Now Wings And Beer Will Do It

I have complained that I am fat.  A few weeks ago I weighed myself: 167 pounds, which is six pounds more than the last time I had my weight measured, which was the last time I went to the doctor.

I said earlier this month that I think my stomach just distended one day at work.  Well, it still feels distended.  And several times since I have felt that my belly has expanded to its maximum after eating plates of dinner that didn't use to make me feel that way before.  I think I felt that way last night after dinner, and I really felt that way this afternoon after using my Mug Club Card one final time at Hooters for beer and wings for lunch.  Right now I feel like I can't eat a thing.  And I have damn dinner soon.

That's the one good thing about unemployment: It gives me the opportunity to finally get back into the gym and work out.  Because I really, really have to.

Four Playmates Born On The Same Day?

I think this is a universal thing: Whenever you sign in the first time of a particular day, you will have alerts notifying you of the birthdays of the people you're Facebook friends with so you can tell them Happy Birthday.

Most of my Facebook friends are hot women -- therefore, not real friends.  You know, they're bodybuilders, fitness models, and Playboy Playmates.  I love me some hot babes.  In fact, I wanted to set up a second Facebook account under my nom de blog so I could friend all the hot porn stars I jerk off to there so my real friends wouldn't know I do it in my actual profile.  But then fucking Facebook demanded that I send photographic proof that my name actually is Unforgivable Wetness.  Damn you, Zuckerberg!

I want to go on a rant about me being at a crossroads when it came to deciding to migrate all those hot babes onto my real Facebook and jeopardize my "image" to the people who really know me, but I might have blogged about it already, and I just can't find the blog post.  (Bottom line: I'm a pervert, and I don't give a shit.)  Because it's deviating from what I really wanted to write about, which is nonetheless pithy.  I check my Facebook after midnight and I see that there are four, count 'em, four people in my circle that have birthdays today, July 31.  I have noticed that a few days out of the year there is more than one or two and I go, "Wow, what a coincidence!"  But four?  I think that's a record.

So I'm ready to quickly send "Happy Birthday, (first name)!" to each one.  But when I open it up I see that all four of them are Playmates.  No friends from high school or college, no one from work or people I met along the way.  They weren't even the babes I see on fitness sites.  Every single one of them -- Tylyn John, Victoria Cooke, Kym Malin and Divini Rae -- are from Playboy.  That has to be the most popular PM birthdate, isn't it?  And it's also weird.  There has to be something to that. ...

The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey

#-1: Lynx (Last Week: -3).  Don't let last (Wednesday) night's win over Los Angeles fool you; this is a team very much in flux.

Desperate teams, even ones as good as Minnesota, don't make crazy trades in the middle of the season, let alone blockbuster, three-team trades such as the one they executed with Chicago and Atlanta that brought them Center Sylvia Fowles, a three-time WNBA All-Star who refused to play for the Sky and was willing to sit out the entire year if she weren't traded.  At the time the news got out, around January, of Fowles's action/intransigence it was thought (at least in my mind) that she didn't want to play for a loser team like Chicago -- which, by the way, the Sky is now not.  But when news of the trade became official Monday, all of a sudden it was revealed that Fowles sat because she demanded a trade to Minnesota.  There was talk between Chicago and the Lynx for a trade, but a third team (which turned out to be Atlanta) had to come in order for all sides to be happy.  The Dream receive the Lynx's first-round pick in next year's draft as well as two lightly-regarded reserves from their bench, Damiris Dantas and Reshanda Gray.  (To complete the three-way trade, Atlanta sent Center Erika de Souza to the contending Sky.)

People think this is a killer move which basically gives Minnesota a devastating starting five, and everybody should just give the squad the championship trophy now.  I, of course, beg to differ.  First of all, Fowles, the second overall pick for Chicago in 2008, hasn't played all year.  (Of course I checked the box score of last night's victory over the Sparks; Fowles started, played 26 minutes, scored 11 points and was a +6.)  Also, Seimone Augustus, Fowles's teammate at LSU, is still out after arthroscopic knee surgery till at least mid-August (although I'm wary that they're not letting on that it'll be longer).  Maybe worst of all, this means they have no bench of any repute.  Their two bench players are two recent acquisitions, Ashja Jones and Renee Montgomery.  (They did sign former Golden Gopher Shae Kelley this week; guess here is they'll make another move and send away Kelley ASAP.)  If they get tired or into foul trouble, the Lynx will be in big trouble.  And that's why I don't think Minnesota winning its third title in five years is a foregone conclusion; if their starting five can't hold up, they have no chance.  And we're not even talking about the future, which they mortgaged by trading away their first-round draft pick next year (even though it was bound to be one past the first ten picks).

This means they're all-in now.  At least they have opened up a three-game lead on Phoenix in the West, and a 1 1/2-game lead on New York, of all teams, for top overall record.  This regular season is far from over.  The schedule ramps up again.  The club faces former teammates Dantas and Gray as Atlanta comes to town Friday.  They then travel to Tulsa Saturday and have a return game at the Sparks Tuesday.

#-2: Twins (Last Week: -2).  Uh-oh.  I really shouldn't complain since they seem to be miles better than they were the last four seasons.  But after starting off the screening week with wins at Anaheim and vs. the dreaded Yankees at home, they have lost four straight.  I hate that the Twinks continue to be the Yankees' bitch.  And the two-game sweep at the hands of the Pittsburgh Pirates, at home?  Uh, not good.

The most disconcerting thing about all this is that the one player on the team you could depend, the one person you didn't have to worry about, is falling apart.  After going perfect in the first half, Closer Glen Perkins has coughed up save opportunities twice in as many weeks.  After failing to hold down a 2-1 lead in the ninth at Oakland on July 18, he was shaken down for four runs in the top of the ninth in Saturday's come-from-ahead loss to the Yanks.  Add Tuesday's roller coaster, where the lineup tied the game after being behind 7-3, only for Perkins to give up a home run in the top of the ninth in an 8-7 loss.

Saying that, even if Perkins has suddenly lost his mojo much like Joe Nathan lost his (and I fear that he has), there's no use to trade for another reliever by tomorrow's (Friday's) trade deadline.  Although they are still in prime Wild Card discussion, this losing streak shows to me that they're not going to stay there for long.  And besides, they're not winning the World Series this year (at least I don't think so).  You could trade Perkins for, say, prospects.  You could actually do that for Joe Mauer and Torii Hunter, too.  But for a reliever now?  This team is supposed to be good, or at least a lot better, in the future, so don't do anything to get better now.  Because, who cares?

Four at home against Seattle starting today (Thursday), then four at Toronto starting Monday.

Wow, I Got Fucked Over At Work So Badly Today, Un-Fucking-Believable. ...

So you know where I was hopping from one test scoring project to another?  The one where I said, "I'm sure we'll get through to Friday?"  It's over.  The last day's today.

I kind of got wind of something going wrong Tuesday afternoon, I think.  My immediate supervisor told me why he needed to change my score, but then said something to the effect of, "Don't worry, you'll never see this again."  On Monday, the boss said that even though we may not have finished answering all the papers to a question, we might later in the project (which was supposed to last two weeks) -- meaning that we would have time to go back to it.  Did something change?  Or is it something more sinister ... that they knew it was going to be this short all along?  I think they knew.

They were pretty cavalier about the news, which blindsided all of us, this morning.  I was signing in and someone wanted to warn my immediate supervisor of an appointment she had Monday.  Then the boss, with a nonchalant smirk, says (and I don't know if he wanted to speak at a level where people could hear, and he was just didn't give a shit), "That won't be a problem!"  That's when I knew that I made the right decision not to buy creamer when I was putting gas in my car Tuesday after work.

And by the way: When you drop the bomb on us that we're out on our ass, after working just half as long as I thought the project was going to last, which itself was half as long as you guys said the project would last, don't say you're not going to apologize.  None of us demanded an apology from you, but if you are going to conjure up this accusation that we did demand one, well, honestly, then we deserve an apology.  We'll believe you when you say you were told to end the project after three measly days.  (Whether you hid that information from us, I for one don't know.)  But we'll shoot the messenger if you're going to be so damn defensive when you deliver the message.  I like this guy, but damn, his tone pisses me off.

All of this pisses me off.  All of them piss me off.  I like them, I really do.  And that's why I couldn't just pop off and say, "Three days?!  You tell me two weeks and now we're only working three goddamn days?!  And you think you can just joke about this?!?!  I need a fucking paycheck, and I left another job so I could work for you guys!"  I thought I was going to get a little longer work -- scratch that, a lot longer..  But with all the calculations I blogged about concerning whether or not I should have stayed at my old job, turns I didn't need them, because unbeknownst to me I totally should have stuck with the old job.  I also think that there are other people who kind of depend on the money that this project was supposed to bring.  That we're now back on the street after three days is something they should not take lightly.  Knowing that "this could happen" at a job like this isn't good enough for them to say the equivalent of, "Whoops!  My bad!"  And no, declaring that you don't think you need to apologize is just about the worst thing you can say.  Give us a break; we're the ones that are unemployed now.

---

I was so fucking desperate for work that I called up the old job and asked if I could come back.  I am so pathetic.  Assuming that I can't (and why would they?), that's it for test scoring for the year.  And now I really have to find work.  Or, go back to school, which now seems like an incredibly smart idea.  Maybe even an idea I can admit to my parents without shame!

My Car!!!

OK, so I'm sleeping (or at least trying to sleep) in my car at work.  But it's a steamy day and I had a good night's sleep the night before, so it wasn't going to happen.  (Aside: It didn't help matters that it was sunny, and that I was in a rush to get to work, and that the parking spaces at this place are oriented such that the shadows all day are cast away from the parking spots, and that there are very few trees there.  From now on I have to back my car up to a space so that I can lay on the passenger seat in shadow.  Monday I tried doing that with the sun beating down, and on a humid day that's absurd.  Yesterday [Tuesday] I had to recline on the driver's seat, ugh.)

So I'm just spacing out, hoping I could pass out for a couple minutes at least, and then I hear the scuffle of a ball on the ground.  And then I heard it in stereo because this ball apparently hit a thud according to my right ear, and then my left.  Then I hear a couple voices.  So now there are people playing soccer during break in the parking lot.  And I think I recognize the voices, too.  They are in the same room as me.  I don't know them all that well; I think we've spoken in passing a couple times, that's it.  But they seem to be good guys, so I'll just listen to them bat the ball back-and-forth behind my car and maybe I'll get so bored I'll pass out.

My mistake, it turns out, was assuming they could play well.  Because I didn't like that "bump" I heard behind me.  And once I heard it a second time, I knew that I shouldn't've have just let them play around my car because they might suck and they might hit my car, which they did, twice.  Now, I don't really think they damaged my car, and besides, there's still hail damage that needs to be fixed (if I want to fix it).  But all of a sudden my asshole puckered and I thought, "Man, don't fucking hit my car, it's new!"

At this point lunch was over and I got out of my car, partly because it was no use to stay in, partly because I don't think I could fall asleep if all they were doing is hitting my car with their soccer ball, and partly because I just wanted them know I was in there.  I think they may have moved away from my car, but I don't really know.  Regardless, obviously, they shouldn't have even been playing around that close to my car in the first goddamn place.  I didn't want to say anything because they seem to be good dudes and I'm sure they didn't mean to hit my car, even innocuously.  But man, next time, go find an open spot to play, alright?

Addendum To: Soccer Jersey Follies

Oh, about the U.S. women's soccer team jersey. ...

So, last time we spoke about it, I went through a lot of crap in order to finally buy a jersey off a guy on Amazon.  I kept looking online for tracking updates because I wanted this jersey so bad.  But when I checked this one time, I noticed a little note below the description of the jersey.  Something to the effect of "#15 BECKERMAN."  That would be Kyle Beckerman, Midfielder for the United States men's soccer team.  You know, the one that shit the bed and wiped out in fourth place in the Gold Cup that finished over the weekend.  That certainly isn't the jersey I wanted.  For one thing, I don't get jerseys featuring the name and number of my favorite player.  Until I change my mind, I root for the name in the front of the jersey, not the name on the back.  And for another, I ain't gonna wear the jersey for some shit loser soccer team.  Only winners get draped over my torso.

I opened the box when it came the Friday before last, and sure enough, through the clear bubble packaging I can see the word, "BECKERMAN" on the back of the jersey.  I may have picked up the jersey, once.  I certainly didn't unfold it and wear it.  It was not what I had ordered, so in disgust I closed the box.  I immediately went online to prepare a return label.  The next day I taped it shut (only to have to reopen it again because Amazon told me to slip in a part of the label inside in case the packaging on the box ripped off) and dropped it off at UPS.

In the meantime I was so angry and so desperate that after I prepared the return label I went scouring through websites to find where I could still buy a jersey.  At this point I was determined to buy one, at any price, but if I had trouble finding one up to this point, it would have been impossible at this point.  And yet ... my persistence led me back to Nike, and as luck would have it they either still had, or had received a returned, United States Women's National Soccer Team home white jersey, the one they wore when they beat Japan earlier this month to win the Women's World Cup.  One problem: It was a Small, not a Medium.  But I checked the measurements.  My waist measurement (which I put down here, even though it's from high school) is out-of-date, to be honest with you; my current measurement makes me way too fat for a small.  However, I assume my chest size is still the same, and in that aspect I am under the range for a small.  Also, one of the reviews said the jersey runs a little big.  Finally, hey, Nike is actually selling these jerseys again!  So I bit the bullet -- and, in a case where things were breaking my way, I actually used my points from American Express to lop off $50 from the price ... which, by the way, was still discounted from $90 to $70 after the World Cup.  So I could deal with a tight jersey for twenty bucks!

---

It was supposed to come back on Friday, but it came Thursday.  Unlike this cheater from Amazon, this actually was the women's, not men's jersey.  I looked at it skeptically; would it fit?

I try it on.  I was worried that it would be too tight around my chest.  But it wasn't.  There's a lot of room up in the chest, thereby affirming that the measurements were right (with the help, possibly, of it naturally running long).  I'm not suffocating when I wear it, and it looks like a men's cut.  I am happy, very happy.

With two exceptions.  My waist is too big for a small.  The jersey is tight enough for you to outline the shape of my gut.  I stood up in front of a mirror and could see a prominent belly poking through the stretched jersey.  Man, that is big.  Also, it is kind of sheer, and a couple times in different light, I could see my chest and nipples peeking through.  So if I walk around, say, downtown Minneapolis wearing just this up top when I go watch English Premier League opening weekend, people are going to see a fat dude that's basically topless.

Guess I'll have to wear another shirt under it.  Oh, well.  I got the jersey I wanted!  For twenty bucks!

Four New Things About The Old Car

• I keep worrying that's going to break down, and I still can't help myself from peeping at the temperature gauge to make absolutely sure it's not going above straight horizontal.  I mean, I will have to pull it over if it starts to overheat, so I have to get on top of it.  But it hasn't, once.  And everything else is working fine.  In other words, it's back to normal.
• Well, not really.  I continue to have to add coolant to it.  I drive it on weekends and I always check all the fluids underneath the hood.  The oil, in fact, was changed when the head gasket was replaced the brakes were "fixed," so that's holding strong.  I remain paranoid about the transmission fluid, too, but it's still maintaining its level, which is overfull.  But the antifreeze overflow tank is consistently empty.  I could chalk it up to the air conditioning I'm using during our recent stretch of hot and humid weather, but if everything else was like it was before, I wouldn't have to fill up the antifreeze tank.  But I do -- and for the past two weekends I've had to fill it up on Saturday and Sunday.  Weird, and maybe permanent.
• The Check Engine light went on a few weeks ago, but when I started my car from the Megamall Sunday afternoon (to eat at Hooters -- again), it was off.  And it stayed off all the way home.  Man, I don't get it.  But it was nice to see my dashboard without any warning lights.
• One final thing.  I've complained in the past that when I turned the vent on and put it on external mode, I would get this gassy smell.  No one was able to point out the issue, even though I spent hundreds of dollars to replace parts a couple mechanics said were the culprits.  But in the spring I got the radiator replaced, and when I turned on the fan or the AC, nothing but pure (or relatively pure) air came in, and I could breathe in deep without feeling like I'm going to pass out over inhaling carbon monoxide.  Well, ever since I got the car back the gas fumes have come back as well.  The new radiator's there, and I don't think the mechanic changed anything besides the head gasket, brakes and oil.  So home come the smell is back?  Too bad -- it was nice to be able to use the external vent normally.

T-Minus One Week And Counting

I don't know if the party is going to to go off without a hitch.  Three things:

1. The host finally got back to me.  Good news with her is the party should come under budget.  Bad news is she thinks preparations are going so well that I don't have to come over until the day of.  I don't think that's a good idea.  I have tons of stuff to lug over, plus I kind of need to know the layout of the party.  Where am I going to have the picture, for example?  Or a better example, where is the introductory table?  After the fuck-up that was last year, I am now jumping over every detail.  But that might mean that as much as I am underreacting to the situation last year (or at least underreacting to last year's host's demands) I think I could be going the other way and overreacting this year -- you know, just to compensate.  But what happens if things aren't the way I want them?  It'll be hours before the party starts.  There's no way I'd be able to do anything then.  Does she think everything's cool?
2. In the meantime she has told me that are two things that she might need.  I, unfortunately, don't have those things.  I'll have to make an all-call to the group.  Trouble is, if they're going to respond the same way they have to my entreaty for volunteers, well then, I'm screwed, because no one is going to respond.  I know of one volunteer.  And I personally do not know anyone from the group that has these two items.  I might no someone else that might, so I might have to ask him.  And if worst comes to worst, obviously we'll make do, but, well, this is another sign that I can't plan a party.
3. My Vice-President is moving.  He cannot be VP anymore.  That I need to fill his position is an understatement, but something I can't deal with right now.  (Hell, I can't deal with anything right now.)  I could use one trusted person to bounce ideas off of, to show up early to help with things, to help plan.  He can't do that because he has a lot of life changes going on right now.  Problem is, he knew about this date, and he still is tending to his things and not the club's.  I wish he could be around, but it looks like he won't be.  And I wonder if he would at least be doing these things as final duties as VP if the club were run better.  I mean, you should have seen him before.  He was so enthusiastic about the club.  And now ... no.  The change probably has to do with me becoming prez.  I think he would be helping out if I did a better job.

I'm fucked.  One week till the event and I'm fucked.

Can I Help? But Do I Really Want To?

A few weeks ago I thought my parents began walking around Saturday mornings.  That gave me the opportunity to leave for the day.  That ended after, well, one Saturday morning.

Things are always weird weekend mornings.  I don't ever want to talk to my parents (really My Father) in the morning because he'll always bitch about something.  I have an excuse during the workweek (at least when I actually have work) because I have to get ready to go to work and I'm out the door.  But weekends are something different.  Oftentimes I have and do say I have to go to work, either at the radio station or at the U. (both lies).  That allows me to just go from getting up to leaving the house very quickly, and they/he would not be curious as to whether or not that is actually true.  The trick, unfortunately, is getting up.  While my body has been conditioned into waking up on the weekends (well, actually Saturday only) the same time as I do during the week, I don't want to because, hey, I don't have to go to work.  So what I usually do is loll around bed, check my phone, and try to go back to sleep.  The danger with that is I might wake up too late to act as though I have things I need to do.  Sometimes I just say, "Yeah, I'm working out today," and I guess I could say that, but that invites an opportunity for him to tell me to do chores around the house.

Today was one of those times.  After I decided I should leave, I see My Father laying around on the living room couch.  He calls me over.  Shit, I thought to myself.  That usually means he's going to lay into me about not going to school or finding a job with benefits.  I got a lucky break, though -- he just warned me that he needed me to look over some papers after I get home from "work," which is what I told him I needed to go.

But I go from dodging a bullet about getting yelled out, let alone being asked to do chores, to feeling guilty about not doing chores.  Just inside the door I see a lot of tools.  Most of them were saws.  That meant that he was going to spend the day sawing limbs off the tree in the front yard.  That's a duty I find both dangerous and unnecessary.  I did some quick Internet research on pruning trees, and I'm sure that what My Father is doing isn't right and will in fact hurt the tree.  Because of that, and the fact that I think it's best to avoid My Father when doing shit around the house, I have never helped him with that chore (I don't help him with many chores, to be honest).  But, you know, that's a huge tree, and those saws are dangerous.  Maybe he needs help?

But I didn't ask that.  I asked him what the tools are for, and he said that he and Mother have limbs to cut down.  And I left it at that.  Even though I really didn't want to help, though, I feel really, really bad I decided not be around, even if it would be for My Father to boss me around and do things I know in my heart is the wrong thing to do.

So today, my parents are doing maintenance work around the house (at least the way they see it) while I am here at the library blogging, then working out, and maybe sneaking in a nap.  I feel lazy and guilty right now.

---

Oh, by the way, I tried making up for not being there by moving my new car.  The tree's limbs are somewhat hanging over one side of the driveway, and I figure they would think it would be good to move it in case a big branch falls.

I told My Father on the way out I would move it, but in putting all my stuff into the old car, which I use on the weekends, I drove off without moving the new car.  And I felt so guilty about that (on top of not helping with pruning the tree) that, 45 minutes after I left, I drove all the way back from this library in order to move the car and leave the key.

I feel lazy and guilty, but I am forgetful.

Last Day At This Type Of Work

Another test scoring job was presented to me, therefore I am leaving this one after about a month to start there.  I haven't told them it's only two weeks long; I told them about a couple months, which justifies at least a paycheck that makes it worth more to go there than to stay here.

I'm not exactly sure, though, if it's the right decision.  I really, really thought the project was going to end today (Friday).  But last week 40% of the people were switched to another project.  Then, we were told some of our scores were bad and we would have to re-score them.  That pushed the end of this project well into next week.

Meanwhile, I'm not quite sure of the parameters of scoring project I'm going to.  I think it's only seven hours a day, as opposed to eight with this one.  Moreover, it's well across the other side of town, about 14.6 miles away, so it'll eat gas (and therefore money) at a much higher rate, and that doesn't include stop-and-go traffic.  Finally, even though it lasts two weeks, I'm not sure if it's going to last that long.  Again, my rule is take the expected end date and cut in half.  I am sure we'll get through to Friday.  The project I'm leaving now says it'll end Thursday.  So you couple that with the hours (the pay, I think, will be just about the same) and the difference in miles driven ... and it might be better if I just saw this project out and found other employment somewhere else.  We'll see.

---

By the way, when I told my immediate supervisor this, he actually wished me well.  The guy who I regarded as taking three-plus bucks from me was actually, well, not cold to me.  So ... OK, maybe he isn't so bad.  And that traffic plug, I learned, could be avoided if I took a left here and just went around.  So, at the end of it all, I can accept.

I really hope that I don't regret leaving this job early for something else far, far away.

The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey

#-1: Vikings (Re-Entry!).  This week's survey is gloomy, so that is partly why I'm throwing the Vikings back into the mix, as the team reports for training camp this weekend.  Adrian Peterson will do that with a new, restructured contract.  Under his old contract he was supposed to get paid around $15 million for the next two years.  Thing is, they weren't guaranteed, and, well, you know what happened to All Day last season.

Under the new contract he will receive less money this and next year (how much exactly has not been disclosed, AFAIK), but both years will be guaranteed.  So, despite threats from both the Peterson camp and fans who were so disgusted that he beat his son to the point his scrotum was bleeding, AP will be playing for the only professional team he has ever known for the next two years.

That will be a good thing, obviously, if Peterson still can run.  This will sound gauche, but I'll say it anyway: With him on trial for the whole year, even though that makes him a year older, he has also saved a year on his legs.  So what Vikings brass is banking on is that he can not only be productive, but possibly, once again, the best Running Back in the National Football League.  I really have no idea if he can be that even if he didn't miss last year.  But the front office would not have guaranteed an RB on the bad side of 30 years of age two guaranteed years if they didn't think he would be capable of producing.

And anything Peterson can do will help Quarterback Teddy Bridgewater, in whose hands, everyone knows, he holds the future of the franchise.  He slowly has gained his footing in the NFL, and many people believe he showed great maturity the last five games of the regular season.  And that was without the services of a very good (presumably) RB in the backfield with him.  Having Peterson be the focal point allows Bridgewater to avoid pressure, and it also allows some play action, which really could make Teddy a real weapon in the offense.  This is supposed to be the balance that the Vikes want when they have the ball.  We will now see if all the pieces are in place for the season.

#-2: Twins (Last Week: -1).  Uh-oh.  They won the first game after Major League Baseball's All-Star Break at Oakland, but they haven't won since.  Last (Wednesday) night's 5-2 defeat at the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim Angels Of Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim Angels Of ... gives the Twinks a 1-4 screening week.  I can't pinpoint one specific thing in their current four-game losing streak (well, at least besides offense, defense and pitching), so I have to surmise that this is yet another case where an overachieving team loses all momentum after the All-Star Break.  It's happened before; the Kansas City Royals when they were managed by Tony Pena.  Unfortunately, the schedule for this team isn't going to get any better: After finishing out in Orange County this (Thursday) afternoon, they play the New York Yankees for three over the weekend and the Pittsburgh Pirates for a pair beginning on Tuesday.  Both of them are in playoff position, although the club plays both teams at home, the first time in 11 days they are playing at Target Field.  But I'm afraid they're going to be exposed as a bunch of youngsters that were punching above their weight but are now in over their heads.  In other words, how we expected (and even hoped) this squad would be.

#-3: Lynx (Last Week: -2).  OK, I predict that this team is now in serious, serious trouble.  The injury bug they have gracefully avoided in previous seasons have bit hard this year.  Seimone Augustus had arthroscopic knee surgery and is out till at least mid-August -- if not longer.  Monica Wright had the same thing done to her right knee.  And then Lindsay Whalen got poked in the eye and she's gone for the time being.

With Guards in traction, the Lynx have, for the first time in a long time, messed with their core and made a trade.  Monday, the organization traded Wright, injury and all, to Seattle in exchange for backup Guard Renee Montgomery, a former first-round pick for the Lynx in 2009.  Dan Barreiro on KFAN didn't understand the reason for the trade, either way, but I'll take a guess.  The Storm are pitiful right now (as is half the Western Conference), so Wright will be a veteran on a rebuilding team.  Meanwhile, Montgomery is a player who can play either the 1 or the 2, and most importantly, she's healthy.  (I think the Lynx are not saying that the injuries to Augusuts and Whalen are a lot worse than reported.)  So Cheryl Reeve and Co. are now scuffling with a Guard rotation of Montgomery, the recently-signed Anna Cruz, and Maya Moore.

And speaking of Moore, it'll have to be her team now more than ever.  She has become the best player on the team for the past couple years, but with two of the Three To See injured, the club will now have to rely on her much more than ever.  And I'm not encouraged by the results.  They avenged their recent loss to the Chicago Sky by crushing them at Target Center Friday then registered a 79-72 win over the Tulsa (soon-to- be Dallas) Shock Sunday.  But on yesterday's (Wednesday's) annual weekday camp game, they lost to Connecticut on a last-second jumper by Camille Little (her only points of the game, BTW), 78-77 in Overtime, ending a six-game losing streak.

The All-Star Break can't come soon enough; Moore will be participating in the Sunday afternoon game, but for obvious reasons Whalen and Augustus will not.  But chemistry issues that probably contributed to the upset loss to the Sun persist through extended breaks.  The squad starts the second half of the regular season Wednesday at home against Los Angeles.  And pray that the players they need to come back will be closer to coming back.

You Know, I'm Getting The Sense That People Think I'm An Asshole

And I just changed the subheading on Wailing And Failing (at 11:49 p.m. on Tuesday) to reflect that.  I've got this stripper bitch mad at me, and it's got me so twisted it's affecting my work.  And I have contacted these people for this party and they haven't gotten back to me.  It's as if they don't want to talk to me.

This is very upsetting, mostly because this happens often.  I don't know why I can't get what I want/need, when I need it.  But people are ignoring me willfully, and it sucks.  So I guess, because this has happened before and it'll happen again so enough, that people just don't want to talk to me.  Maybe I'm weird, too weird for them.  Maybe I'm too intense, or too quiet, or too inconsequential.  I don't know.  I think I'm a nice guy, trying to do what I can, but people just don't respect that.  I'm like a male, Asian Anne Hathaway.  I mean, why do people hate her, anyway?  She's nice and she shows her tits in movies a lot.  What's not to like about her?

And what's not to like about me?  But it seems as if people just don't like to talk to me, or don't like me, period -- unless I have money to offer them, which I don't have right now.  Don't know what to do, man, don't know what to do.

Sorry, Honda People

When my car broke down and my family was frantically calling around dealerships (and I might as well let the cat out of the bag -- I got a Honda), we sent out a flurry of e-mails, and naturally, all the car salesmen replied to us in order to grab some of our business.  With the exception of one, however, we just went to the dealerships closest to us, and we grabbed a car on the third try.

Nevertheless I wanted to reply to all the other dealerships to at least let them know of the decision we made.  I know it was totally unnecessary, but I didn't want to be like all the other people who (I presume) asked for a price quote and didn't get back to them.  I wanted to be different, to stand out, even if it turned out I wasn't going to give them any money.  Who knows, it could pay dividends in the near future if I need a deal on another car.  Regardless, despite the very shady run-ins with the guys at the dealerships we met face-to-face, I felt at least not leaving them hanging was the right thing to do after thrashing about with desperate pleas for quotes.

But then, well, life intervened.  Getting a new car was such a pain-in-the-ass because it took me away from work, so I just wanted to get back to my routine once I got it.  Going back to e-mails from people we decided not to see was not a priority, even if I did have the best of intentions.  And although it remained in the back of my mind I was able to push it away, till the tide of memories and the fact that it's not been almost three months led me to finally spend some idle hours going back into My Father's e-mail account and finally respond.

Problem was, they were all gone.  My Father grimly deletes old e-mails with abandon, but I swear it wasn't too long ago where I had went into his inbox (I have his password) and saw that the old Honda dealership inquiries were still there.  I had meant to get back to them, but I just assumed that because they were there this far past my initial e-mail, they would be around for a while longer.  Whether it was My Father erasing them or America Online (OK, I let another cat out of the bag) doing the work for him, they are gone, probably for good.  So I guess I am like all the rest.  I apologize.

OK, can't ever go back to those guys again.  Wait ... they're car salesmen.  They'll hunt down any lead if it means getting money on the spot for a car.

The Things That Bedevil Me In The Wee Small Hours

Was totally fatigued in the evening.  Had to power my way through what I thought was a lackluster So You Think You Can Dance, but my body was telling me I had to crash, so I turned off the TV and the lights a bit after 9 and let myself rest.

And I did, till about 2:30.  And then I remember all the shit I need to do.  Things such as this blog, finding out if those shorts I prepared myself for the week really are too small for me now, and cutting out the gas coupon for Double Discount Tuesday (I was going to just do that in the morning, but then I knew I would forget; that in particular is what prevented me from trying to go back to bed and instead get up).

Worse, I now remember all the shit I should do in preparation for things I can't quite foresee or solve.  That bitch who told me off at My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Version) is still on my mind.  Not being welcome at that place still infuriates me, but staying away may lose me everything I've fought for.  I have no idea what I should do or when I should do it.

You know what I did to combat that anxiety?  Monday at work I texted all the strippers I know to see if they're doing any house parties.  I totally will get dances from them then -- that'll totally show her I get dances; she just got pissed because I don't get dances from her.  I'm totally trying to prove to myself that I'm not cheap, but I'm not trying to show her up while doing that because that would be acknowledging her bullshit accusations.  Of course, none of this means I can just waltz back into that place, let alone waltz back into that place and assume everything's fine.  (By the way, there's a chance that a girl may be doing a party; time to hang out with my wang out, for the first time in a long time!)

The other big sword swinging over my head is this party, which is now less than two weeks.  Try as I might, I don't think we're prepared at all.  The host seems to have a pretty level head about it -- which is good, because I'm freaking the fuck out.  What's worse is that I have no one else to rely on.  There's a guy who's too busy moving, and there's no one else that's planning this.  I have a contact to whom I have asked questions; she hasn't gotten back to me.  Also, I put out a call for volunteers for the day, and I heard of one person.  Just one guy.  I don't know if there's been a breakdown in communication, but there's also a chance that people simply don't respect me and therefore don't want to help.

I know more needs to be done, but I have no idea what that is.  Therefore, I have no idea if what I'm doing (or not doing) is correct, and I have no one I can bounce ideas off of.  There is no one to turn to except me.  And that is a recipe for instant failure.

My God, all of this is fucked up.

I need to go back to sleep, but I think I just scared myself into staying awake till morning.

Scott Walker Scares Me

So the governor from Wisconsin is throwing his hat in the ring, becoming the bajillionth person to seek the Republican nomination for President of the United States.  People who are not politically bent -- in other words, the vast majority of this country -- think he's just another chump, one that has an equal chance with all the other chumps in the GOP clown car to get the nomination next year, and not one to pay attention to at least until the summer before Election Day.  But for me and other people who are in the know and want to know, Walker is the most dangerous candidate in the field.  And in my mind, he becomes the one to beat.

For those who don't know, Scott Walker, as soon as he became governor in 2011, has been on a determined mission to bust unions, and unfortunately, he has done so successfully, despite protests that include nightly rallies by thousands at the Wisconsin State Capitol in Madison.  Nevertheless Walker, along with Republican majorities voted into both houses of the state legislature, enacted laws that have virtually destroyed collective bargaining rights in the state, rendering it into a right-to-work (for less) state, just like the South.

Moreover, he has privatized many properties that used to belong to the state, many of them to companies that appear to have paid him back by enriching his campaign coffers.  Foremost among them are businesses that plunder environmental laws in the state, which endangers the water and air in Wisconsin.  But worst of all are his underhanded methods he conducts business -- both his duties as governor and his private financial affairs.  Many of these controversial union-busting and privatizing provisions has been crammed into bills at the last minute, often late at night, while many prying eyes of the public and the media aren't watching.  Meanwhile, the Wisconsin Supreme Court, backed by conservatives just as corrupt as he is, have batted down, time and again, repeated inquiries into allegations of corruption during Walker's stints in public office, and not just as governor.  In fact, his conflation of his personal (and monetary) ambitions and his work for Wisconsin has been revealed through correspondence, the increasingly clumsy attempts not to disclose of which would violate any reasonable state's transparency laws.  Add it all up, and he is as crooked a politician in America.  And he's running for President!!

You have to give credit to him for his balls.  But he has a lot of political savvy, which would be an asset if he weren't so slimy.  Shortly before and since declaring his run for President, he has shown deftness and fake demonstrations of leadership, and he has been very good and knowing what to say, when to say it, and when not to take any stand at all.  For example, he recently loosened further gun safety laws in the state, using a press conference announcing those new "regulations" to take a cheap shot at President Obama.  He used themes of "not listening to the real America" to the President, when Obama has done more for the little guy than George Fucking W. Bush ever did.

There are three aspects at work in that announcement.  For one thing, Walker has and will use that "real America" schtick for as long as he's running.  For another, although it's somewhat related, he also loves this repeated self-victimization narrative in order to curry favor with other Republicans.  When he and his legislature was in the middle of busting the unions, he has said he has come under several death threats.  While I don't doubt the death threats, I'm just about sick of Scott Walker covering those threats around him like a blanket, as if he's saying, "Why poor wittle old me?"  And there are people who lap that shit up.

Finally, this comes in the wake of the massacre at Mother Emmanuel Church in Charleston, S.C.  There are a lot of factors that went into the shooting: the Confederate flag, race, guns.  The first is now becoming a relic banished to American history.  We are still dealing with the second, and not that well.  But it's the third one, guns, that once again gets a pass.  There are all those slaughters that have the commonality of guns, and what happened in Charleston once again should put a spotlight on gun violence in America.  But as we, this country, gravitated to changing what essentially is the low-hanging fruit, which is the flag, Walker used that moment to circle the wagons in yet another startling victory for gun violence rights.  Protecting guns is also low-hanging fruit; the National Rifle Association does not need Scott Walker's help.  But the gun lobby has a victim mentality like Walker, and by announcing the restriction of conceal-and-carry laws, those people who cling to their deadly firearms found a champion to stand alongside in order to beat back that nasty gun-stealing Kenyan Obama.

The second event that evinces his political wiles is Donald Trump, who, over the weekend, said John McCain is not a war hero for being captured by the Viet Cong during the Vietnam War.  (Aside: Trump is leading in the polls, and I really don't know if this will hurt him at all -- and that really frightens the hell out of me.  Because any people who continue to stick by Donald Trump in the wake of that crazy-ass answer have no qualms about a person who served his country admirably and only care about the fact that he lost to the black guy in the White House right now.  In their minds, McCain deserves to be ridiculed because he's a loser, and so being captured and tortured by the North Vietnamese is further sign that he is nothing but a loser.  I believe that has some connection to Scott Walker, which I'll try to explain below.)  At first Walker stayed above the fray, only tweeting that McCain is an American hero, while his Republican rivals all called for Trump to apologize and quit the race.  Seeing that the water's fine, Walker then joined them ... but did so in an exclusive interview on Sunday morning political talk TV.  He came off like a statesman, but used really hard language to go after Trump, exhorting the other Republican hopefuls to go after Trump for his words.  By having the spotlight all to himself, he could sound tough even though he said only what everybody else said first.  He knew when to avoid controversy, then act as if he had to swoop in and be courageous when there really is nothing courageous about his viewpoint.

But guess what?  Scott Walker still stands a good chance of winning!!!  Why?  Well, first of all, he can use all that money he's made from campaign contributions in exchange for selling off the state he professes to love.  What's more of a factor, sadly, is that he's a proven winner, which apparently makes him (at least in the eyes of the media) a tantalizing favorite.  Not only was he elected, not only was he re-elected, but there was a recall election that he managed to beat back (with the help, by the way, of campaign money from businesses he'll reward with kickbacks disguised as laws he has passed and will pass into law).  He can say, "I've been elected three times, and I faced down the bullies with the unions and won!" and there are a lot of people who'll eat it up.  He is not a loser, and right now, that makes him a formidable candidate.

Finally, there's the competition.  Assuming the Koch Brothers find Scott Walker to be their willing fuck boy, meaning he'll be able to beat back all the other candidates being controlled by their rich puppet masters, Walker will (probably, although I am really starting to believe in Bernie Sanders) Hillary Clinton.  She has two handicaps.  For one -- and it may turn out to be the biggest hurdle -- it is very rare for a party to get three straight terms.  Bush got to follow Reagan's eight years, and Obama is having one hell of a run right now, but let's see.  For another, despite all her accomplishments, of which there are many, she is still Hillary Clinton.  She is by far well-known commodity, and you either love her or hate her.  Scott Walker remains largely unknown, so he has time to define himself as intelligent, strong, candid, nice -- and a winner.

Doesn't matter that all his promises to bring jobs to Wisconsin are bullshit.  Don't mind the fact that his popularity ratings are currently in the toilet now that he doesn't give a rat's ass about his state anymore.  Forget all the creepy ways he will twist the pipelines of the federal government so that they funnel into his bank account in the Cayman Islands, screwing over all the people who will vote for him anyway, stupid people.  And please ignore all the people under him who have eventually gone to jail for chicanery related to his ambitions.  He's a winner.  And in this election, where money talks more than ideas, that may be more than enough.

President Scott Walker is truly a frightening proposition for the United States of America.

Am I Cheap?

Really bad day at My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Edition) yesterday.  It was all due to two people.  One of them was this weird, pathetic old man whose seat I mistakenly took.  While I was walking back there he, having vacated that seat to get a dance, marched right back up and took it "back," even though I was standing right beside it.  Whatever, dude.

Just to study this fucker I sat close by.  He drank his can of Michelob Golden Light with anger, slamming it down after taking every forceful gulp.  Later he went up to another girl and I could overhear him pushing her around, saying, "So, you wanna dance or what?"  Temper, temper, asshole.  He was a short, stubby dude with khaki shorts that his polo was tucked into -- in other words, not a gentleman, and not I've ever seen before.

I was going to take back his seat after he got this second dance, but then a group of bikers took over his seat, and mine.  I would like to think he would have gone back over there but was afraid of the bikers, and that's why he left.  But I'm not sure.  Maybe he took out his frustrations to the point where he'll never set foot in there ever again.

---

The other person is way more problematic.  It's the fucking waitress.  She moonlights as a stripper, and I've complained about her because she is one of those five-dollar bitches who would bankrupt me if I kept that up.  I don't know what was going on yesterday; we didn't talk, we kind of just ran into each other a couple times.  But it was hot, and this guy was pissing me off, so I wanted a drink.

After I was there a while, I did what I rarely do, call her over and order a drink.  But she just lashed out at me -- "Go to the bar!"  What?  Why was she acting all rude?  Sure, I didn't tip her or get a dance from her, ever.  But I thought she was cool nonetheless.  We would talk sports from time to time, and a couple weeks ago she fed me snacks.  Why was she so angry with me?

She got me my drink anyway.  I apologized for pissing on her corn flakes, whenever that was, because I need to continue to come back here.  And then she basically called me out: "You don't get dances and you just watch sports.  It's called a sports bar.  Look into it."

Well, I was just shocked.  And hurt, too.  And it exposed my worst fears of being a patron of this place.  I may be the only person who still tips two bucks.  I believe that was the norm when I first came, but that was a long time ago.  I've had more and more strippers tell me they only dance for five, many more of them new.  If the new strippers demand five while the veterans who gladly accept two continue to die off, I'll be priced out of this place.

This also makes me very self-conscious.  I consider this bar to be My Home Away From Home, but I'm not like any of the people there.  I think my repeated visits have made me some sort of a regular, but when it comes to tenure and popularity, I take a back seat to a lot of people.  So I'm under no illusion that the owner or the manager or a bouncer -- or a bitch waitress -- will suddenly decide to have me thrown out for being cheap, or just making shit up about touching the dancer or making trouble or something.  That would suck, but that is legal, and very possible.  Hope to God that doesn't happen.

Her allegations are at least unfair, and at most untrue.  I don't understand why she came down on me like that.  Yeah, there are women I don't give money to.  They have their standards, and I have mine, and they don't mesh.  It's not like I'm personally killing their business; all of them manage to get suckers guys to give them five bucks.  Hey, it's their money, they can do what they want.  Just as I can do what I want.  I have not been told otherwise, and I have yet to be told to leave because of it.  I didn't think that was a problem.  Now, it's just one pissed-off girl saying that that is a problem.  But what if she tells the bouncer or the manager or the owner and he agrees with her?  Then they think it's a problem ... and now the problem is mine.

I'm sidetracking myself here.  I don't make it rain every time I go there because it's a special place.  It is a bar, and I can just go there to drink and relax, and that's it.  And sometimes I do get dances -- not all the time, but some of the time, and I'm damn sure she's seem me get a few, so when she said I never get dances, that's an a goddamn lie.  Also, do you know what she's not saying?  Most of the other people there are just going there to drink and to relax, and they don't get dances.  In fact, most of them don't tip at all.  I'll bet 90% of the people at the bar have spent less money on dances -- spent money, period -- than I have.  That should mean something.  That should get me some modicum of respect.  And what makes me furious -- and what hurts me -- is that some bitch has decided I'm not welcome there because of what I think I do.

Look.  Until someone higher than her tells me I'm no longer welcome, throws me out and tells me never to come back, I'll just believe what she accuses me of doing or not doing is simply not true.  And it's not.

Nevertheless, I'm scared enough not to go there for now.  See, I was just going to dink around the north metro, exercise and putting in the daily entry for WAF.  But then I saw that it was #NationalIceCreamDay.  I thought we already had one this year.  Anyway, I did think about going to Dairy Queen before I heard it was #NICD, but for a special holiday like this one I should go to a proprietor that elevates ice cream to an art form.  So I think I'll drive a ways to Uptown and hit one of the ice cream shops there.  But that means that My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Division) is on the way home.  My pride tells me to march back in there, pay two bucks per stripper and watch sports, just to piss her off.  But that might escalate things to a point that I wouldn't be able to control.  So, even though I don't want to, and I really feel that doing so is a sign of emasculation and defeat, I'm just going to drive by.  I might stay away for a week or so.  Maybe that'll cool things off.  Or, it may be their chance to keep me out for good.

Why do I have to fight to come here?  What the fuck did I do?

Poor Bastard Of The Moment: Laura Bassett

Before this gets too late -- although it's already too late -- I have to blog about what probably is the worst moment of the Women's World Cup, and also the latest proof that soccer, while at times thrilling, can also really, really suck.

Of course I'm talking about Laura Bassett of the English team.  England was holding its own, and then some, in their semifinal tilt against Japan.  But in the 92nd minute, Japan Midfielder Nahomi Kawasumi crosses the ball close to the six-yard box and the Defender Bassett sticks her foot out and, well:



After the game everyone said she had to stick her foot out. You're not doing your job if you don't stick your foot out for fear of making an owngoal because you might then allow an opposing player to handle the ball.  Nevertheless that still fucking sucks.  I have been impressed with not only women's soccer but soccer in general watching the World Cup, but it's moments like this that snap me back to the harsh reality that is soccer.  A game like this can sometimes be random, but I can't think of any other sport where one random act can mean so much.

Yes, I know that she is a woman and that "bastard" is gender-specific, but:

Poor bastard.

Expenses Without Receipts

From Thursday, July 16:

• I had to get a grip on my expenses; I have yet to reconcile the month of June.  I need space and time to do that, so I'm at Caffetto, where ... I have yet to get around to reconciling it.  I've been here almost 90 minutes and I haven't done it quite yet.  Whoops.  Chocolate cake, small mocha, tip: $7.50.
• On Sunday the 12th I started my day off at Hooters, where all of a sudden I was the belle of the ball.  I have a receipt, but I am going to add the total amount, including tip ... well, because it's my list and my blog and I decided to bend the rules: $19.
• After going into my car to take a post-beer nap, I went to Caffetto to work on arranging and writing down receipts for the month of June.  Another way to beat the heat; thank goodness Caffetto closed its front door and opened up the fan.  Iced mocha plus tip equaled: $5.
• After that I went to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Version), just so I wouldn't be a stranger.  Weird vibe.  The first girl I tipped was new, and I suddenly was afraid that she'd reject my $2 tip and say that "It's $5 here," not knowing that I've been going to this place since she was a girl with very initial inklings about taking her clothes off for money.  Then I tipped this girl who I thought was cool with getting two bucks and she said she would rather have five.  That's when I thought I should just take off.  The waitress there didn't get me coffee; she instead played games.  Didn't mind, I was there for barely 20 minutes: $4.
• Finally ended my Sunday at Dairy Queen.  It was finally time to use that free kid's cone coupon on the hottest day of the year.  Then I thought I might as well as the folks if they wanted any, which they did, namely two small strawberry sundaes: $5.76
• On Saturday the 11th I exercised.  For the summer the community center is closed Friday evenings and all day Sunday.  If I keep complaining about this gut, maybe it's time to get back into working out.  Admission is: $3.
• And while there I think I found a dime on the floor.  An Infusion of: 10 cents.
• Back to Wednesday, July 8 ... Went out to Caffetto because my computer wasn't working.  I thought it was the fault of our slow modem.  Turns out I needed to flush my DNS cache, whatever that means.  Mocha plus tip: $3.50.
• Sunday the 5th, and boy, was my Independence Weekend busy -- first up, I went to the Mall of America because ... just because.  Wanted to eat there, but not at Hooters because I just wanted to go somewhere different.  I was going through my mental Rolodex trying to figure out if there was a place I wanted to go to, and eventually I remembered looking at a logo of a place I haven't even tried yet: The Meatball House.  Didn't think meatballs would be the prime food item for a fast food place, but I gave them a shot.  They are one of the few restaurants on the North side of the Megamall still open; a massive chunk of that area is being renovated right now, so only The Meatball House and A&W I think are places where you can eat fast and cheap.  Anyway I tried the Meatball House.  They were manned by a Korean family a little too happy to be working at a joint like that.  The lady took one look at me and said, "You want the special!"  Uh, sure.  And I got the special, which was two meatballs, a small side order of spaghetti and a Coke in a cup that passed for regular back in the fifties.  I actually appreciate the small portion of food, but I'm American, so I still feel a little burned over how much I paid for the meal, which was: $7.50.
• After that I went to the Minneapolis Institute of Art.  The second of three world-famous paintings being loaned to MIA, a Raphael (?), is on display.  I tried to snap a picture, but I was told not to.  Afraid I took it anyway because I took a photo of the first loaner painting, a Vermeer.  Will I get stopped before I snap a picture of the third loaner later in the year, thereby preventing me from getting all three?  Shit, can't let that happen.  But how can I do it?  Anyway, I left a donation: $1.
• Before going to watch the Women's World Cup final I wanted to tool around the Internet, so I spent an hour or so at Caffetto.  Got this thing called Leninade, which was some sweet local pop product made by Communists.  Or something.  It wasn't bad.  Does that make me a commie?  Plus tip: $3.50.
• Like I did with the final in 2011, I went to the Nomad Pub to see the U.S. women win the WWC for the third time.  There were a hell of a lot more people watching this game than the one four years ago, which should be an indication of how popular women's soccer (and soccer in general) has become.  Also good to see that there was no Somali contingent rooting for Japan this time around.  Man, that pissed me off then.  Surly beers were on special for all soccer games, so I got a Hell.  With tip: $5.
• To celebrate and watch post-match coverage, I went to My Favorite Late-Night Italian Place for supper.  Dinner-sized salad, chicken wild rice soup, tip came out to: $9.50.
• Friday the 3rd was my federally-mandated day off.  Felt good not to tell my parents that.  So they didn't get all bent out of shape when I woke up later in the morning and went to Caribou.  Mocha, cookie, tip: $6.
• Took advantage of a free weekday to go to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Edition) to look at some tits.  One of the girls there was ****a, who I was going to meet later in the afternoon for some one-on-one handjobbin'.  But there was another girl there, Katie, that razzed me for not tipping on stage.  She's a five-buck girl, and I don't tip five bucks.  To compromise, however, I told I would give her $20 for a lap dance.  With coffee and tips: $27.
• Then I went to Caffetto (been there a lot!) to spend my afternoon just as I spent my morning at Caribou: On the computer.  I was all coffeed out, so I got this thing called Route 66 cream soda to go along with a slice of apple pie.  With tip it equaled: $7.
• Then I went to see ****a.  Was afraid she's stand me up, but a half-hour later she got there and serviced me: $120.
• That night I went to a party and, well, I'm still very upset that I pissed away: $15.
• On Thursday, July 2nd I went to Caffetto to celebrate the long weekend.  Iced mocha plus tip sums to: $5.
• OK, jump back to Saturday, June 27.  Went to Dunn Bros. for a change of pace from Caribou.  Only got an oatmeal.  Have the receipt for it, but I have it here because of the tip, and I figure I might as well put the entire amount here: $3.25.
• Went to the local flower shop.  I had not seen ... a friend of mine at ... the cemetery yet this year.  I should have gone sooner, but I'm making up for lost time.  Normally I get two single flowers, and I try to mix them up.  But one of the flowers I got this time around was really expensive.  I'm not sure that my friend would really want that.  Whatevs: $7.50.
• After going there and back, I went to Quizno's.  Used a coupon; haven't been there in a while.  With tip: $7.67.
• After sitting on our driveway for more than a month, I finally got the old car washed at Central.  I have the receipt for the was itself, so the amount I put down reflects only the tip.  Yeah, yeah, for some of the other expenses above the amount reflects the whole charge, not just the tip, even though I have the receipt for that charge.  Hey, it's my blog.  Besides, I ain't that organized.  Like I said, tip only: $3.
• I then went to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Version).  Got a dance from Kyan, possibly the stripper who has been there the longest since I tripped over the place oh-so-long ago.  With tips and a Sprite: $31.
• My God, I was busy this day ... I went to Brit's Pub to take in some Women's World Cup action.  I'm flip-flopping what I did with Central Car Wash above; I'm putting down the whole amount of what I ate and drank, purchase amount and tip, even though I have a receipt.  Like I said, sue me: $10.25.
• Bought lottery tickets at the gas station before I came back home.  There, their money paying me back for those tickets was on the sill.  (I'm not putting down the price of the tickets because I got a receipt for them at the gas station.)  An Infusion of: $7.
• After dinner I went out to work out.  The first time in a long time I exercised in the evening.  They say you should do it in the morning, but I should do it at night more often.  I don't have time other hours of the day, and at night I can work off the food my parents gave me for dinner and jump-start what could have been a sedentary day for me.  I was so thirsty that I do something that's rare for me: I bought a Powerade from one of the vending machines.  That plus admission equal: $4.50.
• After that I put on all the weight I worked off at My Favorite Late-Night Italian Place for a non-Italian salad and soup.  With tip it comes out to: $9.50.
• Finally, I had four shiny quarters, two shiny dimes and three shiny pennies I wanted to preserve.  This day I was looking through all the coins burning a hole in my back pocket and noticing how pristine they all were.  I couldn't part with any of them, and one of the dimes was minted in 2012.  Maybe I could relax a little, but I'm a packrat when it comes to shiny coins: $1.23.
• Go back to Tuesday, June 23, where I decided to skip dinner in order to see Jurassic World and see if it was worth being the film with the biggest opening weekend in history.  All I can say is that it's a good popcorn movie.  Chris Pratt and Bryce Dallas Howard have a quasi-Bogart-and-Hepburn-in-The African Queen-type of relationship.  Popcorn, pop, and an extra-special discounted ticket (even though I was watching on a weeknight) because I came on a special sweet spot where the tickets are just $5, and it all totals: $9.
• Sunday the 21st: Went to Five Watt Coffee for the second straight day because I was hypnotized by the vibe, the popularity, and hot babes that live in the Kingfield neighborhood.  I should hang out in this area more often.  They have a special drink called the "Kingfield," and I charged it on the credit card.  So this amount reflects the tip on that drink as well as a tip for the organ player entertaining the packed house with gospel music as part of the house's "Sunday Service" brunch: $2.
• In the afternoon I stopped by My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Edition) for tips.  Only time I was there that week, I think: $4.
• On Saturday the 20th I ventured a little out of my comfort zone and went to the place that City Pages said had the best donuts in the Twin Cities, Bogart's.  They are damn good.  Two drawbacks: I wish I could have sat instead of standing along the rail while the line of people pushed past me; and they need to find a milk company that has cartons with better straws than the one I got.  The straw, I think, had a cozy.  With tip: $8.
• OK, the real reason I was into the Kingfield neighborhood was because I needed to give these mechanics the wheel lock for my car because they determined they needed to replace the brakes.  I was free that morning, and it's a hip area, so I might as well enjoy myself while doing this errand.  So that's why I went to Bogart's.  It was also convenient for me to visit Grandmother at the cemetery.  And it gave me a chance to go to this Five Watt Coffee for the first time.  I tried their cold press during the Twin Cities Donut Crawl, and I was impressed with their lively set-up.  Had drip coffee which was as good as any other drip coffee I've had.  What was more impressive, though, were the hot babes that spent their morning there.  Yow!  With tip: $4.
• Needed to find a place that sold flowers to give to Grandmother at the cemetery.  On Google Maps the closest place was Petersen's Flowers.  Unfortunately they didn't have any single flowers -- just bunches, and the flowers weren't totally open.  Feel kind of ripped off after spending, I think: $6.47.
• That evening I went with a friend and a couple of his friends for wrestling at First Avenue.  Wild stuff.  Got a Pabst Blue Ribbon.  With tip: $5.
• I got my friend's ticket for this event when I went to the Twins game in the afternoon.  He didn't have enough singles to completely pay me back, so even though I feel like a dick, he still owes me a buck.  Nonetheless this is an Infusion of: $21.
• Friday, June 19 was the week where I was inbetween jobs, so there was a lot of shit I did to spend my time.  I was able to schedule a session with my psychiatrist, so I started off this day at the Starbucks nearby.  Mocha plus tip: $4.
• This was the day where I was trying to arrange some girl to give me a handjob, but no one did.  I spent the afternoon where I would have gotten some sexy time at Diamonds Cafe, cashing in on the discount the very nice man gave me because what I ordered the visit previous wasn't exactly what they had.  I was hungry enough to order a full lunch: A club sandwich.  With Coke and tip, minus the certificate, I spent: $5.95.
• On Thursday the 18th I spent the morning at Caribou.  Mocha, cookie, tip: $6.25.
• Then I went to the Twins game, where they hosting the St. Louis Cardinals (one of my two favorite teams in the National League) for the first time, I think, ever.  Great game: Twins won 2-1, where all three runs were scored on solo Home Runs.  The game ended on Kennys Vargas's moon ball to right in the bottom of the ninth.  Anyway, the most taxing part was getting in line at the commuter rail line station.  There was enough of a line, and enough bumblers who didn't understand technology, that I was in serious danger of not getting a ticket before stepping onto the train.  Fortunately the train was late -- which I hear happens fairly often.  So I had time to get my ticket and be legitimate.  In retrospect, maybe it would have been better and cheaper to park downtown.  Oh, well; at least I could say I did this at least once, and it was nice not to drive my car out of the neighborhood for one day.  Ticket for the train, ticket for the game (scalpers were giving me no break this day), hot dog and a souvenir-sized Coke: $36.50.
• I then went to the Depot, First Ave's restaurant arm, to get those tickets to the wrestling show for my friend and I.  Since I had time before the commuter rail was going back, I sat to have their famous Diamond Dog.  Big and crunchy, but tasty.  Water only.  With tip it came out to: $54.50.
• Wednesday, June 17: Started off the day at Caribou.  Mocha and tip, no cookie: $5.
• This was a day where I had a focus group to go to.  They asked me to bring something sweet I eat when I have a craving.  I don't really have a go-to, and I really didn't give a shit about the dessert because all I wanted was the gift card that I got for participating.  But since the focus group met a bit after lunch, I decided to have lunch at the nearest Dairy Queen, where I would get a hot fudge sundae.  My family used to get sundaes all the time; that's why I selected that.  With lunch, which was a burrito wrap, which I got wind that DQ sold in a DQ-focused focus group (I was given these new food items the restaurant is thinking of selling, and one of them was these burrito wraps, which they then told us they already sell -- tricky!) it totaled: $5.36.
• I was able to catch some World Cup games after the focus group.  Went to the Nomad for it because I could always find a free space to park close by on weekdays.  I drove through a sudden hard rainstorm to get there, but it was worth it.  Surly products were on sale during WWC games, so I tried the Blakker for the first time, and with most Surly beers, it's an acquired taste, but I'll try and acquire it.  With tip: $5.

I think I am good through Thursday, July 16.

The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey

#-1: Twins (Last Week: -2).  They take the top spot because they took three-of-four from the Detroit Tigers at Target Field, thereby going into the break with a record of 49-40, their best record since 2008 and the second-best record in the American League.  They remain within hailing distance of the Kansas City Royals in the AL Central Division race, and they are battling with the Los Angeles of Anaheim Angels of Los Angeles of Anaheim Angles of ... for the Play-In Game Wild Card spots.

This week Brian Dozier gave further evidence confirming my postulate from last week: He is replacing Joe Mauer as The Face Of The Franchise.  I don't think a person can have a better nine days than he just had.  After ending Monday's game with a Home Run, he ended Friday's victory over the Tigers with a three-run Homer.  In that game the Twinks were dead in the water, trailing 6-0 after seven innings and 6-1 after eight.  But if the Tigers don't reach the playoffs this year, their bullpen will be the death of them (again).  Minnesota rallied for seven runs with one out in the bottom of the ninth, capped by Dozier's career-defining dong.

And for good measure, on Saturday Dozier was named an All-Star after Toronto's Jose Bautista couldn't play due to an injury, and he finished the scoring in the All-Star Game Tuesday by smacking yet another Home Run (a solo shot) in Cincinnati in the AL's 6-3 victory over the National League, giving the winner of the AL pennant the home-field advantage in the World Series.  Meanwhile, Joe Mauer spent his All-Star break with his family in Florida.  By the way, Glen Perkins, the Twins' other representative in the ASG, was on the mound in the bottom of the ninth to finish out the game, the second straight year he was tapped to close the game (and the win) for the American League.  He gave up a run, but was otherwise none the worse for wear.  Yeah, I guess you probably wouldn't want to trade him at the deadline.

In 2008, their promising first half devolved into a scuffling, just-over-.500 second half, which ended with a 1-0 loss to the Chicago White Sox in Game 163.  I'm still afraid they're due for a nosedive, but really, with the call-ups of Eddie Rosario and Miguel Sano (who, in a fortunate sign, is having no trouble with the speed and power of major league pitching so far) and the continuing maturation of Dozier and Kyle Gibson, the future looks bright regardless.  Minnesota (and the rest of Major League Baseball) resume play with a West Coast swing: Three in Oakland beginning Friday, and a big three-game series in Orange County against the Angels starting on Tuesday.

#-2: Lynx (Last Week: -1).  You know, it's getting abundantly clear that the Lynx's biggest obstacle to their third WNBA championship in five years won't come from the Western Conference anymore.  Take a gander at the standings: While the Western Conference still has the teams with the best records up to this point, they are not dominating the Eastern Conference like the mens' NBA is right now.  There is a huge, yawning, almost frightening gap between third- and fourth-place in the West (which, by the way, means that if the Lynx manage to outlast Tulsa and Phoenix, they'll have a virtual walkover in the first round of the WNBA Playoffs), but only three games (at least as of press time) separate first place from last.

And it is the team currently on top of the East, the Chicago Sky, that took it to the Jynx in Chicago Friday, outlasting Minnesota 90-83.  What was most disheartening was that a team that prides itself on defense was rolled to a season-worst amount of points allowed.  They at least still have the ability to make up for a poor defensive effort; they routed San Antonio on Sunday at Target Center, holding the Silver Stars to 49 points even though they scored a season-low 66.  Tuesday's 85-79 victory at Connecticut is, in my opinion, too close for comfort.

Connecticut is the site for this year's WNBA All-Star Game, held Saturday the 25th.  Maya Moore and Seimone Augustus were voted on; if there is a just and honorable God, Lindsay Whalen and Rebekkah Brunson will join them as reserves.  But they have to finish up their first half of the year first.  They host the Sky Friday (I want to go, but I don't want to deal with my parents saying I go out too much when I plan on going out tonight [Thursday night], and besides it's going to be hot and humid, and I don't want to walk around in that weather), go to Tulsa Sunday, then host the Connecticut Sun before the ASG Break begins in their annual weekday afternoon/summer camp game.

What The Fuck Is Happening To Traffic At Work?

I understood that there is ongoing construction on 494 and 100 close to my place of work.  Beginning on Monday Westbound 394 is also closed, and I guess that's affecting my area, too.  But geez, what the hell is going on now?

First I got backed up on a side street to the point where I was docked 15 minutes' pay for being late.  Thought it was a fluke.  Turns out this street, at this particular intersection that is not the way to a highway, is getting jammed up on the regular.  I was running late this morning, so I basically freaked out and jumped out of the traffic and turned into the parking lot not of my actual workplace but the right next to it.  I was hoping I could find a way around, but I couldn't, so I just parked, ran up the hill and got to my desk before "the threshold."  An hour later I slipped out of the building in order to drive my car to my actual work lot so the business next door doesn't tow me.  Glad no one called me out on it, especially the business next door.  But hey, easier to ask for forgiveness than permission, right?

Regardless of what happens on the way into work in the morning, I knew every test season that there is a bit of a backup on the way from work in the afternoon.  But it was five, maybe ten minutes at most before I got to drive through the intersection and get clear of the congestion.  Slowly over the days this season, however, the line where the traffic jam begins has gotten longer and longer.  And just now it got absolutely fucking ridiculous.  I had to spend 15-to-20 minutes getting through the intersection before being able to drive at a speed fast enough so that the car wouldn't shudder.

Today I got home 45 minutes after I started my car.  On some days (granted it was the best days) when I was working at the other test scoring place much farther away, it took me 40 minutes.  There are some advantages coming to work at this place I'm working at now, and the commute was one of them.  (Whenever I'm on 694 and look over the median barrier and see the cars stacked up going the other way [both in the morning and the afternoon], I just laugh, laugh, laugh!).  Now, it's not.  Now, it seems as if I have to do what I usually do when I'm working at the other place and make sure I give myself a damn whole hour to make sure I get to work on time.  Are you fucking kidding me?

It looks like this project I'm on will now end next week.  Not needing to go through this shitty traffic will be the only good thing about the end of this job.

Can't Wait For This Irritating Day To Be Over

Thought it would start good enough.  Actually got out a little early (on my way to seeing the insurance appraiser and My Fucking Father outside, and look how that turned out) and arrived at work without any undue back-ups, so not only was I able to get a breakfast sandwich at Subway, but I was able to eat there as well.  Then I saw a BOGO sign -- buy one biscuit, get another free.  Even better!  But then I got really full shortly after I finished the second biscuit, and by the way, the biscuits were all dry and crumbly, and when I got up from the table there were crumbs all over.  The guy must've been pissed at me, and also the biscuits he has to serve.

(Aside: When did people start to trash Subway?  I remember back in my high school days Subway was the game-changer fast food restaurant, the "healthier" alternative to McDonald's and Burger King.  Seems as though they have been around so long that either they've lost their edge or people have gotten tired of them.  Regardless, Subway has itself been upstaged by Chipotle, and now Subway, whose sandwich concept was mind-blowing for me, is now regarded as just as bad as McDonald's or Burger King.  Time is a mutha.)

So I had this logy feeling in my colon for the rest of the day, and although shitting a couple times alleviated it, it didn't completely go away.  And it didn't help that the shorts that I bought when the Macy's in St. Paul was closing more than a year (or is it two?) ago was tiny enough to squeeze my gut.  Maybe I bought shorts that were too small, or maybe I'm getting fat.  I don't know; it's uncomfortable.

And then I tried to go to sleep outside for lunch.  Fuck My Fucking Father, that asshole.  But almost halfway through lunch the heat finally got to me, and I could feel sweat seeping into my clothes and out of my forehead pores.  When I cracked open my windows when I parked my car in the morning I was afraid that they weren't low enough.  But I didn't want them too low; I didn't want anyone just reaching into my car and taking stuff, and there was a chance for rain during the afternoon.  But it wasn't coming for lunch, so I said screw it with napping for afternoon break, turned on my car, rolled up the windows all the way, and went to the gas station to buy myself a Coke.

Didn't rain in the afternoon.  Just decided to rest my eyes with the fucking door open.

Then the first phase of the project isn't over, so I was stuck for the rest of the afternoon doing those.  Can't get done with them fast enough.

Finally I go home in the sweltering summer heat.  The old car is doing just fine, but I'm still looking at the temperature gauge every chance I get, ready to pull over to the shoulder as soon as it spikes up.  It never did that.  In fact, it may have been resting a little cooler than normal ... .which I also think is weird.  I can't live like this; if I am scared that my engine is overheating, well, then, the engine is overheating.  How is driving with this anxiety any different from actually having a car that breaks down with you in it?

And then My Fucking Father blindsides me with sleeping in the car.  What's it matter to you?  Like sleeping in a car is a sign that I'm a loser.  I'm a loser because I have you as a dad.  Prick.

If I want this day to be over, I should go to bed.  Unfortunately, what should be a similarly disappointing day is waiting for me in the morn, which isn't that far away.

I Will Fucking Sleep In My Car If I Goddamn Want To, Father

So, the appraiser came out to see the car this (Monday) morning for hail damage.  I used the old car to get to work.  In my new car the passenger seat is pulled back to almost horizontal.  That's because I sleep there during breaks and lunch from work.

My parents know about this because I have done the same thing with the old car.  They've even bitched about it to me before.  But My Fucking Father decided he was going to bust my chops over it, again, because it's summer and it's hot and it's very difficult to sleep in there.  Too fucking bad he decided to do it when I was having dinner, specifically a nice bowl of pho.  And then he used that to launch into the old "Why can't you find a full-time job?" bullshit I was hoping he would be done with.  So he told me to find a full-time job, to which I told I'm going to go back to school instead.

But I don't want to go back to school anymore.  Not after that piece of shit came at me like that.  For fucking reclining my seat back?  Go fuck yourself.  Now I won't reply to that person that snapped a photo for you anymore.  And I won't fill out those stock claim forms for you to get your money back anymore, either.

(Well, I'll do both of those things, just when I fucking want to.  'Cause fuck him, I'll sleep if I want.)

Buttering Me Up, Wearing Them Down

Sunday afternoon I went to Hooters.  Probably would've worked out had my community center been open.  Also, my Mug Club card is about to expire at the end of the month and I am up to using it a couple more times before it's done.  Finally, the day was supposed to be the hottest yet, so I planned on staying inside for it.  The Mall of America was it because they have parking ramps so my car wouldn't bake out in the sun while I stayed cool inside.

While eating my wings there I noticed something that's never happened before: More than one Hooters girl not only came up and said hi to me, but they also chatted me up a bit.  Usually it's only my waitress that does that.  Well, to be more accurate, my Hooters waitress gets me order, then sits down and chats with other, more fun, less creepy people.  But the girls there, they were actually friendly to me.  OK, one mistook me for another person, one of them I didn't recognize, and one was someone whose name I've forgotten even though they may have serviced me the last time I ate there, which was Independence Day.  It's still a milestone.

I'm not sure why, and I'm not even sure of all the factors that went into this pleasant happenstance.  While it was lunch hour, the place wasn't as busy as I thought a weekend afternoon would be, so they had the opportunity to say hi.  Also, like I alluded to, I have eaten there a bit more often, so I could much more familiar to them.  But other than that, I have no idea why I was so suddenly a chick magnet.  Fear not, fellow weirdos and nerds; I still had no game, so after a few hesitating stammers coming out of my mouth, they smiled and said enjoy the food, and they were gone.  Baby steps.

This familiarity after many visits (and lots of money) reminds me of my base hopes when it comes to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Division).  Ever since I held my breath and first went into the mysterious, scary place close to The Store, wondering exactly what kind of strip club it was going to be, I had hopes, deep down, that I would be able to fuck one of the strippers.  That's been one of my big dreams in my life, to fuck a stripper.  You can say it's on my bucket list.  I've been going there for ... shit, I'd say 15 years now.  I'm sure I've spent thousands of dollars there -- two and twenty bucks at a time, of course, but it all adds up.  They probably thought I was weird, a curious bloke who wanted to come to the bad part of time to see how bad he could be without his family and co-workers knowing.  But as I kept coming back and continuing to tip the dancers onstage, then occasionally getting lap dances from them, I slowly earned their trust.

Eventually, one of the dancers told me about this stripper party that goes on at a private residence and gives me her number so I can call her and ask where it is.  You'd have to pay a cover to get in, but you can do more stuff with LDs.  And there I took advantage and whipped my dick out.  Another step.  More visits to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Version), more money, more trust gained, more exchanges of numbers and invitations to other stripper parties, whereas I could get one step closer to my ultimate goal by again exposing myself and seeing which strippers from My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Edition) really wanted to play.  My familiar face means that the really nasty ones admit to what they would do and for what price.  And so that's where I'm at right now: One of the club's strippers who will give me a blowjob (whenever she answers my texts, of course) and several who'll give me handjobs.  All of this away from the bar, of course.  I will always try and push the envelope with them, just to see where all of the women's limits are, but I am, for lack of a better word, proud of my current situation with these gorgeous ladies who are otherwise out of my league.  The fact that I can now satisfy my sexual urges (for a tidy sum, of course) is the end result of a lot of time, money and, most of all, patience.

I don't want to sound like I'm spending all my money as a means to my ultimate end, which is sex.  I truly enjoy talking to the dancers and getting to know them, many of whom have given me what I believe is access to a key part of their private lives, their Facebook profile pages.  I do not want to betray their trust by all of sudden demanding handies and shit all the time.  Yet, I kind of think that, for most of them, we both know that we're just stripper and customer, and I am seeing if the relationship can evolve into escort and john.  So, yeah, maybe all of this does come down to sex for me.

It stands to reason, then, that my deviant mind is going down that same path when it comes to eating at Hooters so often.  I mean, the wings are OK, but we're not talking about three Michelin-star cuisine here.  They're just all babes, some of whom expose their sexy midriffs, who would otherwise never give me the time of day.  However, unlike strippers, I'm absolutely sure that I could spend a fortune with them and none of them would ever even give me their phone number, let alone fuck me.  But I try nonetheless, because I am a pervert.

So, if there's no way I can get with them, why do I go?  I'm not actually wearing them down.  Maybe they are buttering me up, even playing me?  Like I said, I have no game, so I could be the stupid one.  Oh, well.  I'm a sucker for a hot woman.  I'll probably go back to Hooters next week.

I Know I Should Be Doing Something Right Now

This is the summer doldrums, the time between Independence and Labor Day where nothing happens.  But I could get things to happen, if only I am willing to get off my butt and do it.

For example, the biggest shindig in my club's year is three weeks from now.  I should be doing more.  But in terms of planning I ain't doin' shit.  I think I should, but I don't know what that would be.  Why?  Because I haven't planned it at all.  If I did plan it, I would know what I would need to do right now, you know?

I could also have planned another club event.  But there's a lot of crap dealing with Tax IDs and shit, shit I wouldn't have the first clue as to where it would be.  So I don't do it.

I could be sending out resumes, especially since I have told my temp agency I'm not going back to the flu biller place unless The Asshole has been fired.  He obviously is there, so I have to look for something else, very soon.  But have I been looking?  Fuck no.  It's summer, and therefore I get to be bored.

I could also be boning up for school.  Hell, if I don't have work, might as go back to school.  Maybe I could be looking up MOOCs online, or going to the library and finding crash-course books on calculus and economics.  Have I done that?  No.  I've been surfing on the Internet on my phone, watching sports on TV, and masturbating to online porn.

There will be times, other than the hazy, lazy days of summer, where I will be overwhelmed or realize I have put myself in a bad situation.  These are the times where I come face-to-face with the consequences of failing to plan.  And I will think to myself, Why didn't I plan this before?  I had time to, like the summer?  You know, times like now.

But will I?  Fuck no!  I'm me!

Soccer Jersey Follies

Ever since the Women's World Cup began I wanted to buy a United States jersey.  But the thing holding me back was that I wasn't sure whether they had US women's team jerseys for men to wear.  In a sense it wouldn't make any sense, men wearing women's jerseys.  But it is the 21st century, so why the hell not?  Then again, I didn't want to go around wearing what, to other people (though not to me, since I'm not fashionably conscious at all), would obviously be a shirt designed for women.  And showing support for the women's team by wearing a men's team was definitely not an option.  I want to wear the jersey of an actual winner.

My initial fears were correct.  Nike did not make women's jerseys for men ... up until this World Cup.  For the first time ever, both of Team USA's jerseys, the home in white and the away in blue, had fits for men as well as women.  I saw a review specifically pointing that out at Nike's website, and then I went to the Mall of America's Nike Store and saw that there were jerseys dedicated to men there as well.

The only thing holding me was the price: $90.  As much as I wanted in on the loyalty, I didn't have that much money to spend on discretionary items, especially with my bank account so low.  And, deep down, I am a bandwagoner.  I did not want to buy a jersey of a team that would lose to Japan in the final.  So I decided to wait.  And I was wrong about the team, admittedly.

So, in the afterglow of the victory I went online, because at this point I was totally going to buy a jersey now!  The price of the home white jersey for men (the jersey the team was wearing for both the final and their semifinal victory over Germany) wasn't $90 anymore.  They were actually $69.  A price drop?  Wouldn't the price, if anything, have risen since the team won the World Cup?  Or did they drop the price since, technically, Team USA should have a third star over the crest, therefore the jerseys they were selling throughout the tournament is now out-of-date?

Sixty-nine bucks was still a little too steep for me.  But then I remembered all the Nike E-Card.  It's a gift certificate that you can download onto your smartphone and get a discount either at a store (where the person just scans it) or online (by entering the code).  I don't know if you do the My Coke Rewards thing, where you enter all these codes that are on the underside of the caps of bottles of Coke products, but I have done it for, oh, since the millennium began.  Don't know why, but I've kept it up for ages.  Anyway, I've accrued enough points to get $10 off through a Nike E-Card.  Therefore, I could get this jersey for $59.

Then I set up a Nike account, put the jersey on my Wish List, then went to bed.  Why didn't I just use the E-Card and buy the jersey right then and there?  For the life of me, I don't know.  The only tangible theory I have in my mind at this moment was that buying the jersey online meant it would come home in a box for my parents to take in, and I didn't want my parents to, potentially, come down on me for buying shit I don't really have the money for.  Do I know that for a fact?  No.  But honestly, I don't know if I have another good reason why I just didn't buy it then.

Ever since I decided not to buy it Sunday night the week regarding the Team USA soccer jersey has been a Seinfeldian shitshow.  I went back online either Monday or Tuesday night determined to just use the Coke Rewards points for the Nike discount, only to see that the jersey was sold out.  (Could it have been sold out Sunday night?  Right now, I hope so.)  My only hope then was to see if the Nike Store at MOA had one.  They did ... for $90.  So I bit the bullet and decided to buy it for $80.  But then I thought that I could get a Nike E-Card through one of my two credit cards, both of which I have rewards for.  Looked through them and saw that I could get, in fact, a $50 E-Card through my American Express.  I was going to buy it, but then I needed my card's information, and (long story; maybe I should blog about it) I don't have it, so I couldn't download it.  The people at the Nike Store said there were a lot of jerseys in men's fit still available, so I called AmEx and told them my card was lost; I would wait to get my new card in the mail (some thing I should have done for a while now; I'll talk about it later), download that Nike E-Card, then go to MOA to get it.  But last (Friday) night I called them and they said they were sold out.  You fuckers said you weren't going to sell out!

Finally I realized something I should have realized from the start: Why not try Amazon?  And there, a seller is offering a U.S. Women's team jersey, home white, in my size, for $59.  That would be $19 more expensive than what I thought I could get it for if I could have used a discount through American Express, but it would have been $21 if, say, I used the $10 discount through My Coke Rewards off the shirt at full price.  OK, all these prices are just hypotheticals, I admit that.  I just hope that this guy actually comes through with it.  I bought it, but there is no way to know for certain that he'll send it or even if he has it.  This guy has no reviews either for or against, so I am really, really scared that I'm going to get fucked over.

I'm not sure if getting a jersey is worth it now.