for the game. So I plan on doing something I've wanted to do, eat at one of the best restaurants in the Twin Cities which is within walking distance of both my place of work and the parking ramp, then, before the rate of parking goes way up because I'd been there for more than 12 hours, I'll just walk down to the stadium and see if I can catch a glimpse of this meaningless exhibition. Hey, it'll be another generation before the Major League Baseball All-Star Game comes back here. I might be dead by then. Might as well try to see if I can get a free peek, even if it will look as pathetic as it sounds.
Sunday, July 13, 2014
New, Consecutive Money
So last week I took money out of the ATM and I received three fresh, crisp, never-before-used $20 bills. And since they were fresh, crisp and never used before, the serial numbers were in order, one after the other.
First of all, I should say that I have this thing with fresh, crisp, never-before-used bills: I smell them. It's kind of like that new car smell, only with new money. Ever since I started, which was about a year ago, I can't help it. Even if I'm about to give the bill to the cashier, I smell it first. I know it's bad and makes me look really fucking strange, but there's something ... sacred about the scent of virgin money. It's kind of like cutting the fins off of sharks. Besides, I don't think I'll ever see that bill again, and even if I do ever get it back again it won't ever smell as fresh, so I might as well take a sniff. I wonder if you smell it enough you take all the fresh bill smell away?
So the other OCD thing I have with fresh, crisp, never-before-used bills is that I don't want to break them up. In that sense they're like orphaned siblings. You can't break siblings up! Before, at a time when I wasn't desperate for money, I would take out those sequential bills and save them. I have several groups of singles stashed, oh, somewhere in my bedroom. But when I got these three twenties last week, I couldn't bear to spend each of them in a different place. They were "born" together, and they landed on my hands together. I know that they're currency and therefore will be spent, and thus taken to different parts of the globe, eventually. But they would never be together again, and I don't want to be the person who does that.
Therefore, a few days later I went to the ATM and deposited back those twenties, still stuck together, as they should be. And I think the day after that I got more money out -- $200, to be exact. And guess what? They were all fresh, crisp, never-before-used $20 bills, all of them in consecutive serial numbers. Well, fuck me. I wasn't going to return these bills; I didn't have time, and I think this is a sign that I'm not supposed to shove bills back into the ATM. So I broke up the siblings, like an evil asshole. To defend myself, I spent most of these $20's at the stripclub last night, many of them on Claudia, my ATF. In fact, I think I gave her five straight twenties. So those are still together, or at least were when I gave them to her. (OK, to be completely honest I gave her two twenties for dances, then she went up on stage, then I gave her three more twenties for dances. But I'm sure they all had consecutive serial numbers.)
Before I parted with some of the money, however, I did sniff them in front of Claudia. Buddha bless her, she didn't think give me a stinkface. In fact, we kind of talked about how cool new money is.
First of all, I should say that I have this thing with fresh, crisp, never-before-used bills: I smell them. It's kind of like that new car smell, only with new money. Ever since I started, which was about a year ago, I can't help it. Even if I'm about to give the bill to the cashier, I smell it first. I know it's bad and makes me look really fucking strange, but there's something ... sacred about the scent of virgin money. It's kind of like cutting the fins off of sharks. Besides, I don't think I'll ever see that bill again, and even if I do ever get it back again it won't ever smell as fresh, so I might as well take a sniff. I wonder if you smell it enough you take all the fresh bill smell away?
So the other OCD thing I have with fresh, crisp, never-before-used bills is that I don't want to break them up. In that sense they're like orphaned siblings. You can't break siblings up! Before, at a time when I wasn't desperate for money, I would take out those sequential bills and save them. I have several groups of singles stashed, oh, somewhere in my bedroom. But when I got these three twenties last week, I couldn't bear to spend each of them in a different place. They were "born" together, and they landed on my hands together. I know that they're currency and therefore will be spent, and thus taken to different parts of the globe, eventually. But they would never be together again, and I don't want to be the person who does that.
Therefore, a few days later I went to the ATM and deposited back those twenties, still stuck together, as they should be. And I think the day after that I got more money out -- $200, to be exact. And guess what? They were all fresh, crisp, never-before-used $20 bills, all of them in consecutive serial numbers. Well, fuck me. I wasn't going to return these bills; I didn't have time, and I think this is a sign that I'm not supposed to shove bills back into the ATM. So I broke up the siblings, like an evil asshole. To defend myself, I spent most of these $20's at the stripclub last night, many of them on Claudia, my ATF. In fact, I think I gave her five straight twenties. So those are still together, or at least were when I gave them to her. (OK, to be completely honest I gave her two twenties for dances, then she went up on stage, then I gave her three more twenties for dances. But I'm sure they all had consecutive serial numbers.)
Before I parted with some of the money, however, I did sniff them in front of Claudia. Buddha bless her, she didn't think give me a stinkface. In fact, we kind of talked about how cool new money is.
Saturday, July 12, 2014
Expenses Without Receipts
Starting from Friday, July 11:
- Went to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Division) for coffee and tips: $11.
- Afterwards I went to Caffetto. First I went for an iced mocha, something I forgot to mention when I was here last Sunday (which, by the way, I charged to my credit card, which is why it's not listed as an ERW here) and so received a hot mocha instead. I then got a cherry vanilla cola from a local company, Whistler, because I was really, really thirsty. They have a 50-cent deposit which I got back when I gave back the glass bottle. It hit the spot! (ETA a bit after 2 in the afternoon of July 20 that I was reviewing this while writing down expenses in my day planner and saw that while describing my night, I didn't write down my expense. Fuck, and now I don't remember what the amount was. Luckily, I have a receipt from that last Sunday, when I got a hot mocha when I should have specified an iced one, because I believe they are the same price. With that I can make a semi-educated guess on the cherry vanilla cola, and assuming I tipped only for the mocha and not the soda, the total comes out to my best estimation of: $8.75)
- On Wednesday, July 9, Also Known As My Last Day Before Going In For Surgery, I was willing to just go home, watch So You Think You Can Dance, and eat some leftovers. But then Angelique, a stripper who was moving out-of-state this weekend, texted that she was dancing at My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Edition). I knew she was leaving this weekend, but I forgot at that moment that she was leaving, so I frantically texted back asking if this was the last time she's ever going to dance there. She didn't reply. So my plans of having a quiet evening flew out the window because I needed to get a dance from her one last time ... except, when I got there, it wasn't going to be her last time, and that in fact she wasn't moving after all; the job she supposedly was moving out-of-state for fell through. She didn't reply to my text because her phone died before she was able to plug it into a charger, blah-blah-blah. Well, at least I didn't have to spend twenty bucks on a dance. But I had to stick around until Angelique got done with her dance, and so in the meantime I tipped Carissa on-stage so it didn't look like I was dashing in and out: $2.
- And since my day of not spending any cash out-of-pocket fell through because of Angelique, I thought, What the hell, I might as well eat out, too, and if that means I miss a part of SYTYCD, so be it. This is the point where I should backtarck. The night before I was still debating whether or not I should eat out. I examined my frequent eaters' card at Which Wich. I thought I had accrued enough punches to get a free sandwich, but it turns out I was one punch short. I was going to use it and then spend extra money on, like, chips or something, but then I decided to wait another day. But then I went to see Angelique, and so I decided to spend money on a sandwich and also a house milkshake. So I decided to spend a lot of money when I first decided to spend only a little, then decided not to spend any money at all. Got that? If you did, also follow this: I have a receipt, but I'm only including the tip, which obviously isn't on the receipt: 50 cents.
- On Tuesday the 8th I wanted to see 22 Jump Street, the sequel to the TV show adapted for the screen, and which I thought was the funniest film I saw last year. This one was ... different. It looks like Jonah Hill was given all this money to do a sequel even though he had no idea how to continue the story, and so he decided to turn it into a satire on sequels. What's missing in this movie that wasn't from 21 Jump Street was -- no joke -- its heart. There was an actual story between the two leads, a heartfelt one, that was nowhere to be seen in this movie. Jokes were funny, but that central story was lacking. So, uh, B+? Ticket, popcorn and pop: $9.75.
- Saturday, July 5 ... spent the Argentina-Belgium World Cup quarterfinal at the Nomad, probably the hardest-core soccer bar in the Twin Cities. Got a passport the previous weekend, but it was only this time where I got stamps for it -- 15, to be exact, just for tipping, which I did the previous weekend but only got "rewarded" for this time around. Plan to attend Sunday's final, after which we get to turn these stamps for raffle tickets. Prizes if I win include trips to Europe to watch a club league soccer match. Good bartender for giving me stamps, all 15 just for a Boulevard IPA. With tip: $7.
- Friday, Independence Day: After watching Germany-France at The Local (have a receipt for it) I went to the Sweetwater Inn for Brazil-Colombia. This was touted as a soccer hangout, and there were about a dozen people there, but I thought it'd be more packed. Maybe the St. Paul location isn't appealing. Or maybe the fact that it's a hotel bar detracts people. Wanted only one beer, but since it was 2-for-1, the guy gave me two. Great, I get even fatter. With pizza and tip: $19.
- Thursday, July 3 ... because I had a great night of sleep, I guess I decided that I wanted to try and see if this outdoor parking lot close to the parking ramp I usually park in is more conducive to me sleeping in. It's not; I don't think I'll get the sun pattern down so I can nap without overheating. Besides, it's a little farther away from work, far enough that it'll claw into the nap time I've relied on to get through my day. So I'll just stick to the ramp, even though the lot is only $4.50. I made this conclusion without trying to take a nap; for my lunch break I thought I had enough energy to take in a food truck, the Dandelion Kitchen. I had the chicken sandwich, and it was good, though overpriced. I like the fig jam even though I didn't think I would like it; distinctive ... nice touch. With tip: $9.50.
- This was the day my sister and I took our parents to the airport. We thought about going mini-golfing at the Walker after we dropped them off, but instead we decided to save that for Sunday, and do it with our cousin. Instead my sis and I decided to watch my idea -- and it was my idea to watch Snowpiercer, a film I had heard a lot of good things about. And I was blown away by the cinematography as well as the ideas behind it. I'll give it an A. Unfortunately I raised my sister's hopes up too high. I told her that this was something like The Matrix without telling her there is no awesome CGI. She was slightly overwhelmed by the action as well as the themes of the flick. Wanted to pay my sister back for my ticket, but she declined because we both know she makes more money than I. So I paid for the popcorn and pop I had for myself: $6.
- Wednesday the 2nd was the day Mother took my car. Therefore, I had no car to sleep in during lunch. Therefore, I took the opportunity to do like most other humans do during their lunch and actually eat lunch. I sauntered down Nicollet Mall and had a BBQ pulled pork sandwich from the food truck of Stanley's, which is an extension of a brick-and-mortar restaurant which was once called Stasiu's. I have never been to Stanley's, but I went to Stasiu's a couple times. Back then it was a rock-and-roll bar, and the couple times I went there I stayed till 2 in the morning. Fun times, times which I doubt I could have now that it's Stanley's. Not a bad sandwich, though, even if the pulled pork easily falls out of the sandwich, a pet peeve of mine. With tip: $9.
- Let us go back to Monday, June 30, my first day back at work from vacation. That evening my sister gave me back money she said she borrowed from me while we were at Yellowstone and the Grand Tetons so she could buy a postcard. I thought she had already paid me back, but again, she has more money than I, and she insisted she needed to pay me back, so who am I to argue? And Infusion of: $1.
- Later that evening I had to refill the money I took out of the alumni club kitty that, in a pinch, I used to give to my niece. Yes, I'll talk about her as soon as I can: $100.
- Sunday, June 29: Well, I went to the Local to see one of my bets fall to pieces. I had a two-team parlay, and all I needed was for Costa Rica to beat Greece at full time. They failed to hold onto their 1-0 lead, goddammit, with an injury time goal that sent it eventually to Penalty Kicks. To add to the shitshow, I ordered one type of soup but was given the other type, and to the Local's credit, they offered to give me both. Sadly I am not the strapping, high-metabolic boy I was and though I tried to be even-handed, eventually I gave up and had to return both soup bowls unemptied. They both were good, however. I also got a beer, and I chased it down with a Coke which the bartender gave me for free. Too much food, but too great service. With tip: $12.50.
- I think I came home afterward to pay my sister back for the money I lent from her to make bets while we were in Las Vegas: $100.
- And then I stored a wheat penny and two shiny new quarters depicting ... wars? Mountains? Rivers? I forget, but they're shiny, therefore I take them out of circulation: 51 cents.
- To Saturday the 28th ... I saw the Colombia-Uruguay game, where I had an Alaskan Kolsch from the Nomad, a beer dog from the Dr. Mustachio's food truck, and no stamps. With tips: $12.50
- Friday, June 27, aka The Last Day Of Our Vacation. I borrowed money from sister, an Infusion of: $100.
- I then decided to get a frequent gamblers' card from the Wynn, the casino where I borrowed money from my sis but did not make any bets. Instead I just tooled around and spent the free cash I got for signing up. Glad I made some money from slots, even if it was only an Infusion of: $4.
- We then went to the Palms, where I thought the lines were better. That's where I spent the money I borrowed from her, on two World Cup bets: $50.
- On Thursday, June 26, I made two World Cup bets. Both of them lost, by the way, and I should blog about that soon. I think it was at the Las Vegas Hilton where I bet Russia would beat Algeria, a bet My Father copied: $100.
- Then I watched Algeria tie Russia at the Palms. Crestfallen, I nevertheless made a bet there that Brazil would win the whole thing: $100.
- Wednesday the 25th -- so I spent nearly all of my day at the Las Vegas Hilton, where I wanted to take it easy and just sit in the giant sportsbook and watch soccer. No betting, just watching. Ah, how peaceful to just watch on a giant screen and not be bothered, nor worry about losing money. But I had to whet my gambling jones, so I played a little slots: $4.
- ... then had some coffee at this place called Fortuna: $2.18.
- ... then I finally dove in and made a bet, on Game 3 of the College World Series (which I lost, BTW -- thank you, Virginia!): $25.
- ... then, finally, before I went home, I made one more bet, on the World Cup, something I decided to do as soon as I knew when our road trip would take us into Vegas. It was going to be larger, but I decide to halve my bet since Virginia was behind at the moment and I knew that was a bad sign. Boy, I should have seen all the bad signs and took it as God's way of saying, "Don't bet at all during your time here," because I lost this particular bet, too: $25.
- We skip back to Sunday, June 22. During this part of the vacation we were neck-deep in woods, so seeing civilization, even if it was the tourist town of Jackson, Wyo., was a good break for all of us. I decided to help my sister with Starbucks. Charged the coffees but took out my wallet for the tip: $1.
- Going back into the Grand Tetons we stopped into a Visitor Center. We needed to know the next time Old Faithful was going to blow, but for some reason the kids (and I do mean kids -- they didn't seem to be out of high school) had to call for the time. Weirdest thing was, no one picked up, so the kid had to come back to me and say, "Sorry, I don't know the time, no there was going to pick up." Weird. Made a donation to the Jr. Rangers anyway: $1.
- Oh, during this same time was when my sister asked for money to get a postcard. She returned the change to me, so I am just going to put down the price she paid for the postcard: 75 cents.
- Let's leap back to Thursday, June 19, the start of our trip. We traveled all day through Minnesota and into Rapid City, S.D. The hardest part of the trip was trying to negotiate around Mankato, which was flooded because of all the rain that fell around that time. But we made it with plenty of sun to spare. Also, I was lucky to fall into reserving the night at the local Howard Johnson's. Why? One of the last things the hotel representative said was that happy hour, with complimentary beer and wine, was ending soon. We made it just in time to partake in the oasis that is HoJo Happy Hour! Is this a Howard Johnson's thing, or is it only specific to Rapid City? Either way I was so goddamn glad to have this. We all had some alcohol. I tipped: $1.
- And I think I found a dime on the floor. An Infusion of: 10 cents.
- OK, Tuesday, June 17 ... I think work ran out of coffee, so I took some time out to run down to Starbucks and get something for myself. With tip: $4.75.
- This was a day where I decided to have the evening to myself in order to concentrate on the roadtrip. Before that, though, I went to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Version). Good things I did, because, finally! I ran into ****e*, the chick who gave me the handjob in the parking lot! Missed her so much I got a lapdance from her even though I wasn't planning on spending a bunch of money. With coffee and tips ****e* and the other three strippers: $31.
- Afterward I printed out directions for the road trip at the library. A lot, it turns out: $1.
- On Monday the 16th I again went to Starbucks. This may have been a case where I had time in the morning to get something for myself before reporting for work. With tip: $4.75.
- After I got done I had time to take in the second half of the U.S. World Cup game against Ghana. I went to the downtown bar where our alumni club is going to watch the football games, I'm assuming. I wanted to speak with the manager then to make sure things are still good, but she wasn't there. Oh, this was the place where my waitress had this crazy but very personal tattoo. Happy Hour-priced beer with tip: $5.
- On Sunday, June 15 I saw the second half of France's whipping of Honduras at the Nomad. Got a Budweiser, then I had these awesome roasted vegetable tacos (meatless tacos? Yep!) at the Dr. Mustachio's food truck which hauls itself next to the Nomad bocce ball courts. With tips: $13.50.
- Afterwards I went to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Division) for quick coffee and a tip: $4.
- Saturday the 14th was the day the entire family my brother and sister-in-law's new baby, a girl. You know, I've dropped so many quick hits about my niece I've basically blogged about her even though I promised you guys I would actually talk about her. Oh, well. These are social occasions where I guess I'm supposed to bring a gift. It never occurred to me; guess that shows how self-centered, if not narcissistic, I am. So in a panic I decided to give my newborn niece some money. Technically I have to say this is an Infusion of: $100.
- ... then a gift to her: $100.
- Friday the 13th seems to be a bad day to be going out, but I guess I wanted to get away from my family for a little bit. Went to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Edition) for coffee and tips. I think this time around two girls expects five bucks on stage, so I only spent: $7.
- On Tuesday the 10th the only EWR I had was spending money on a haircut. Have a receipt for the cut itself, but the tip was: $2.
Friday, July 11, 2014
Oh, Yeah, Guys, I'm Alive
Totally forgot to blog about this earlier! Surgery went well. Maybe a little too well. Basically what the doctor-turned-surgeon did was excavate a piece of my ass, the part where the seton's buried up to the surface. I thought it was going to hurt like a motherfucker once the anesthesia wore off, but it's been more than 24 hours, and shockingly, I don't feel anything on my behind. My butt feel's good, to be honest.
Other parts of me aren't, for some reason. As soon as I began walking I noticed that my hamstrings were sore. My throat was sore also. So how come I hurt there but not the area where the surgery took place? And why didn't my throat and hammies hurt when the seton was put in half a year ago?
Someone from the hospital where I had the operation called me, as they did the first time, to check up on me. I told her about the my concerns and she told me not to worry. The throat's sore because they stuck an airway down there to make sure I kept breathing, and she pins the hamstrings on positioning. I'm sure they did the same things six months ago, but she said that it's possible that a patient would have parts of his body hurt now when they didn't before.
OK, whatever. I don't need to take any Percocet, but I just took one -- not for my bunghole, like I thought I would have to, but for my neck, which has gotten increasingly more painful this afternoon, surprisingly. It's kicked in the past hour, which may be why I forgot that I hadn't blogged today till now.
In the meantime I feel this big mass in my stomach. I imagine it's fecal matter. The Percocet is supposed to induce constipation, but I'm not worried because, frankly, I don't want to take a shit right now. I'm scared that my asshole will be on fire once my excrement passes through my rectum. And I'm worried about wiping -- about rubbing the incision down there, and about mixing feces with what I can only imagine to be a gaping wound of open cuts and sores. If I don't shit for a week, honestly, I'm OK. Just so I can be done with the wart on my ass for once and for all.
Other parts of me aren't, for some reason. As soon as I began walking I noticed that my hamstrings were sore. My throat was sore also. So how come I hurt there but not the area where the surgery took place? And why didn't my throat and hammies hurt when the seton was put in half a year ago?
Someone from the hospital where I had the operation called me, as they did the first time, to check up on me. I told her about the my concerns and she told me not to worry. The throat's sore because they stuck an airway down there to make sure I kept breathing, and she pins the hamstrings on positioning. I'm sure they did the same things six months ago, but she said that it's possible that a patient would have parts of his body hurt now when they didn't before.
OK, whatever. I don't need to take any Percocet, but I just took one -- not for my bunghole, like I thought I would have to, but for my neck, which has gotten increasingly more painful this afternoon, surprisingly. It's kicked in the past hour, which may be why I forgot that I hadn't blogged today till now.
In the meantime I feel this big mass in my stomach. I imagine it's fecal matter. The Percocet is supposed to induce constipation, but I'm not worried because, frankly, I don't want to take a shit right now. I'm scared that my asshole will be on fire once my excrement passes through my rectum. And I'm worried about wiping -- about rubbing the incision down there, and about mixing feces with what I can only imagine to be a gaping wound of open cuts and sores. If I don't shit for a week, honestly, I'm OK. Just so I can be done with the wart on my ass for once and for all.
Thursday, July 10, 2014
Some Friend I Am
Late Tuesday night I got a voicemail from a friend of mine. Our mutual friend, one I blogged about flipping out on me at The Store more than five years ago, died. He had a stroke some time ago, he's been in a care home since, he had surgery on Tuesday, and there were complications, and he passed away Sunday.
Upon hearing my friend's VM, I thought about him for a bit, then went back on the Internet. Jerked off, too. Today, I thought about him from time to time, but there were periods where I was working or listening to the World Cup game or just dinkin' around the Internet, then I realized I wasn't thinking about him, and feeling bad that I didn't think about him.
Just checked my e-mail records. The last time he wrote to me was less than two weeks ago, updating me and others about the latest changed date of his surgery. He was hoping that he could be back living independently next month. The last time I wrote to him was the day after April Fools' Day, in response to an earlier update. He wanted to go the racetrack once his health improved. And the last time I saw him was last year, when we went to a Twins game. He was toddling around, but he seemed to be OK, and he was in good spirits.
I had been meaning to go see him at the facility he was in, but I never did. The usual excuses -- too busy, work, this vacation with my family, visiting him slipped my mind -- obviously are bullshit when it comes to death. And now it's too late.
And yet, as guilty as I feel for not seeing him, I feel even shittier for giving a shit. Not that I don't care about my friend -- I do. But if I were a true friend, I would have seen him. I'm beating myself up for not taking one afternoon, one measly fucking afternoon to see one of the few people in my life with whom I shared a passion for sports and ask how he's doing. I wonder if anyone saw him. And I wonder if he was angry with me, or sad that I never dropped by, like true friends are supposed to.
But even as I hate myself for not seeing him before he went, I'm also judging myself. This woulda-coulda-shoulda is the self-indulgent mental anguish people give themselves when they realize they were too lazy to do the right thing when it counted, and now need to make themselves feel better. Look, if you'll give me some latitude in making myself feel better -- it's not as if he was on death's door, or at least he didn't make it seem like he was. Unlike my uncle, there was no warning that his health was taking a turn for the worse. If there was advance news -- and if someone closer to him than I was in communication with other friends who weren't as tight with him, like me -- of course we would drop everything and run to see him. But he had surgery that anyone would reasonably assume he would survive ... and he didn't.
But, again, thinking that is useless. He was not deathly ill, but he was definitely not 100% healthy. That alone is reason enough to see him. Friends see friends, right? End of story. But I didn't do that. And so I now am persecuting myself -- rightly so -- both ways on a two-way street. I'm right in the median of guilt and indecision. I either should have just seen him while he was alive just in case, or, to be ruthlessly honest with how my actions reflect my beliefs, I should just admit that I didn't consider him as close enough of a friend to spend a day with him and ... forget about him. I didn't do the former, and I don't want to be the latter, or at least I don't want to admit that the latter is how I actually feel.
So his death reminds me of the usual cliches. Tell the people you love that you love them before they're gone. Tomorrow isn't promised to any of us. One minute we're here, the next minute we could be gone. And live life to the fullest. All true, and all impractical to living life. I regret I'll probably not live by these mottoes as soon as I have to resume my life.
But right now, with his death haunting me, and while I await any news on his funeral -- that I'm visiting him now that he's gone is so morbidly ironic and unfair to him that I shouldn't even have the dignity of mourning him, I'm such a selfish asshole -- I feel I must abide by these cliches. I have a friend out in Los Angeles who told me that he got engaged. I owe him a phone call, but I've been putting it off. But I left him a message tonight, and he texted me back, whew. This guy I met downtown wanted to show me a presentation related to work. I think he's trying to sell me something, but I promised him a reply, and I should do that soon. Hell, I might even do what my parents say and get up early in the morning to water their plants.
What I really want to do, of course, is visit my old friend, at least once. But he's dead, and I didn't take the time to do so while he was alive, so now I can't. And right now I don't think I can ever forgive myself for that mistake.
---
In the meantime I am going to go through my own surgery, which will be in the morning. Finally I'm going to get this anal seton removed, after half a year. I'm in good health, but with my friend's death I can't help but think that there might be complications -- the surgeon screws up, or I don't wake up from the anesthesia. It'd be sort of ironic if I died shortly after he did. But, since I didn't honor my friend by seeing him, maybe an unforeseen passing would be ... deserved.
Upon hearing my friend's VM, I thought about him for a bit, then went back on the Internet. Jerked off, too. Today, I thought about him from time to time, but there were periods where I was working or listening to the World Cup game or just dinkin' around the Internet, then I realized I wasn't thinking about him, and feeling bad that I didn't think about him.
Just checked my e-mail records. The last time he wrote to me was less than two weeks ago, updating me and others about the latest changed date of his surgery. He was hoping that he could be back living independently next month. The last time I wrote to him was the day after April Fools' Day, in response to an earlier update. He wanted to go the racetrack once his health improved. And the last time I saw him was last year, when we went to a Twins game. He was toddling around, but he seemed to be OK, and he was in good spirits.
I had been meaning to go see him at the facility he was in, but I never did. The usual excuses -- too busy, work, this vacation with my family, visiting him slipped my mind -- obviously are bullshit when it comes to death. And now it's too late.
And yet, as guilty as I feel for not seeing him, I feel even shittier for giving a shit. Not that I don't care about my friend -- I do. But if I were a true friend, I would have seen him. I'm beating myself up for not taking one afternoon, one measly fucking afternoon to see one of the few people in my life with whom I shared a passion for sports and ask how he's doing. I wonder if anyone saw him. And I wonder if he was angry with me, or sad that I never dropped by, like true friends are supposed to.
But even as I hate myself for not seeing him before he went, I'm also judging myself. This woulda-coulda-shoulda is the self-indulgent mental anguish people give themselves when they realize they were too lazy to do the right thing when it counted, and now need to make themselves feel better. Look, if you'll give me some latitude in making myself feel better -- it's not as if he was on death's door, or at least he didn't make it seem like he was. Unlike my uncle, there was no warning that his health was taking a turn for the worse. If there was advance news -- and if someone closer to him than I was in communication with other friends who weren't as tight with him, like me -- of course we would drop everything and run to see him. But he had surgery that anyone would reasonably assume he would survive ... and he didn't.
But, again, thinking that is useless. He was not deathly ill, but he was definitely not 100% healthy. That alone is reason enough to see him. Friends see friends, right? End of story. But I didn't do that. And so I now am persecuting myself -- rightly so -- both ways on a two-way street. I'm right in the median of guilt and indecision. I either should have just seen him while he was alive just in case, or, to be ruthlessly honest with how my actions reflect my beliefs, I should just admit that I didn't consider him as close enough of a friend to spend a day with him and ... forget about him. I didn't do the former, and I don't want to be the latter, or at least I don't want to admit that the latter is how I actually feel.
So his death reminds me of the usual cliches. Tell the people you love that you love them before they're gone. Tomorrow isn't promised to any of us. One minute we're here, the next minute we could be gone. And live life to the fullest. All true, and all impractical to living life. I regret I'll probably not live by these mottoes as soon as I have to resume my life.
But right now, with his death haunting me, and while I await any news on his funeral -- that I'm visiting him now that he's gone is so morbidly ironic and unfair to him that I shouldn't even have the dignity of mourning him, I'm such a selfish asshole -- I feel I must abide by these cliches. I have a friend out in Los Angeles who told me that he got engaged. I owe him a phone call, but I've been putting it off. But I left him a message tonight, and he texted me back, whew. This guy I met downtown wanted to show me a presentation related to work. I think he's trying to sell me something, but I promised him a reply, and I should do that soon. Hell, I might even do what my parents say and get up early in the morning to water their plants.
What I really want to do, of course, is visit my old friend, at least once. But he's dead, and I didn't take the time to do so while he was alive, so now I can't. And right now I don't think I can ever forgive myself for that mistake.
---
In the meantime I am going to go through my own surgery, which will be in the morning. Finally I'm going to get this anal seton removed, after half a year. I'm in good health, but with my friend's death I can't help but think that there might be complications -- the surgeon screws up, or I don't wake up from the anesthesia. It'd be sort of ironic if I died shortly after he did. But, since I didn't honor my friend by seeing him, maybe an unforeseen passing would be ... deserved.
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