The Table Of The United States Women's National Team For The 2015 Women's World Cup And The Colleges They Went To

Here is the roster for the USWNT at the 2015 WWC. Obviously there are many holdovers from the squad that went to Germany for the 2011 World Cup, but here is the roster in full, new players as well as old. One note: Apparently FIFA expanded rosters from 21 in 2011 to 23 this year:

Number	Name	College
1	Hope Solo	Washington
2	Sydney Leroux	UCLA
3	Christie Rampone	Monmouth
4	Becky Sauerbrunn	Virginia
5	Kelley O'Hara	Stanford
6	Whitney Engen	North Carolina
7	Shannon Boxx	Notre Dame
8	Amy Rodriguez	USC
9	Heather O'Reilly	North Carolina
10	Carli Lloyd	Rutgers
11	Ali Krieger	Penn St.
12	Lauren Holiday	UCLA
13	Alex Morgan	Cal
14	Morgan Brian	Virginia
15	Megan Rapinoe	Portland
16	Lori Chalupny	North Carolina
17	Tobin Heath	North Carolina
18	Ashlyn Harris	North Carolina
19	Julie Johnston	Santa Clara
20	Abby Wambach	Florida
21	Alyssa Naeher	Penn St.
22	Meghan Klingenberg	North Carolina
23	Christen Press	Stanford

Observations: There is still the outlier of Monmouth, represented by the ageless Rampone. But the Hawks are joined in "Huh?"-ville by Santa Clara, represented by Julie Johnston, the breakout star/babe and, possibly, the player playing the best on the club right now. Otherwise it's a BcS-heavy squad (of course), with Notre Dame and Portland being exceptions that are not unfamiliar to the USWNT. What you also see, of course, is that Carolina is the alma mater of more than a quarter of the team. Anson Dorrance remains a god in women's soccer, even with that pesky sexual harassment story.

Go team!  Beat Germany!

Cold Stone Creamery, What The Fuck Did You Give Me This Card For?

I guess "Cold Stone Creamery, You Suck!" would be a much shorter and thus better blog post title, but it would not be accurate.  I still love the ice cream, it's their "rewards card" program that confuses me.

So I was at the Mall of America yesterday, and it was humid, so even though I wasn't hungry I thought I'd eat ice cream.  There were two places I was thinking of going to, both because I have loyalty cards with them: Cold Stone Creamery and the Pinkberry.  In the end I went to Cold Stone because it was closer and I didn't have all the time in the world.

Everything was fine -- ordered quickly, got exactly what I wanted.  And I'll say that the guy helping me was really fastidious in mixing up the Twix in with the sweet cream and making sure every single drop of that gets into my cup.  But when I got rung up and I gave him the Cold Stone Creamery card -- and remember, this was just to put the purchase on it, like I'm accruing points towards, like, getting a free one -- he swiped it through and then said, "There's no money on it."

"I know," I said, "I"m just trying to put the points on the card."

"Uh, we can't do that," I think he said.  I'm paraphrasing.  He said something like that.  Anyway, they're telling me that it's not a rewards card.  Which is bullshit, because this was the same fucking store that gave it to me as a rewards card.

I told him this, somewhat audibly.  This guy I guess then deferred to the person next to him, who may have been the manager, who send something like, "Yeah, we don't have the technology to process that as a rewards card."  What?  What the fuck?  How do you guys not "have the technology?"  What does that even mean?  When are you going to "have the technology?"  Are you saying that you're one of the only Cold Stone Creameries in America that doesn't "have the technology?"  Which is kind of rich, because, once again, I was given this rewards card, as a rewards card, from here, which I think means I can assume that you "have the technology" to process this card as a rewards card.  But they didn't.

So I left with my ice cream in one hand and my dick in the other.  Sure I paid, like I was supposed to, but I didn't get any credit towards a future free ice cream, like some guy at that same place promised me when I was given the card.  Look, Cold Stone Creamery: If this is not a rewards card, which I think is what the people were trying to say but were too embarrassed to say out loud, why was I told it was one?

Yeah, I'll go back to them again; their ice cream is too good.  But not for a while.

The Table Of The United States Women's National Team For The 2011 Women's World Cup And The Colleges They Went To

Wanted to do this, both recognizing/honoring the 2011 United States Women's World Cup team as well as finally brushing up on my HTML skills by putting, for the first time ever in Wailing And Failing, a table.

I'll talk about coding first.  Of the four classes of my very first semester in college, one of them was a freshman symposium.  Remember that this was 1994.  I literally grew up at the dawn of the Internet.  My senior year in high school was when I heard about this thing called "e-mail" and I remember kind of making fun of how weird and stupid it was.  The joke was on me.  Anyway, that freshman symposium on what the World Wide Web was piqued me into learning more about it, so my junior year I took a class on how to make a homepage, which we now call coding.  I learned a lot of stuff which is super basic now, but I've always wanted to brush up on them ever since I starting WAF.  I just didn't have time nor a reason to.

The U.S. women's national soccer team, albeit four years ago, was my impetus.  I always watched them, although I'll admit I remember falling asleep to the end of the 1999 Women's World Cup Final; I woke up to just after Brandi Chastain converted the final Penalty Kick to give the U.S./us the championship.  But I really, really got into them in 2011, especially after Megan Rapinoe crossed that ridiculous header to Abby Wamback to tie up their quarterfinal match against Brazil in injury extra time (it basically starts at :40):



I am still saddened and humiliated that they couldn't hold an extra time lead in the final against Japan.  Seeing them fall apart in PKs still wounds me.  But then, and even moreso now, I think that that team should be honored.  I think that, well, loser team will stand out as a watershed moment in the history of American women's soccer, and American soccer, period.

And I will honor them by making a table of them according to where they went to college.  What?  OK, that's my main reason for establishing this table.  You could call it an obsession.  The U.S. is alone in using college as an athletic apprenticeship.  Everywhere else around the globe have these special training academies.  Once he or she develops even a scintilla of talent, they are whisked away to these camps to train (and to study) for years until they're adults.  I'm guessing these academies can start as soon as they're 10.  As an American I think it's kind of barbaric, but I'm sure that someone from Europe or South America would say, "Why are fully grown adults going to college not to study but to play -- and why aren't you paying them?"

Nonetheless it is interesting for me to know the colleges of the 21 players on the USWNT for the 2011 Women's World Cup.  And in numerical order, here they are.  I hope you like it:

Number	Name	College
1	Hope Solo	Washington
2	Heather Mitts	Florida
3	Christie Rampone	Monmouth
4	Becky Sauerbrunn	Virginia
5	Kelley O'Hara	Stanford
6	Amy LePeilbet	Arizona St.
7	Shannon Boxx	Notre Dame
8	Amy Rodriguez	USC
9	Heather O'Reilly	North Carolina
10	Carli Lloyd	Rutgers
11	Ali Krieger	Penn St.
12	Lauren Cheney	UCLA
13	Alex Morgan	Cal
14	Stephanie Cox	Portland
15	Megan Rapinoe	Portland
16	Lori Lindsey	Virginia
17	Tobin Heath	North Carolina
18	Nicole Barnhart	Stanford
19	Rachel Buehler	Stanford
20	Abby Wambach	Florida
21	Jillian Loyden	Villanova

Anything that stands out?  I've always believed that North Carolina is the preeminent women's soccer program in the country, but while they had two players on the team, it's actually Stanford that led with three players.  It's very Pac-10/12/8-heavy, but don't forget that another school on the west coast, Portland, is a very excellent program, as evidenced by the two players it placed on the team.  Outliers?  Back-up Goaltender Jillian Loyden of Villanova and Captain and The Legendary One, Christie Rampone, who hails from Monmouth.

This team all left college, but there are a few other countries in this year's WWC that have players that still go to college.  I think women's college soccer, the NCAA, and the individual schools may be squandering a chance to capitalize on the popularity of the team and the event by not promoting the upcoming season.  The schools can boast of the alums that made it to Canada.  Some should be able to say that a few student-athletes got to play in the World Cup.  Add to it that it is in fact women's soccer that kicks off the college sports season (they begin a week or so before college football does), and it appears as though the sport as a unique opportunity to bring in people who may not be aware of their local Division I team that could, theoretically, have the next Abby Wambach or Megan Rapinoe on their team and on campus.  (Same goes for the National Women's Soccer League; they should be promoting the hell out of themselves -- "You want to see the players on the national team play professionally?  Come to a game near you!")

I will hopefully do a similar table for the current roster before Tuesday's match versus Germany.  Should be a good one, but I don't want to do a table for them after a loss.

Well, Thanks, Father, I Guess ...

I still resent My Father going into my room and fucking with my stuff, but there's not a damn thing I can do about it.  Well, maybe put a lock on the door.  But as bad as our relations have been and probably will be, I'm not ready to lock my door when I leave the house.  And he's been OK with not opening my bedroom door when I am in, so I guess this will be the compromise I will live with.

Nevertheless he will storm through my bedroom because he wants to wipe the floor, which at a minimum is once a week but can often be more than that.  After he does that he usually admonishes me for not cleaning my room, which usually results in yelling and eye-rolling.  That's why I don't want him in my room.

Thursday and yesterday he was off on one of his cleaning jags.  Thursday he rearranged the whole upstairs bathroom in order to clean everything.  Yesterday he tossed everything I had on the floor of my bedroom somewhere else in order, presumably, to wipe the floor.  Today, before dashing off to drive my old car and see if it's holding up, My Father called me down and ordered me to clean my room.

And then he said that if there was anything broken in the room to let him know and he'll fix it.  What do you mean?  Well, there are things that broken in my room.  The more annoying thing is that an area of the screen door to the window was cut.  That has allowed many an insect to come into my room, especially that past couple of humid days, when a pair of, well, big insects have come in.  The track to one of the closet doors is also off, making it kind of hard to push open and close.

Now, they are former problems, because Father fixed them.  As soon as he told me he fixed them I went back upstairs to my room, Father tailing behind.  Apparently he put in a whole new screen window, and Father showed me how easily the door moves to open and close.  And that is ... fantastic.

You know, I hate to give My Father credit.  I really do.  But whenever I saw that open screen I'd say to myself, "OK, this weekend I'm going to fix it," and whenever I tried to force open my closet door, I would say to myself, "This sucks, but I'll just deal with it."  Actually fixing it, to be honest with myself, was pretty low on the list.  Hell, I didn't even think about either problem as I bolted out the door this morning.  So what My Father did was, well, really, really ... ugh ... nice.

So I thanked him -- to which he took advantage of my rare compliment and ordered me to pick up my stuff.  It felt really nice to have a working closet door and a screen window that actually screened stuff, so I just shrugged him off.  I think my stuff's fine where they are.  But, uh, thanks, anyway, Father.

Budget? What Fucking Budget?

Being the president of the alumni club demands responsibilities that I simply am not qualified for.  We're just about broke, I have no time or energy to set up events, and I continually get blindsided by demands for things and overwhelmed by questions that I have no answers to.

Our biggest event is coming in about six weeks -- or is it five?  Shit.  Since the disaster last year, I've learned to just get out of the way if at all possible.  And I thought I dodged a bullet this year when another person said she would love to host -- thank you!  Thank God! -- and was willing to do most of the grunt work in planning the party.

As president, of course, I still have a role -- namely bankrolling the food.  Gulp.  And when I asked the host how are things going she asked me what kind of budget are we talking about.  Budget?  What the fuck is the budget?  I have no clue.  I can tell her how much money the club has.  Isn't that the budget?  And didn't she already ask me this question before?  I thought I told her, and I though that that meant I was able to duck that uncomfortable conversation for a while.  Guess not.

We have not been able to raise as many funds as I wanted to through the small number of events we've been able to set up.  I was afraid this was going to happen as soon as I said yes to assuming the role because no one else wanted to.  At the time I was ready to just fucking throw money at the club so we could fund scholarships and events like this.  But that's before my old car really starting to take hunks out of my checking account and I, well, discovered I liked getting blowjobs.

I was sitting OK until my old car got fixed and I needed to pay up, in cash.  So learning that money may indeed be an object with our alumni club event is something that suddenly isn't wise to backstop.  But what the fuck am I supposed to do then?  Cancel the event?  Go to the grocery store to pick up deli meats and get cake at Dairy Queen?  That was totally fine by me, but no, we have to get all fancy-schmancy now.  And I don't know if I have enough money in my account to even pull that off.

So I have no choice but to tell her how much money the club has and pray that that's enough.  Because I don't know how all this catering shit works.

The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey

#-1: Twins (Last Week: -2).  Hmmm ... at the end of the day I'm giving the top spot in this week's survey to the Twinks only because their record of 4-3 is slightly better than the Lynx's pure .500 record.  Don't have much reason than that.

It started off with a 2-1 victory Thursday afternoon, salvaging a split of a four-game series with the St. Louis Cardinals.  I was able to attend that game -- even though it was a close call; would have been late to pick up a commuter rail ticket if not for the fact that the train, once again, was late -- and it was close but not very dramatic.  All three runs were solo shots; Jason Heyward put the Cards on top, then Joe Mauer (whodathunkit?) went opposite field to tie before Kennys Vargas, who grounded into two double plays that game, lofted one into right field in the bottom of the ninth.  St. Louis is a damn good team, and a well-supported one, too; when Vargas bounced into the second of his GIDPs, Redbird Nation, which was a good 10% of Target Field, stood up to give their team a huge round of applause.  Nevertheless I was truly happy when the good guys won at the end.

The club, still hosting through the week, then dropped two-of-three against the suddenly surging Chicago Cubs before taking two-of-three against the flailing Chicago White Sox.  The rubber match Wednesday afternoon went Minnesota's way, 6-1, despite Pale Hose Pitcher Chris Sale striking out ten Twins batters while getting hung for the loss.

Byron Buxton remains on the team, for now.  Despite his struggles to get on base, Manager Paul Molitor actually moved him up to first in the lineup in Monday's (?) 13-2 win over the Sox.  Where will Buxton be this weekend, when they play three at Milwaukee?  They continue on their maximum-length road trip with a trio in Cincinnati starting on Monday, then three at Kansas City starting on Thursday.

#-2: Lynx (Last Week: -1).  OK, I am back to thinking that there might be a change at the top of the WNBA.  Two days after the Jynx marched into San Antonio and blitzed the Silver Stars by 15 Friday, they had a rematch against The Bastard Detroit Shock at home and, unlike their victory earlier in the season, they lost, 86-78.  The Lynx seem to have some trouble with Tulsa.  I saw them beat Minnesota at Target Center two or three years ago.  And just like then, they seemed to have lost to the Shock the same way: Easy penetration to the hoop with the occasional kick-out to the perimeter resulting in a made three-pointer.  Head Coach Cheryl Reeve didn't like the matador defense, and neither do I.

So now Minnesota and the Phoenix Mercury are chasing Tulsa in the Western Conference; will they be chasing them all year?  In the meantime they have yet another two-game screening week which falls right around the weekend: At Seattle Thursday, home to the Mercury Saturday, then they will be off till next Friday, for some odd reason.

I'M GONNA FUCKIN' FAIL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (Scheduled Post)

My God, I never ever believed being a test scorer was going to be this goddamn stressful.

One of the many reasons I love this (seasonal) job is that it's fairly easy.  All those people who say they want to get challenged at work?  Fuck those fucking people!  I don't need to be anxious eight hours out of my day.  I want something where I can be productive and successful and happy.  And being a test scorer gives me that joy and sense of accomplishment.

The project I'm working on now, however, is different.  Much different.  The tests in order to qualify for working the project are not rubber stamps, sadly.  There are basically three hoops to jump through and a couple stipulations you have to exceed.  If you fail any of those qualifications, you're basically fired.

Worse yet: This project involves essays, which is not my strong suit.  I've done a lot of essays this year, and I found them both very time-consuming to evaluate and difficult to grade.  I was lucky, however, that in previous essay project I never had to be tested in order to work on them.  I do for this one.  And it's absolutely difficult.  Too difficult, in fact.

We have done the first two of the three tests.  The first was awful.  There was one maximum score, and I blew it.  Worse yet, the score I gave this "perfect" paper was so low that if I do it again, I'm off the project.  And it's really pissing me off because there is no goddamn motherfucking way that essay deserves the maximum score.  It's a bunch of gibberish tossed together, and it might cost me a paycheck.

So I was shitting myself for the second test, which I heard my supervisor say was much worse than the first one.  Well, I'm fucked, I thought.  If I can't get the first one right, I'll get so many wrong on the next one that I might as well fucking pack up my creamers and leave and never come back.  In fact, right after I agonized for an hour over these questions (something I have never done before on a qualie), I immediately dialed up my temp agency and told them to start looking for work for me starting on Thursday.

I usually am the first person to finish these qualification tests.  They're so easy, and once I qualify, I usually don't have to re-qualify.  So once I'm done shotgunning through the questions I just get up and take a piss.  I have a feeling that the other people I work with have seen me do this too many times, so they must have been having one hell of a time seeing me sweat and go through the training essays in order to get this right.  Karma's a bitch, they're thinking.  Well, I will have them know that I gave it my all for every test, and I was grateful for every passing grade I got.

We finished the second test before leaving for the day.  Like with the first one, I was so scared of learning my scores that I didn't even look at them.  But my immediate supervisor gave me a slight grin and said that I did a lot better in this much tougher test.

Great.  But I still have this third test to get through, and its scores are tabulated in my total score.  I can feel my psyche not taking this test, which I get first thing in the morning, seriously because I was told this is the easiest of the three.  Just my luck, though, that I would overestimate it and totally fail the fucking thing.  And I would get tripped up in the easiest test, and I'll be out in my ass, all angry and bitter.  But I have no idea how to study for it.  I am subject to the whims of this capricious test, and I have to pray that I stay employed.

Why do I have to work this hard for it?  Why do I have to be tested -- for anything?  Why do I have to be judged like this?  I don't want to be judged.  I'm trying to live and make a living and have a little fucking-around money to be happy.  But I might not be able to do that just because I miss a question.  Fucking bullshit that my ability to live depends on that shit.

Addendum To: Bitches Are Giving Me Blue Balls

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OK, Now I Have To Tell You Guys About How They "Fixed" My Car

I had it hauled away on a Monday.  Had to lie and say I was Father in order to get it towed from our driveway, which is weird because when I called a few weeks before that they were totally fine with it (I had to cancel that tow order because Father spontaneously decided Mother and he were going to take a cruise to Scandinavia).  Didn't think much of it; if they said they could fix it for a grand, I figure that they'll take their time fixing it, and if it turns out it'd be more expensive, I had already cleared the car of everything I wanted.  Either way I have a car to use.

So on Friday I'm just driving around spending money I shouldn't be spending when I look down on my phone and see Father tried calling me.  I wait until a time where I would theoretically be on break to call him back.  When I do, he asks me where the wheel lock is.  Why would they need to remove the lug nuts from the car, I ask.  The mechanic we towed the old car to said it needed new brakes.  Bullshit it needs new brakes, I thought.  The reason I haven't been able to use the car -- the reason I got a new damn car -- is because the head gasket blew, causing the engine to overheat.  I don't know what the hell they're doing with the brakes.

So after I find the number for this shop (I thought I had the card in my pants but turns out I didn't because I switched pants and didn't transfer all the crap I have in them; this is the downside to not wearing the same pair for the entire week, like I usually do) I immediately lay into them -- "Why in the hell are you changing the brakes?"  And then once I tell them not to do anything until I can get the wheel lock to them -- which, because I'm "working" on this Friday, would have to be Saturday morning -- they then tell me, "Oh, well, I busted the lug nuts that needed the wheel lock."

YOU BUSTED THE LUG NUTS?!?!?!  WHY THE HELL DID YOU DO THAT FOR?!?!?!  I don't know of a mechanic who'll just bust lug nuts if they don't have a lug with the pattern on that'll help twist them open.  Fuck fixing the brakes that don't need fixing; who does that?  I asked them, and it appears they called My Fucking Father that morning and said, "We need to change the brakes, but we can't find the wheel lock for the lug nuts with that squiggly pattern to them!"  And so My Fucking Father said, "OK, why don't you just break them open?"  No!  How about you don't do a fucking thing until My Fucking Father asks me where it is, so I can get the wheel lock to you guys, so you don't have to damage any part of my goddamn car.  How's that?

I still can't figure out who I should be more pissed at -- the mechanics who just said, "OK, I'm gonna fix the brakes now, goddammit, so I'll use this 'special' tool to break them open!" (say this with a stupid-person voice), or My Fucking Father, who basically said, "Yeah, OK, you have my permission to turn the car into shit.  My son, the person who loved the car for 22 years and will be the one driving it if you fix it won't mind!" (also say this with a stupid-person voice).  Why couldn't these fucking people wait?  And why did My Fucking Old Man let them damage my car?

---

Saturday morning I go there and give them the wheel lock.  For all I know they didn't need it; they really did tell me they had this "special" tool they used to bust two of the lug nuts open.  If they had that tool, I don't see why they wouldn't just use that fucking thing for the other two, so they could go at the brakes as soon as they goddamn wanted to.

And they very well could have.  Because when I got home, which was around 3:30 in the afternoon because I decided I was too bored to actually do stuff around town, there was the old car.  What the fuck?  I dropped off the wheel lock at around 9:30.  Could they have done the whole thing in six hours?  Perhaps.  Or they just looked at the wheel lock, think, "Why the fuck did he give us this?" and just tossed it in the car as soon as I left the shop.  Dumbasses.

So what basically happened, I am guessing, is that they see this car, decide for some fucking reason that the brakes needed to be changed (to the tune of an extra $350, I might add), can't find the wheel lock for the lug nuts with that pattern on it, call My Fucking Father, who said, "Eh, what the hell, do what you like!" and they damaged beyond repair lug nuts that need a wheel lock so my wheels and tires don't get stolen.  And then they make me wake up and drive down to south Minneapolis on a Saturday morning to deliver a part they may not have needed after all.  What the fuck kind of shit-ass clown show is this?

And I don't even know if it works.  My Fucking Father said it ran fine; in particular he said that there was sufficient power when driving on the highway (powerlessness is a main symptom of a blown head gasket).  I need to drive it, hard, around the Twin Cities to make sure it can at least be used as a winter car.  I have a bad feeling that the wheels and tires of the lug nuts they broke through will magically fall off while I'm driving on the highway so I'll be desperately dragging the ass half of my car over to the shoulder, sparks flying like it's the fucking 4th of July.

A Father's Day Dilemma

Uh, Happy Father's Day and all that shit.

So, anyway, I went to sleep at 1 and woke up at 8:30 -- full night's rest, which is good.  I woke up knowing what today was, and for the past several days I thought, to "honor" My Fucking Father, I would mow the lawn.  But should I?

See, I am not sure if the grass is high enough it to be mowed.  Now, there are a ton of things back-and-forth about whether or not to mow.  I have heard that even if it's not that high, you should mow it anyway because it helps "train" the grass and will make it stronger.  But my decision on whether or not to do it falls, as it always does, on how My Fucking Father will think.  On the one hand, I thought about doing it because he might like the gesture, since it's Father's Day and all.  But on the other hand I can see him coming back and complaining that it wasn't that necessary because the grass wasn't that tall, and all I'm doing is wasting gas.

My parents awoke; Mother actually called me when I was using the shitter that they were going out for a walk, and if you're going to leave, remember to set the alarm.  So basically, if I could avoid mowing the lawn, they gave me that chance.  I get out of the bathroom and look at both lawns.  The backyard's grass isn't too long, but it is long, and you could see a difference if it was mowed.  Same thing with the front yard with one notable exception.  There is a quadrant of grass that is not protected by shade from the trees or the house most of the day, therefore it is perpetually dried out.  That area is very low, and there really is no need to mow that part.  If that part doesn't need to be mowed, then should I mow any of it, at least until it grows a little bit taller?  And at this point I hear My Fucking Father's nagging voice -- "That's unnecessary, son.  Now are you going back to school yet?"

Fine.  I took off, for Five Watt Coffee, to see all the hot female talent.  That's where I'm writing this.  My Fucking Father can decide when it needs to be mowed.  He has all day, every day, to mow it.  Not my decision, and that's fine by me.  I'll feign going back to school to make up for it.  That'll please him.

Now I'll come home this afternoon and see that he mowed the lawn.  Fuck.

---

Have you Googled today?  For Father's Day the second "O" is replaced with short animations of father animals interacting their children; the vignette ends with a son dropping onto the shoulders of his dad, and his dad grabs and embraces him.  Very tender, very sweet.  And I don't remember many times, if any time, My Father and I interacted like that.  And I don't remember the last time I had feelings towards him like the feelings invoked by the Google Doodle.

I like to think it's his fault.  Could it be mine?

The Car Ain't Done With Me

Being told you need to fork over $1,350 ain't a great way to wake up in the morning, I can tell you that.  But that's what Mother texted me before my parents left for something they felt they needed to do on a Saturday morning even though they're retired.  I was awake at 7:30, an hour before she texted me, but I bolted out the door to basically say, What the hell.

At this point I had to look through my previous blog posts about my old car after the gasket blew.  I swear I spoke about it, and I haven't done a more thorough search, but it appears that I have not.  So let me bring you up to speed.  We did not trash it.  My Father knows a guy who said he could fix it for a grand.  That made us think that we could transfer it over to a winter beater car.  That would make sense, and I was OK with it.  I was working as a test scorer, so I thought I could absorb the grand over time.

So, maybe I shouldn't blink at an extra $350.  But that blindside made me look at my account again.  I had just paid my credit card bill this week, and they remain large.  With the $1,350 Mother told me to take out of my checking account, the total amount I will have is, get this, $1,700.  One thousand, seven hundred bucks.  Total.

I checked my total balance before I began my flu biller job back in August.  It may have been below two grand, but not by much.  Therefore, that means that after spending flu season with that job (which paid pretty good money), then several test scoring projects (which also paid good money), I am not only back where I started from, but I am in a deeper hole.

What.  The.  Fuck.

Yeah, I totally could cut down on my expenses.  But I think I'm a pretty good boy when I work.  I play pretty hard when I don't.  OK, I just spend a lot of money when I don't work.  But the sexy time I spend with strippers is my main hobby, and it makes me happy, so I sure as fuck won't give that up.  Guess I should check myself when it comes to eating out.  But the biggest expense, as it has been for the past several years, is repairing the car.  And once again, my meager stash of cash is wiped out because of this goddamn car.  It's still got its fucking claws in me, and it won't let me go.

I'm A Pervert, And I'm OK With That

There could have been a lot of things I could do this week, where I had the whole time to myself inbetween my jobs.  I could have started school, I could have volunteered my time, I could have began going through my bags of papers in storage, I could have even exercised more than one day.  Instead, I went to a Twins game, saw Mad Max (it was OK, I was wanting more), went to see some afternoon Women's World Cup games and, through my laziness, I have been trying to set up some sexy time.

The operative word being "trying."  The aunt-and-niece trio who flaked on me earlier this week because they had a "headache" and "the hotel manager came over to see if we were growing shit" is on the backburner.  ****e*, who works at My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Division), is supposed to blow me this afternoon.  But now I haven't heard from her this morning (which she promised to do), so I don't know where she has moved to.  So I have texted the niece again.  Maybe she won't flake out on me again.  So now I have two balls in the air (so to speak), and I did not want that to happen because one person will be upset and I don't want that in case my penis needs to be emptied.  And then there is ****a, the girl who gives me massages but has been too unreliable for me to go back to for happy endings.  She is my Plan C; she doesn't deserve my business, but dammit, I have urges, and I have time to have them satisfied while I am not working.

This, of course, means money, lots of it.  You could tell this week that my money was going through my wallet like a waterfall through a wet paper towel, and getting women to jack me off will make it worse.  I suspect that all the expenses I, uh, expended today has completely depleted the paycheck I received last week.  But you know what?  At least when it comes to sexytime, I am fine with it.  It's my way of having fun, it makes me feel like a man, it give me the approval that I crave, and I get to hang out with beautiful women who will get naked for me.  I will never let that go.

So much so that I should go back to school to find a higher-paying job that will afford me regular bouts of sexy time.  But that would mean going back to school.  More on that some other time, maybe.

---

Hey, just to let you know, I am blogging this in public.  I don't know if anyone has seen what I have typed, but the headline is kind of big.

The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey

#-1: Lynx (Last Week: -1).  Well, they're not going through the season undefeated.  They got blitzed at defending WNBA champion Phoenix Sunday, 81-66.  Looking at the box score, they routed the Jynx not only without Diana Taurasi, but also without Brittney Griner, who either is injured or ... well, she can't be a DNP-CD because she's Brittney Griner, so she's probably hurt.  And the Mercury beat the living hell out of them.  Oh, well.

To the good, however, their other two games were routs going for the good guys.  On Thursday they curb-stomped Seattle, 94-70, then after losing at Phoenix they destroyed Los Angeles on Tuesday at L.A., 67-52.  So maybe all my talk about this being the most topsy-turvy season in Lynx history won't be; maybe it'll be Minnesota vs. Phoenix for the title again, after all.

Seems as if they can fit in another game, but the Lynx only play two games this screening week: At San Antonio Friday, home to Tulsa Sunday evening.

#-2: Twins (Last Week: -2).  Yeah, they are who we thought they were.  They went .333 this week (2-4), and if I recall correctly I think the Twinks spent the majority of last year winning the last game of a three-game series in order to avoid a sweep.  It's happening again.

The big news this week, of course, is the call-up of Outfielder and The Next Great Hope for the Twins, Centerfielder Byron Buxton.  I'm not sure if they did it because they were totally desperate they were running out of outfielders (Aaron Hicks is on the Disabled List and Torii Hunter was suspended for two games for going off on an umpire for calling the strike zone wrong back on Wednesday) or because the Pohlads were finally ready for them to start the clock on his calendar, but The Rise Of Buxton came just as the club's hot start was fading from the rear view mirror.  You shouldn't ever do anything because of PR, but his emergence is good PR.

Too bad Buxton has been absolute shit so far.  His first game, Sunday at Texas, he went 0-for-4, including two strikeouts and a fucked-up bunt that went straight to the Pitcher at the mound, allowing the Rangers hurler to pick off the runner at third.  (At least they won.)  The only thing good he's been flashing is his speed; he already has two triples in his stint in The Show.

At least Buxton still has potential.  On the downside is Joe Mauer, whose stardom is also dimming, with his local popularity following close behind.  Late in Wednesday's game at Target Center against St. Louis (a game the squad also won), Mauer struck out with the bases loaded, failing to extend the Twins' 2-1 lead.  The next half-inning a grounder scorched past him at First Base.  I don't know if Mauer should have handled it, but after swinging and missing in his at-bat, I think he lost many fans, for good.  Assuming the organization is on the rise but not ready to contend for a few years, would it be possible for him, his diminished production and his injuries, to be traded, if only to erase any bad mojo that The Hometown Boy has accrued being the face of a team that lost 90 games over four seasons?

I think this is the first time the St. Louis Cardinals have visited Target Field.  I'm sure Redbird Nation travels very well, and that it's officially summer will only help swell the number of visitors coming to town.  I for one love the Cards -- hacking scandal notwithstanding -- so I plan on going to this afternoon's contest -- the last of what can be called a home-home-and-home-home series -- to see two of the three baseball squads I love the most.  The rest of the week comprises the end of their homestand, where the entire city of Chicago will follow the city of St. Louis to the Mill City; the Cubs (with similarly touted prospect Kris Bryant) comes to town this weekend for three games, then the White Sox come for a three-game series starting on Monday.

Expenses Without Receipt

OK, starting from Tuesday, June 16:

• Stopped by Caribou and re-familiarized myself with the barista I've known for years there.  Thank goodness she's still there.  Got my usual mocha and chocolate chip cookie.  With tip: $6.
• Had a lot of shiny new coins that I had not put away until that evening.  I may have used a few of them when I was transferring pants and was in need of coins to match purchases.  Wound up with four really shiny-looking and new quarters that I put into my new coin up: $1.
• Monday, June 15: Started my week-long furlough from work by finally working out for the first time in months.  Admission at the community center remains the same as it did when I started going there four years ago.  Man, when will they raise it?  Hopefully never: $3.
• ETA at 3:28 p.m. Friday, June 19 the beer I got at Nomad, where I watched a snippet of the Women's World Cup.  How could I forget this?  Glad that the games began at 4, which is the beginning of the pub's Happy Hour.  Rush River pale ale plus tip: $4.
• On Sunday the 14th I went to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Edition).  There I talked to the girl who was supposed to come over and clean my house but sent her niece to do it instead.  Well, turns out she's gotten into some, uh, money problems and is now willing to meet my price.  (Have I talked about this?  If I haven't, maybe I will.)  And she let me know she was willing to play after squeezing hard on my erection through my pants during our lapdance.  She even had this move where her fingers moved oh-so slightly up my shorts.  Man, if only my dick were, like, half a foot longer!  Her and tips: $26.
• Friday, June 12 -- After work I went over to ***a*'s place so she could suck my dick.  Still can't perform as well as I think I should.  It was hard for me to sustain my hardness, and once again my fantasy that she would blow me and I would just cum wasn't even close to being true.  I had to prime myself by stroking me own dick, then shoving it into her mouth and thrusting it, like what I was doing was a power move.  I'm such an asshole.  But that finally made me ejaculate, and into ***a*'s mouth, which is what I wanted all along.  She's an angel, letting me do that to her.  I should expound on that more: $120.
• That evening I was parent-free; they were taking care of their granddaughter/my niece and didn't know when they were coming home, so I heated up some fried rice and watched the United States Women's National Team tie with Sweden in the Women's World Cup.  They were still not home by the time I finished eating and the soccer match was over, so I thought I was free to go to Caffetto, where I had an apple pie and iced mocha.  Don't know why, however, since I was going to go to the Twin Cities Donut Crawl the next day and I should empty my stomach for as long a time period as possible.  And that is why I am so fat.  Plus tip: $9.
• Falter back to Tuesday the 9th, where I came back so late I decided to come home to dinner before filling up the gas tank in my car.  I thought I should just eat first, then go back out to quickly gas up.  When I told them that, they asked me to get lottery tickets.  Which further complicated things; I was just going to use this prepaid Visa card I got as "payment" for the gasoline, but by law you have to pay for lottery tickets with cash.  If I did that, I would violate my rule not to pay cash for anything on that day.  But I did: $5.
• As a corollary to that, if I did spend cash on one thing, I would have to spend cash on at least another thing.  Well, hell's bells then; the floodgates are open!  Well, they actually weren't.  But it was a hot day, so after I went to DQ for a Blizzard.  It was OK: $3.20.
• Oh, and the parents paid me back for the lottery tickets.  An Infusion of: $5.
• On Sunday, June 7 I wanted to catch Women's World Cup games at the Nomad, but even though they advertised it, the door was locked.  WTF?  So I had two choices: Go to the library and listen to the game while working on the blog, or go to a restaurant and watch.  Went to Digby's because I decided I wanted to see the game, which they changed a TV for me to see.  Happy Hour beer and chips, plus tip, comes out to: $7.74.
• After that I went to Dairy Queen.  However, using money that day was not in the plans.  I wanted to use the free DQ wooden nickel/coupon that I got that day that that sniveling little bitch didn't mind her manners.  I even searched through the pockets of my clothes to find it.  When I found it, I put it in my back pocket to use ... except that once I got to Dairy Queen, I looked all through my pockets and couldn't find it.  Turns out that for some damn reason I put that wooden nickel on my desk after I found it.  Well, I was craving a Blizzard, so I was going to get one with my own money: $3.20.
• Saturday, June 6 ... I guess it was kind of serendipitous that I was asked to come in for overtime at the test scoring place.  It is really close to the track; I mean, whereby it would be one hell of a trek to get to Canterbury Park, from where I worked it is only 20 minutes away, and the drive on a late Saturday afternoon made it a lot quicker.  And I had plenty of time to get there after my work day was done, so I had to go!  Let me admit that I did not want American Pharoah to win, but that may only be because I have grown to identify with not seeing a horse win the Triple Crown.  But I thought that biggest impediment to him winning the Belmont Stakes would be a huge field, and with only seven horses running, I kind of thought American Pharoah now had a chance.  And seeing him extend his lead in the stretch, he made it look easy, although I still can't help but think a better class of competition (and more competition) would have prevented him for winning.  Nevertheless, I bought a $2 souvenir ticket, just to say that I Was There ... at a satellite track far away from Belmont Park.  I bought two exacta tickets in the Belmont Stakes, both with American Pharoah finishing second.  Those two, obviously, lost, as well as a $5 trifecta what-the-hell ticket I purchased at a race at Canterbury that ran before the Belmont Stakes.  All in all: $15.
• This day was a busy day: I drove from Bloomington to Shakopee to St. Paul, when I though I didn't have to travel to the first two cities.  I was everywhere, man.  I went to St. Paul because a co-worker at the test scoring place invited all of out to an opera that she was appearing in.  Now, people who work there advertise their own things all the time.  I guess I went to this opera because I work as closely with her as you could at this job.  Plus, she was nice.  So was the opera, even though I am not a fan nor an expert at all.  The first time she sang, I was like, Whoa, how the hell can she do that?!  And I just sat back and listened the rest of the performances, beer in one hand, opera organization magnet tucked into my pocket.  With tip for the beer: $18.
• Well, since I was running around the entire Twin Cities, I might as well follow up St. Paul with Minneapolis.  First I went to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Version) for tips only: $6.
• Then I went to My Favorite Late-Night Italian Place for some din-din.  With tip: $14.25.
• Wednesday, June 3: The last day before my parents came back, and I wanted to celebrate being able to go wherever the hell I want without them knowing by dropping by My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Edition) at night.  Tips and a dance with the veteran Savannah: $28.
• On Tuesday the 2nd I had to plan for a stripper cleaning my house, even though I didn't know which one it would be.  She would not be coming until 7, however, so I had time to wait for traffic to pass, so I went to Eden Prairie Center and hit up Pasta Zola.  It's a small mom-and-pop store, and I think it's still the only one of its kind.  Hope it's working out for them.  The food's good, but I like the story behind them more.  With tip it equals: $8.
• Paid the niece: $100.
• And then I went out to McDonald's to try their 1/3 pound burgers: $7.40.
• Sunday, May 31 ... went to the Twins game with my buddy.  Played the raffle at a sporting event, again, stupid me.  And since we got there about an hour before the game began, I elected to spread my wings a bit and not get a souvenir cup of the draft beer and got a can of a local craft, Bauhaus Wonderstuff.  Oh, and I got a cheese bratwurst instead of just a hot dog.  With tip for the beer and the purchase of a ticket, which we got legitimately, at the box office, the total becomes: $45.
• Went to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Division) in the evening, where I got set up by a stripper that kind of screwed me over.  She asked for a dance, and she seemed nice.  But once she stepped down from the stage she wanted me to pay for her shot.  Ripoff bitch.  And then she demanded I pay before I get my LD from her.  Ooh, I really don't like that.  She tried to chat me up, but once you disrespect me by hitting me up for money, you will never get a lapdance from me.  Ever again.  Lesson learned.  Plus tip: $35.
• I then went to Caffetto.  It was very hot that day, so even though it was cooler at night, it still was too humid for me to want hot coffee, or coffee in general.  So I got a Boylan orange juice.  Why?  Because Arby's has started selling it, and so I had Boylan on my mind.  Had a Boylan once; bought it at Caffetto too, because they have an extensive selection of what could be called small-label, "craft" pop.  Hit the spot.  With key lime pie and tip: $7.
• Saturday, May 30 was the night I decided to make a night out of it.  I primed my dick by seeing the hot waitresses at Hooters.  I have a receipt, but I just tried finding it and I can't find it, so I'll trust that put the right amount down.  With tip: $16.25.
• Then I went to My Favorite Stripclub (Cover Version).  Interesting night, to say the least.  Although I checked the schedule online and confirmed my All-Time Favorite was going to be there, she wasn't there.  Who was there was this drunken asshole who shoved my seat out of the way while I was enjoying myself stageside.  He seemed to have gotten kicked out, as well as another man.  First time I've ever seen two people get thrown out on the same night at this place.  Otherwise it was a fantastic time for the club, which was as packed as I've ever seen it.  Too bad the combination of new ATF and getting jumped by this bully turned this into a quiet, non-fun, and quick one for me.  Oh, and free food only whacks off two bucks in cover now.  But hey, at least I saved some money!  Plus Corona and stage tips: $44.
• On Friday the 29th I started my weekend going to this amateur wrestling bout upon an invitation from my friend, with whom I used to usher with.  Hadn't seen him in a long time.  Even though I have been to this place before (for another wrestling bout with another friend I used to usher with), I got lost and had to open up my 3G on my smart in order to find the place.  That I had to drive in a driving rainstorm didn't help matters.  In exchange for him getting me in for free, I paid for his dinner.  He got nachos and a Monster; I just settled for a slice of pizza.  With tip it came out to a very cheap: $10.
• I also got lost trying to get him home, but I finally did.  Wound down with a trip to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Edition) for tips and coffee: $11.
• Did the same thing the previous night, Thursday the 28th.  Was going to see a stripper-friend of mine host karaoke, and so I decided I would also try and see another stripper-friend of mine at this pizza place first.  Hadn't seen her in a while, so I thought to myself that if she is not there this night, she probably left the job.  Didn't see her; she left the job.  Went to the other place, 1029, to eat a second dinner of a Shack Burger with a Michelob Golden Draft.  With tip: $14.
• Go all the way back to Sunday, May 24 ... A busy day of leisure, starting off with going to Brit's Pub to see Championship Sunday in the English Premier League.  Had a great time going to the downtown pubs over the last month or so of the EPL; will try and do it again next year, and for a larger hunk of the season.  Sandwich and tip: $12.
• I then spent my afternoon at the Walker, taking in their International Pop exhibit.  For the past few weeks there they had a Christopher Nolan retrospective running.  Would have gone because my parents would not have been at home, but I was too busy from work and too tired after coming home from it.  Admission is: $9.
• Went out to dinner that night.  Used a coupon from Quizno's.  Seems as if Quizno's is pretty generous with the coupons.  It'd be the only way I could afford eating there.  With tip: $7.05.
• Made a night of it, too.  How often could I go out on a Sunday night when I have work the next day?  When can I do that with my parents at home?  Hell, who else besides me goes out on a Sunday night?  Went to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Edition), where, once again, I was not asked for a drink.  That's happened more often lately.  I'm OK with it, though; saves me three bucks.  Money spent on tips and this relatively new stripper named Monroe.  The total comes to: $26.
• Finally ended the night tooling around at Caffetto.  Think I just had a mocha.  With tip: $5.
• On Saturday, May 23 I went to the semifinals of the Big Ten Baseball Tournament at Target Center.  It was the second time the tourney was played here.  The first time was 2013, the inaugural tournament.  I only had time to see the championship game, where Indiana beat Nebraska.  I doubt there were more than 200 people there.  This year, for both games, there were, maybe, more than 500 for the back-to-back double-header I got to watch.  Maybe the increased attendance is due to familiarity, that the B1G Tournament is back in Minneapolis for the second time in three years.  Or maybe it's because there were two games.  The teams playing were Indiana, Michigan, Maryland, and Illinois -- no school close by like Iowa, no school with a huge local alumni base like Nebraska.  So I don't know.  Enjoyed seeing two college baseball games for one ticket, so I splurged on a Dinger Dog (which I did not know was a footlong) and a souvenir-sized Pepsi.  It all adds up to a measly: $20.
• Glam Doll Donuts has late-night hours on the weekend.  Why?  I'm not criticizing it; I just have no problem how a donut shop that does not serve alcohol could make any business on the weekends.  And the location is problematic, too; on the one hand they have competition from bars and restaurants, and on the other hand they are stationed in what I consider to be the shady and underdeveloped side of Eat Street.  Is there business there?  On a lark -- and just in case this great place decides it has no business being open for business on weekends -- I went this Saturday night.  There were a few people, but I had no problem finding parking on the street, let's put it that way.  And like I usually do I load up on donuts; I eat a couple there (chasing them down with coffee), then bought a couple to go.  With tip it came out to an expensive: $13.
• Go back to Thursday the 21st, when I didn't originally plan on spending any money but had to because Father wanted me to print out directions around Copenhagen for their cruise.  So I went to the library to print out maps: $1.
• That evening I went to Buffalo Wild Wings at MOA.  I had a receipt for those online surveys that, once you complete it, get five dollars off.  I tried using it, but the waitress said that, basically, it has expired.  Funny; other BWW's took them just fine.  And then the waitress just walked away from me.  The fuck?  The "experience manager" saved my dinner for me, otherwise the combination of not being able to use the survey discount and that bitch's odd behavior would've meant a less-than-15% tip.  Oh, and now I can't find the receipt, so I have to list an amount I am pulling out of my ass.  Uh, let's go with: $16.
• Wednesday, May 20 -- printed out more Copenhagen maps at the library: 80 cents.
• Then I went to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Version).  Tips only; like being left alone: $8.
• Finally, go all the way back to Friday, May 15, where, to relax after my night part-time test project job, I went to Caffetto for a coffee and chocolate cake.  I am not quite certain if the amount is correct, but I'll just go with it.  With tip the total is: $8.

I am through to Tuesday, June 16.

Bitches Are Giving Me Blue Balls

OK, this is pissing me off.  *a***, the girl who cancelled on cleaning my house because she had a headache, cancelled the HJ I was supposed to get this afternoon because "she's not feeling well."  And just like cleaning my house, she volunteers her niece to service me.  What is she, her pimp?

And then it gets worse: The niece calls on *a***'s phone just before I was supposed to go over to the hotel room to tell me that she has to reschedule.  Why?  After she needed to talk to someone in the background -- *a***, maybe? -- she said that management is checking out the hotel.  For what, your marijuana plants?

So these two women have switched plans on me because of, basically, two headaches and one shakedown by hotel management.  Really?  I am willing to pay good money for someone to relieve my urges.  If these people don't want my money, fuck it, I'll find someone who does.  Man, what the fuck do I need to do to get a handjob around here.

Oh, and BTW, this probably goes without saying, but I don't believe any of the excuses.  I heard from another stripper that *a*** was actually up and about the evening she was supposed to come clean the house.  Migraine my ass.  Why offer an HJ and not follow up?  WTF?

Oh, I Do Not Like Your Tone

Yesterday I made my most serious step yet in going back to school: I responded to the customer service people (for lack of a better term) at the department for advice on how best to proceed with taking classes.  To which the advisor replied: "There is no way for me to know what classes you need to take without me talking to you."

Oh, no.  No-no-no-no-no.  Do not talk to me like that.  I don't care if I'm taking this the wrong way because she typed it in an e-mail, and maybe, possibly it wouldn't come off as mean and judgmental if I were actually speaking to you.  I do not like your tone.  You could have said this much better, such as, "I would not feel comfortable advising on you on how to proceed unless I speak to you first.  Can we arrange a meeting?"  But I didn't get that; I get some antisocial prick.

And this raises a huge problem.  I probably need her help getting into school -- or do I?  I'll have to check.  Anyway, this person holds a powerful, if not total, place in the department I want to go back to school in.  She may even be a checkpoint, as in I may not be admitted into the program without her help.  And I know that as soon as I interview her she's going to ask questions I can't answer, questions about my "ambition" and "dedication."  Look, I want to get a high-paying job with no stress; that's all I want.  But she's not going to like that as she peppers me with her question-bombing.  And so after the interview she's going to say something to the effect of, "I don't think you're right for this program."  To which I'll basically say, "There is no way for me to respond to that other than telling you that you can go fuck yourself."

I'm at that point now.  What I mean by that is, I feel this motivation to automatically enroll in a class that is required under this program's degree requirements because, in my opinion, she has disrespected me, just for asking a simple question.  I want to take a class just to spite her.  It's funny, and a little sad, that I'm most motivated to do things when someone basically tells me no.  Guess I'm wired that way.  But that's how I feel.  I can do things when I'm pissed off.

But will I do it?  I have a week before work starts up again, and I haven't even enrolled yet.  Should get on it.  But will I do it?  Or will I accept this advisor's pronouncement as an excuse to be lazy?

Shambolic Monday

I should be OK with not having work.  Well, I would much prefer to work.  But another side benefit is that I had a routine down.  With the test project for all intents and purposes over, that routine is over.  And I find it extremely difficult to ... manage life when my day is disrupted.

Take this morning for example.  I decided that I was going to take it easy on myself and wake up a little later than I usually do.  That might prick the antennae of my parents, and they might wonder why I'm up so late, but I think they will believe me when I say my work hours continue to be "flexible."  Nevertheless my body is on the old schedule, and I woke up a bit after 6.  But I still wanted to go until I set up my alarm at 7:30, so I took my nasal spray and tried to fall back asleep.  But then I remembered there were some things I should have done Sunday on e-mail that I did not do -- namely talk to this academic counselor and this contact for this job I'm looking at -- and that disturbed me so much that I had to get up before I really wanted to.  I'm tired, but at least I finally got those things done.

It was getting really late so I had to get out the door.  But as I was driving away, I forgot to take my phone.  Obviously I need that but I have two things I had to do: I had to call AAA to get my old car to the shop which said they could fix the head gasket on it for $1,000, and I am waiting on a text with this stripper for some potential sexytime today.  It's never good to not have your phone, but today moreso than ever.

The plan was to work out, something I haven't done in a long time, in the morning, get lunch, get my wee-wee touched, then find a place to watch the Women's World Cup game(s) this afternoon, either at a soccer pub or a bar.  But things aren't quite working out that way, at least I don't think.  First of all, I checked on the pub I would have gone to and it looks like they are not opening their doors until the evening.  And then, I have yet to hear from this stripper about the HJ.  We kind of got our wires crossed about the location of this encounter; I thought we could do it at her hotel, and she said she couldn't because her kids are there.  Huh.  I'll follow up with her as I blog this.

As I was doing the very first thing I needed to do -- gas up my car so it has enough until Tuesday, when I can use my coupon for maximum impact -- I really started to doubt my plans.  I thought I had time to go to storage, pull out a bag and maybe go through them this afternoon.  I could do that and then work out in the afternoon, where I can watch the games at the gym because the pub is not open.  Then I remembered that I forgot my headphones for my smartphone, so I wouldn't be able to go through with my plan of listening to The Stephanie Miller Show in the morning while working out, which would make working out in the afternoon more of a no-brainer.  And then I remembered that SiriusXM's app on my phone is fucking up, so I wouldn't be able to listen to her even if I had headphones.  So I just went to pick up my bag of crap and am blogging this from the library, all fat and untrained.

Not what I thought I would be doing.  Maybe things aren't in a shambles, but I have no plans that have come together.  Things are still up in the air, and in a sense that's worse because I still don't know what I could, or should, be doing.  Well, I just have to come home in one piece before it's too late, I guess.

Saying Goodbye

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I'm Confused

So a relative died this week, suddenly.  He wasn't close, and we weren't close.  In fact, I don't know I ever spoke to him at all.  But the service was today (Saturday), and I thought either my parents and/or I should go anyway.  Shoot, it was my folks who told me this news over dinner earlier in the week.

Naturally, because I thought it was the right thing to do (and I might be throwing too much information at you, but I learned these "manners" through watching 80's sitcoms and not my parents), I said in response to this surprise news that maybe I should go to this service.  But Mother didn't think it was a good idea.  I mean, really did not think it was a good idea.  She was shaking her head to my thought as if she was being possessed.  Father, meanwhile, did not say anything, and he looked like he really wanted to.

See, I have been able to cast my parents into buckets, psychological roles for a while now.  But during this dinner things flipped on their heads.  Usually it's Father acting like My Fucking Father, nagging on me to go back to school and find a good job, goals he thinks I could do with the push of a button when IRL finding both is difficult and fraught with danger.  Mother has her blow-ups, but usually she's the calm, tame one, the parent who approaches things basically by saying "no big deal."  So it was very odd that My Fucking Mother took the initiative on what appears to be a very easy decision regarding a somber event while Father took a back seat, following instead of leading.  This dynamic was the one I saw my folks operate on when I was a child; I loved, even adored my meek dad while I feared and thus loathed my imperious mother.

Anyway, I was not happy with her "recommendation" that I don't go.  So I went around their backs and texted my brother, who is ... well, how do I protect his privacy ... was in on the plans on the service.  I gave my condolences and asked if I could come.  He did not answer me for a couple days, so on Thursday evening (after consulting my sister and worrying that I'm just bothering him at this point) I texted him again.  He said he'd give me the address.

My brother never did give me the address, so I figured he was too busy arranging plans or too sad to remember to get back to me.  I understand.  But this morning, I heard the front door open.  My parents are usually up this time of day, but they don't leave the house.

Through my bedroom door Father calls me.  When I come out I see him in a way I rarely do: In a suit.  He needed a tie, but the black suit and white shirt was the same get-up I had thrown into my car while my parents were away yesterday (Friday) evening in case my brother did send me the address of the service.  I was totally prepared to disobey my parents' orders, leave wearing my t-shirt and shorts, change somewhere out in public and pay my respects to them, then change back before going home.  But now they are going and I am not?

Now I am confused, completely confused.  I assumed ... no, I thought that when Mother shook her head no, not only was I not to go but they weren't going to go, either.  But now they were going to do the right thing and go without me, the one who originally was going to do the right thing?  Did they change their mind, or was this their plan all along?

And what about my brother?  He obviously was busy, but if my parents were going to go to the service he should have remembered that I asked to come over.  Why wouldn't he give me the difference?

My most paranoid reasoning: I would be a distraction to the service or, worse, be so poisonous a presence that they did not want me there at all.  Who would I be a distraction or poison to?  My parents?  My brother?  The family?  I have no idea who wouldn't want me there.  Like I said, I don't know if I even spoke to this guy.  I just wanted to be a nice guy and pay my respects.  And I wasn't allowed to do that.  I was so blindsided that they were going that I didn't even ask if I could go.  Maybe I should have.  But Mother told me not to come, and so it may be was pointless to ask.

Whatever, man.  It's over now.

I Cannot And Will Not Get Over Kalief Browder

Look at this face.  No, I do not believe this is the face of a kid that stole a bag.  But because a goddamn cop thought he did, people basically took his life.  Yes, he took his own life by hanging himself Saturday.  But he was murdered, by a bunch of fucking monsters.

Never mind the solitary confinement, let alone the fact that a teenager was thrown into one.  (Heard a story on National Public Radio of a prison warden who voluntarily put himself in a solitary cell for 20 hours.  Contrary to popular belief, the big misconception that he had dispelled in his experiment is that because you are alone, things are going to be quiet.  The warden actually suffered sensory overload because the walls were too thin.  He heard everything, at all hours of the day and night, and couldn't get away from it.)  Kalief Browder was held for three goddamn years.  Why?  Because his parents could not afford to pay the $3,000 in bail to get him out.  So they just locked him up for three years, a Kafkaesque nightmare being played out for real at Rikers Island, without due process?  Hell, get him to court and find him guilty, for God's sake.  But he has to go through something, not just be put away (and by himself for some reason) for some petty theft simply because he's poor.

The worst thing about all this bullshit, though, was the abuse he took while in jail.  There is a video of Browder getting jumped by a corrections officer and some inmates while being led from his jail cell.  Why?  Unless Rikers Island comes up with some proof that he was acting unruly, those sons-of-bitches jumped him because they could.  And it seems like he got assaulted a lot.  This is a hell of a lot worse than me getting bullied in junior high.  As bad as I had it, Browder was held against his will for three years, basically getting dehumanized all hours of the day.  He had not a minute of peace in there, and then he was cast out to freedom, seemingly out of nowhere, three years later, a broken, paranoid young man who needed pills after his illegal incarceration.  And with all the beatings he took in there, they robbed him of his mind and his hope for the future.  Seeing as he going to be haunted for the rest of his life, that he will forever be imprisoned on Rikers Island, he decided he couldn't take it anymore.

This really pissed me off.  It really does.  I want people held accountable for this.  I am becoming more of an advocate for prison reform, and very recently I was one of those people who said to lock them up and throw away the key.  But moreover, I want everybody who hurt that boy -- prisoners and guards -- to pay.  And I am so mad right now that I don't care if it's legal or not.  Those bastards picked on that boy just because they wanted to, and because they knew that they could get away with anything they want because no one would be around to save him.  Prison assaults like this -- of a teenager! -- have to stop, and to do that people have to be found and made to pay a price, a high one.

Sometimes I wonder how in the hell a misdemeanor, a never-proven accusation of theft, could turn into what amounts to a three-year prison sentence, in which Kalief Browder was tortured.  But it's that conservative mentality of "fuck those criminals" that allows this to happen, and probably more often than we even know.  And this has to stop.  Right fucking now.  For Kalief.

The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey

#-1: Lynx (Re-Entry!).  In the current sports environment where it still seems negative (even though there are sprouts of life springing up here and there), it's good to see that the Lynx are reliable enough to take them for granted -- at least for now.  They began their 2015 regular season with wins at home over Tulsa and at Indiana.

This could shape up to be one of the more unpredictable seasons in the franchise's history.  On the one hand nothing has changed: The Big Four of Seimone Augustus, Lindsay Whalen, Maya Moore and Rebekkah Brunson (and the importance of these three can be different from the order I put them in) are still there, and they likely comprise the engine that will power the team, wherever it ends.  They also, in my estimation, have a raw and still-unproven bench, something that seemed to be their undoing in losing to the Phoenix Mercury in the WNBA Western Conference Finals.

That series, culminating with a Game 3 ass-kicking, seemed to herald a new world order.  But the Mercury was dealt a stunning surprise when their leader, Diana Taurasi, decided she will take this season off.  It was probably for fatigue and wear-and-tear purposes; Taurasi and many other WNBA players play overseas leagues, which play during the fall through spring.  A lot of them, then, play year-round.  The difference, however, is pay -- namely, those overseas leagues pay more than the WNBA, much more.  So, when Taurasi decided she needed to rest her body, she decided to in order to gear up for the season that is more lucrative for her.  You would think that America would lead when it comes to women's sports, but its pro b-ball league is deemed not as important as those in, say, Russia and Turkey, even though I think most (and the best) players hail from the U.S.  That seems to be a problem, no?

But back to the Jynx.  As what purports to be the team's main rival got hit with a surprise, Minnesota was as well.  Mere days before training camp began, Center Janel McCarville, who pivoted the squad to its WNBA title in 2013, announced that she was sitting out the year as well.  I doubt it has anything to do with a beef with the Lynx; as far as I know the club still holds her rights.  So I am left with thinking that she needs rest for her overseas club just like Taurasi does.  Even if that were the case the timing of that decision seemed to take the organization by surprise.  On the first day of training camp her teammates and Head Coach Cheryl Reeve said all the right things about missing McCarville.  But you have to think that at the very least they were upset that they didn't get a head's-up, which McCarville clearly did not give them.

To plug that hole in the lane the Lynx got Asjha Jones and slipped Damiris Dantas into the starting 5, although she is being spelled for about half the game.  So far, so good.  We'll see if this team doesn't skip a beat, or if it succumbs to getting really old really fast.  Right now they are playing Seattle at Target Center.  They will then embark play at Phoenix and Los Angeles.

#-2: Twins (Last Week: -1).  Now the correction comes.  I think.  After salvaging a split with Boston by winning Thursday, they just finished a 1-5 homestand by getting swept by the power of the American League, the Kansas City Royals, and it will take me a long time to get used to writing that.  They went from leading the American League Central Division by one game to trailing K.C. by two.  The big problem now is offense; they are just not scoring.  Their run output their last five games, in which they only won once: 2, 2, 1, 0 and 2.

Today (Thursday) is a travel day.  They visit Texas over the weekend for three games, then do this hybrid home-and-home with the St. Louis Cardinals.  They are at Busch Stadium for games Monday and Tuesday, and then the Cards come to Target Field for the first time ever Wednesday and Thursday.  Hmmm ... I'm a Redbirds fan.  Maybe I'll go to one of the games.

Now You Don't Want Me? I Didn't Want You First!

Well, this is a blindside.

You know that flu biller place?  Well, going back there is about two months away, but I recollect last year around this time is when I heard initial rumblings from my temp agency about being hired on earlier than I anticipated.  So when the guy there left me a voicemail yesterday inquiring what's up with me, I figured he was alluding to that (as well as what I'm doing now, in case they had a short-term assignment in mind for me immediately).

I waited until today to call him back, because I have had second thoughts about going back.  As I've thought more and more about it, I have not had positive thoughts about going back.  I mean most of the people there are great, and I like the work and I like the commute, and all of those things are presumably still there.  But I haven't thought about those things when I've been spacing out.  Instead, it's the negative shit that happened last year that keep coming back at me like a flurry of punches: The stress, the nights where I woke up early to the sound of pounding heart, the blindsides, my boss losing it and insulting me, and all the constant questions.

But I'll be honest: I could tolerate all of that.  Even my boss, at least for one more year.  (It helps that he's off the project from now on.)  Now, The Asshole going off on me -- that's the reason why I've thought twice about coming back.  And actually, the more I've ruminated on that prick, and the more I've acted out and tried to punch him the face like he deserves, the more I kind of think that I don't want to go back.

That's the great thing about temporary assignments and part-time jobs.  I remember walking away from ushering after seven years because I had it with this closeted bitch demeaning me.  I can walk away from The Asshole, too.  It's not like I have to stay for the benefits.  And I'm good enough to find similar menial work elsewhere.

I was going to tell the temp agency something close to this.  I had to hedge my bets because, frankly, I might put up with him if the pay is good.  There's nothing like earning a paycheck.  Also, there are enough good people there that I would feel a tad -- a tad -- guilty for not coming back because I would feel like I'm abandoning them.  So I was going to give him sort of a head's-up; I would say that I don't know if I want to go back because I've thinking about going back to college, and all the negative things that happened last year is something I'm afraid will repeat themselves this year.

That did not come up in our conversation, which was a couple hours ago.  There was a short-term assignment I was qualified for, but I didn't do a good job of telling them that my current project was still ongoing, and I didn't tell them at all that I hooked into another project that will last (fingers crossed) till early August.  But then he said something curious: He said that closer to the end of August we should reconnoiter and talk about future assignments.  End of August?  Doesn't the flu biller place need someone at the beginning of August?

Sure, I'll jump to conclusions: The flu biller place doesn't want me back.  Can't believe it.  All the blood, sweat, toil and bullshit I put up with, and now they don't want me back.  I tried to help out at a place I was at the previous two seasons, and I got elevated to doing impossible tasks (at an hourly wage below what I should have been paid, by the way) to the point where I began resenting going to work, and they beat me to rejection first.  Unbelievable.

You know, I wouldn't put it past The Asshole for recommending they not bring me back.  I know he would be underhanded enough to pull that shit.

Fine.  You don't want me back?  I didn't want to come back, OK?  Let's see you go through flu season without me.  Whatever, man.  This makes it easier to move on to bigger and better things.  Lates.

Alright, you think you did all that you needed to do?  No, you didn't.  I did your job last year and I made sure they got the point.  What's a sign anyway?  There are tons of them all over the room; they're meaningless.  Drape it over the keypad and you're golden.  But no, you thought it should go on top and that was good enough.  Not even close.  And I know I'm not the only one.

And then you two decided you wanted to make a point.  You two decided you wanted to talk back.  No, you two just wanted me to respect your authoritah.  Um, I don't.  You could've just said that you guys were gonna fix it.  Instead, you went out of your way to tell me I'm wrong.  No, it's you two who are wrong.  I wish I had more nerve to tell you what I really feel and fight back, but hey, it's up to guys like me to keep the peace.  And as I said before, there are people like me than there are of you two.

Not impressed.

Shitting Rabbit Pellets

For the last ... well, ever since I found steady work as a test scorer, I believe that I have drank so much coffee during the workweek (and sometimes on the weekends; I usually have coffee at My Favorite Stripclub [Non-Cover Edition]) that I suck the water out of my excretory system, thereby leaving me with extremely dry and extremely small, uh, leavings.  I would be more concerned about what this means (that I'm not regular) if not for the fact that I'm really busy during the day and then so tired at night that I have no time to concern myself with the constitution of my fecal matter.

Nevertheless I have noticed during every workweek that, on the occasions where I actually do take a shit (and that is not often) I can only excrete in small pellets, the ones that make a high-pitched "plop!" sound once it hits the water.  If I'm lucky I get to create a short symphony of them.  But that's usually all I can expel out of my body.

It didn't really bother me until this past weekend.  Friday I picked up my parents from the airport, and for dinner Mother made all of us instant ramen.  Then I had fettucine alfredo from My Favorite Late-Night Italian Place after a long day of business and pleasure.  I woke up early Sunday with a pang in my lower abdomen, a sign (at least to me) that my colon was about to explode.  And it did.  And it continued to, off and on, over the course of the day.  No rabbit pellets here; we're talking about long tails of feces, as well those semi-solid pieces that float on the water.  As bad as the toilet looked before I flushed it, it made me feel really good inside.

Which made me think what I'm doing to my body drinking coffee all week might not be the greatest thing.  It seems as if all workweek I'm starving my body of water and pumping myself full of caffeine, resulting in dry shits.  As soon as I feel I can relax and eat greasy food, my thirsty body sops up all the water in order to finally push out all the body waste that apparently is stored in my intestines.  That probably means I should eat and drink in order to be more regular.  But man, I have to consume my two cups of coffee per day or else I can't stay awake and aware.  What should I do?

I Do Have Friends!

Before I build in too many days since my parents came home from their cruise to Scandinavia, I wanted to note that I did something during My Days Of Freedom that I hadn't done before: Hung out with friends.  There was a Thursday night where I visiting a stripper I know at this bar ... where she was working -- with her clothes on.  The next evening I saw an amateur wrestling match with a person I once ushered with.  Hadn't seen that guy in years.  Then on Sunday afternoon I went to the Twins game with the guy I have an annual trip to see the British TV Advertising Awards with every holiday season.

All three people sent out invitations for me to hang out with them.  Normally I would not say yes.  (Actually, normally people don't send out invitations.)  But I felt a freedom from my parents being gone.  They wouldn't be here to tsk-tsk me for being out so often and spending so much money.  I was able to do whatever the hell I want with people I wanted to hang out with.  And it was fun.  It was also good to not do fun things by myself.  I'm a pretty solitary person, but sometimes it's good to be with someone else, just for a change of pace.  I should do that more often, get out of my shell a little bit.

Yeah, that's all I think I need to say about it.

In Praise Of My Nasal Spray

Before I get too far into the part of the summer where I'm not affected by allergies, I want to say that I'm very happy with the stuff I shoot up my nose to combat my hayfever, and I will wholeheartedly endorse it.

A few years ago I got a prescription of Nasonex -- you know, the spray featuring the bee voiced by Antonio Banderas -- and for the first time in virtually my whole life, I could breathe, I could live normally without needing to blow my nose or scratch my eyes every five seconds every May and August.  I truly was a man reborn, and I had rarely been happier.

And that was the only time I have ever been able to sniff Nasonex.  Ever since I have not been able to get a prescription, dammit.  I have been reduced to using pills such as Claritin and Allegra, as well as trying Flonase and Nasacort.  None of them have worked -- not just compared to Nasonex, but worked, period.  The Nasacort was in particular disappointing; the assistant at Target said it had virtually the same active ingredient, and I checked the box and it appears as if they do, but it was virtually useless.

Told that when I visited the doctor and complained about hayfever just before allergy season traditionally starts.  He too said that the Nasacort has similar properties to Nasonex, but he thought that they delivery system of the two medications was different and explains why I get relief from one but not from the other.  So he wrote out a script for Nasonex.  Well, he tried; apparently Nasonex is not part of my health insurance plan's formulary.  Thanks, Obama!  (I kid!  I kid!  I'm a fan of President Obama!  Geez, relax. ...)

Instead I got this nasal spray I've never heard of.  In anticipation of a runny nose and bad congestion, and of course knowing that I paid for it with my premiums, I took it, not expecting much.  But you know what?  It works almost as well as Nasonex.  I have been able to cut down blowing my nose (compared to times I've used all those other medicines or when I haven't taken anything at all) and scratching my eyes by, oh, 90%.  I still blow it on occasion, and I feel redness in my eyes, both things that I didn't have at all with Nasonex.  But this is more than acceptable.

I felt the consequences of not taking this medication when I forgot to take it for the second time in a day.  The one thing about this nasal spray is that it's not 24-hour, it's 12-hour.  But I usually only take it once, when I wake up, so I won't be sniffing and suffering through work.  By the time it wears off I'll be at home, and I figure I won't be around any grass for my body to suffer reactions.  I didn't take it the Saturday evening when I went to the Minnesota United game.  And I got a package through Living Social, where I could walk onto the sideline while the club was warming up.  I breathed in all the pollen coming off the pitch and immediately I started blowing and running and scratching my eyes.  And I was basically miserable for the rest of the match.

So I am totally going to plug this non-commercial nasal spray that has helped me through allergy season: Flunisolide.  Weirdly, I just looked it up, and it is commercially sold as an asthma spray.  So is me taking this legal?  I don't care if it's not, I'll still take it.  And if you're suffering from seasonal allergies and nothing else works, give Flunisolide a shot.  It may change your life!