Nightmare

For the past two mornings, with no work and responsibilities to prepare for, I have actually gone to bed early.  So early that I have woken up very early in the morning and have been able to go back to sleep for about an hour or so.  In situations like that, I often get nightmares in that second period of sleep.  The past two days have been no different.

But maddeningly, as soon as I wake up to start my day I forget most details of the nightmare.  Why is that?  How is that?  All I remember is that there is a party (which reminds me of this alumni club event ... that's probably why this nightmare is at a party ... I'll blog about it later), I am shitting on a toilet where I notice it is way too small for me (that has also happened IRL recently), and this time, this morning, I saw one of my pieces of shit roll out of the toilet and onto the floor to my right.  I might be dreaming that because I was at a restroom for the University of Minnesota for a study and I entered a stall whose toilet had a piece of shit resting right at the bottom.  Barf.

Had to write about this.

Going For It On Instagram

So I've heard for some time that more people are on Instagram than Facebook.  (Also heard that there are billions of photos taken every year because of Instagram, exponentially more than have been taken in the days of Polaroid, which is mind-blowing to me.)  I have resisted signing up.  First of all, I don't want to take that many photos.  Second, I didn't know that I could sign up through my laptop; I thought it was only a mobile app.  And third, I already use Instagram for my alumni club, and I am absolutely frightened that I'll somehow cross the two feeds and bring shame to the club.

However, after seeing so many Facebook friends say that their hot photos where their showing their asses is also on Instagram, and after I accidentally clicked on something and got the home webpage for Instagram, where it invited me to sign up, this horny haze descended on me and compelled me to finally take the plunge.  So, a couple days ago, I signed up.  I am making sure I am only using my personal Instagram through my laptop, and I am using my nom de porn, but goddammit, I'm doing it.

So I am finally doing what I've wanted to do all along: Follow all the accounts of all the Playmates, models and bodybuilders, look at their photos where they're showing their asses or teasing me with their implied nudity, and comment how I really feel about them -- specifically how I want to cum on their tits and asses.  And I usually finish with what I want to make as my trademark, "Fap-fap-fap!!!"

I wonder if I'm going to get caught.  At first, though, I noticed something.  I would get into this meth-like streak of ripping off comments for every photo that makes me hard.  And I would look back on those photos to see if it appeared on the comments section.  Some of them did, but some didn't.  So I wonder if that was because our home's wi-fi was on the blink or because someone flagged those comments.  Then, last night, when I clicked on a photo from my Facebook saying that that hot babe has an Instagram account so I could follow it, I got a message that said something to the effect of, "Your comment has been taken down because it does not fit community guidelines."  What?!?!?!  I'm being punished for my perverted urges!!!  How dare they???

Well, at least I'm not getting kicked out.  So I'm going to continue to say what I want to say.  Well, no ... I'm getting interested in finding out if there were trigger words that caught the electronic eyes of Instagram.  If I avoid those, I'll still be able to be as pervy as I want!!!  I'll see where it goes, though, and if I get permanently banned, well, I can pity myself for being shunned for expressing myself.

Till then, fap-fap-fap!!!

May Buddha Bless Those Bathrooms

Got done with the project today.  It was dicey.  Thought going into today we wouldn't make it tomorrow, then there was possibility that we would, but my immediate supervisor would rather us not and just stay a little later instead, then the entire room sped up even though I was doing my best to drag things out, but then the extra time we needed to spend was only a half-hour, and actually less so.  Was stressed because I haven't blogged about this yet, but I found a library close to work, so I can do this and then get on the road to the gym (I'm not eating at home tonight -- too fat) after the traffic's died down.  Thank you, Wa-ze!

I'll worry about getting on the dole tomorrow; something tells me I'll have to do a lot of research and putting in information I know I've entered on the website before.  And now I have to worry about my parents finding out.  But if I'm out of work for a month, I need some fucking money.

---

Anyway, before this project is totally in the rearview mirror, I want to give a shout-out to the bathrooms in the place I worked at.  This building we're in is not the one from last year.  We were in an entirely new one about three blocks to the west.  It's in a building occupied by an ink toner company, but we are using space that's not occupied.  In fact, we are using space that seems to be big enough for a few companies.  While walking around I saw desks and cubicles and offices with their doors closed and doorways with doors removed.  It looks as though we occupied a couple, if not a few, areas that formerly housed companies that either moved or failed.

We had so much room to roam that finding a bathroom all to yourself was not a problem.  If we went far enough back from our room (far enough back to believe that we entered what would have been a separate company's space) we would find a restroom.  I used that a lot if I just wanted to pee.  I liked it because it was way, way back there, just like we were in the back of the room.  In fact, I don't think many people in the front of the room knew there was a bathroom in the back.  That meant a lot fewer people used it, so when I needed to go, I was nearly always the only one there.  It felt like my own private bathroom, or the one that only a select few of us used.

However, there was another one that was even more private, which cut down the even remote possibility I would run into someone in the same room as I.  The luxury of being in a multi-company office building are the common bathrooms.  And there was one very close to the front door.  From my room, you would have to walk out, past all the desks, down the hallway where the break room was, over the river and through the woods, then down stairs to where the ink toner company's cubicles were.  That is where the bathroom I really liked was.

With one exception, I didn't run into anybody from the room using it the same time as I.  Only a few times did I use it the same time as anybody, period.  Those people with whom I used the potty may have been wondering who I was, and it's possible they may have complained about these interlopers with their IDs using "their" bathroom.  But most of the time, I was using it by myself, the whole time.

So for most of the three-plus weeks of the project, about 45 minutes before Morning Break, Lunch, Afternoon Break and before leaving for the day, I would get up and walk all the way down to that particular bathroom.  And with two exceptions, I would see that not only was there no one else there, I would see the door to the handicapped stall (there were two stalls) wide open.  It was like a hug that was inviting me in.  And I would always say yes, sometimes to take a crap, sometimes to just pee and think by my lonesome.  Seriously, that was one of the mental breaks that made this project so enjoyable.  (Well, that and the fact that the room boss did not make a stink about going to that bathroom so often, unlike the previous project.  I admit that I think she could've run a tighter ship, but I have to be so thankful that she didn't give a darn about me disappearing for 15 minutes four times a day.)

But that is gone because the project is done.  And in fact, the building is "done," too.  They are removing everything at the end of the month.  Guess they were only renting the place.  Too bad -- I liked the place, and it was much closer to home.  I'll miss getting there in 45 minutes and being back after an hour, as long as that sounds.

Expenses Without Receipt

From Sunday, June 26:

• Had a long day and I didn't know how to plan it out.  The thing I really planned on doing was to mow the lawn, but in the morning my parents turned on the sprinkler system, so there was no way I could mow the wet grass.  So I went to Old Chicago to watch Germany curb-stomp Slovakia 3-0.  Got these Italian Nachos, so many that my plan on eating at this pizza place close to the play I was watching later that afternoon went out the window.  I was just too damn stuffed!  Later the manager told me I could get half-orders for those, and any other item on the menu.  It's a blow to my pride, but I am 40, so maybe I should think about doing that.  With tip: $20.25.
• I saw this play that I saw on the 15th because I wanted to meet the playwright, who went to the same school as I.  It may have been even better the second time around.  That may be because I think there were some new lines and tweaks given to the story.  But this show was virtually sold out (it was the final performance), and many in the audience laughed at or mmm-hmmmed to what the characters said, which made for a livelier experience.  Good for the playwright!  Oh, and I gave a dollar more to the pick-your-price than I did on the 15th.  I want to support the arts, and I wanted to let the playwright know I wasn't seeing her work on the cheap.  Total: $26.
• Despite still being full (as I type this I still feel fat) I was also hot and thirsty from the hot weather (it wasn't supposed to be this hot and humid on this day).  I decided to go to Crema Cafe for the first time in about two years.  And since I wanted something light, I had, for the first time ever at this place, I wanted gelato instead of ice cream.  And the cookie lemon gelato I had was so delicious.  With tip: $5.
• Finally made it to the Nomad Pub for the Copa America Centenario championship game.  Was worried that I wouldn't be able to find free parking close by, but I did.  Close game, which is all I wanted, but it had to go to these goddamn penalty kicks again.  Budweiser on special, Coke and tips for both: $9.
• On Thursday the 23rd I went to Starbucks close to my shrink's because our session was at 11.  Had a gift card that I still needed to empty, besides.  I had to make up for the small mocha with whip with my cash.  With tip and it totals: $3.50.
• To Wednesday, June 22 -- Got out of work at a quarter to 10, which gave me enough to get money, get Arby's and go to the Nomad World Pub in time for the start of the 11 o'clock games.  With the help of a free parking spot in the Somali apartments close by (never a sure bet, but better odds on a weekday), I was able to jog my way to the Nomad several seconds before both games kicked off.  Whew!  Because I was in a festive mood (though I was not in a rich one; I went to the teller to take out money and saw how little was in my account), planned to stay for the doubleheader of soccer matches, and wanted a free beer, I bought their t-shirt, which came with a free beer.  Tipped a buck for the booze anyway.  Then, before the 2 o'clock games started, I went to Afro Deli for their sambusas and fries, which I downed with a Coke from the Nomad.  I tipped twice because the bartender refilled my drink twice.  Grand total: $25.
• Oh, and the Afro Deli with tip came out to: $6.75.
• Had the free bagel and spread (which they called, ridiculously, "schmear") with the purchase of a coffee at the Caribou/Einstein Bros. that opened this day.  Didn't know that, so thank goodness for the advertisement on Facebook for letting me know of the grand opening.  The customer service, however, remains a lot to be desired.  I heard my order was ready before the cashier gave me my change.  When I went to the pick-up kiosk, no one gave me my bagel, even though there were seven people in my line of sight that were doing other things.  Finally some chick gave me my bagel.  And then she called out my name.  What?  Turns out she gave me the wrong bagel.  (facepalm)  What a way to hit the ground running, guys!  Well, at least I didn't see any tip jar, which would make me regret putting out a tip for that crappy service.  The small coffee (because it was 4:30 in the afternoon) came out to: $1.81.
• Sunday, June 19: I charged everything for Father's Day, so we go back to Sunday the 18th, where, after work, I went to Caffetto to reconcile on my monthly expense list and do some social media promotion for the alumni club.  Had a large iced mocha, which I nursed for about 4 1/2 hours -- without hassle, I might add.  God, I love this place.  However, having a larged iced mocha the day of having a large coffee in the morning makes one a jittery boy.  Should note that for next time.  Plus tip: $5.60.
• Then I went to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Division), where ****e* turned bitch on me.  Still don't know what the fuck got up her ass.  Maybe it was the lapper I got with Stella.  Watch this space.  Plus coffee (yep, more caffeine) and tips: $26.75.
• Then wound up my night by going to My Favorite Late-Night Italian Place for the first time in months.  And I got a full-sized spaghetti, too, something I don't usually eat so late at night anymore.  I brought my bug spray before going to work in the morning to spray on me before heading in here because this place, at least to me, is notorious for mosquitoes.  I avoid this place during the summer because I always get bit when I sit down to eat.  But not this time, ha-ha!!!  With tip: $12.50.
• On Wednesday, June 15 I went to this play in south Minneapolis.  I did so because, as I was reading the Sunday paper from a few weeks ago -- I have to catch up on my reading; I don't know how we got the Sunday paper since we don't subscribe to the Star Tribune -- I read a story about the show's playwright, who went to my alma mater.  This playhouse runs a pick-your-price option on Wednesdays, but to be a man I decided to pay the normal price for a ticket: $25.
• At work on Tuesday the 14th the overall boss announced that they were extended hours even further, by an hour, to 6.  I don't like surprises like that; I had plans to stay out after work -- getting my dry clean (which I finally did), picking over bargains at Sports Authority, getting my hair cut, eating fast food and getting gasoline for my car -- and I didn't know if I could do it with an hour less than I thought.  Hey, tell me it starts tomorrow and I'd jump all over it.  But the day of?  Well ... actually I stayed.  Had to go to the vending machine and buy a Twix for energy, though.  Price: $1.
• I didn't think the rainstorm that evening would be that wicked, however.  It got really bad on my drive through downtown and into the library, where I had to print out a couple of appliance warranty applications.  This library was in Ramsey County, which (and I still find this incredible) uses a coin box and the Honor System for people to pay for their copies.  All it is is a steel lockbox with a suggested price of 20 cents for every black-and-white copy.  I had to print two apps, but I didn't have 40 cents.  Instead I had two quarters, and I thought that there was a time I didn't have enough change and shortchanged the library, so this time I made up for it by paying more, namely: 50 cents.
• It was raining even harder as I made my way to the strip mall that now houses Cost Cutters.  Swear a Fantastic Sam's was in this place just a year ago, but the lady there said they'd been there for a while.  Whatever; my hair was really long and I wanted it cut and I had a coupon for it.  However, if I could have kept my long hair till the weekend, I could have cashed in on Great Clips' occasional $8.99 haircut special.  Should've waited.  Oh, well.  Charged the cost of the cut on my credit card, but I tipped: $3.
• Back on Saturday, June 11 I went to this party in St. Paul, which is *****a's place.  I like this place because they offer sex favors.  But unfortunately I couldn't cum even though ***i* was jacking the shit out of me.  I am genuinely embarrassed I couldn't ejaculate.  She said it was because we were talking too much, but I like talking to her and getting to know her.  At her next party, *****a said that she was jacking up her cover from $15 to $20.  No, just no.  I don't go to these house parties just to be broke before I sit down like I always am when I go to a conventional strip party.  I'll see you down the line, *****a.  All these greedy strippers, man!  Plus tip for *****a's sister, who's going to college, and dances from Betty, this new girl Andi and the host herself: $180.
• Went to Glam Doll to finish up the night.  With tip: $14.75.
• OK, Sunday, June 5.  That's a gap of six days, so I'm scared I'm missing an EWR inbetween, but I'll go with it and add it in if I have to later.  I went to print out some stuff at the library: 60 cents.
• On Saturday the 4th I also went to the library to print out some stuff, mostly real estate things for Mother.  Total: $2.70.
• Went to Glam Doll in the evening.  Had milk instead of coffee because I didn't have overtime, which meant that I didn't have any coffee in the morning, which meant that I didn't have coffee all day and so I had no interest in downing coffee that day.  With tip: $7.75.
• Then I went to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Edition).  Drank a Coke, tipped a few people, got a dance from *a***.  Total: $27.
• Friday the 3rd ... also went to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Division) then, for coffee, tips and an LD from Cicily, someone I hadn't seen in a long time.  Where did she go?  Came out to: $29.75.
• I then went to Caffetto (or was it the other way around?).  Had a sweet Oreo mousse cheescake and a medium iced mocha because it was warm out.  With tip: $8.75.
• Go back to Wednesday the 1st, where I gave out stage tips and had a Coke right after I dropped Father off at the airport on his impromptu trip to Las Vegas: $11.75.
• Tuesday, May 31: Caribou in the morning.  Mocha, cookie, tip: $6.75.
• Saw Neighbors 2 in the early afternoon.  Funny, though not as funny as Neighbors 1.  What really struck me was how I read into the sad plight of Zac Efron's character -- someone being cast out into the wind because his friends keep changing and growing.  But at least he has a happy ending.  Ticket, popcorn and pop: $10.44
• Then I thought about going downtown to get my Doc Martens shined.  They're getting dangerously dry.  But I got there a little past 3 -- too late to for the stand, even though the article recommending this place said they closed at 4.  And this is where I busted my rim.  Why did I pay for parking?  A hit of: 50 cents.
• Well, I had my spirits lifted early that evening at the stripper party.  I love it when I get to let my freak flag fly!  Cover, ***a* at the VIP, then *e***** at the couches: $155.
• Then I went home to grab the things Mother gave me to type this letter at the library.  This was the night where my folks had it out, unbeknownst to me at this point.  Total: 10 cents.
• On Monday the 30th I went to Hooters.  It's getting expensive to go there just for some awesome cleavage.  Ah hell, I'll still go.  With tip: $25.
• That evening I went to Caffetto -- not for coffee, but for Fitz's Hip Hop Pop.  I like craft pop.  With tip it comes to: $3.
• And then I went to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Version) for a Coke, tips and a dance with vet Savannah.  The total is: $35.75.
• To Saturday the 28th, where I went to the local to see what I erroneously called the EPL Play-In Game, which actually is the Promotion Game.  Whoops.  Anyway, Hull beat Sheffield Wednesday 1-0 to get called up and receive a piece of what is supposed to be the biggest TV contract in the history of the world.  Or something.  Had the buffet and the free Bloody that comes with.  With tip: $18.
• I then went to the library to make some copies for Mother: 40 cents.
• That evening (?) I went to Caffetto for a San Pellegrino.  I didn't know they had a grapefruit flavor.  It was OK -- it was grapefruit-flavored, how great could it taste?  With tip the total was: $2.75.
• Friday, May 27 ... started off that morning at Caribou.  With tip: $6.75.
• That evening (?) I made it to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Edition).  Just tips and coffee: $11.75.
• Oh, Thursday the 26th ... since I was not working that day I was able to get to ********a's party early, when there are usually no guys around.  There was one, but after ****a got done with him, she got to me, and we were alllllllllllllllllll alone in the LD room.  That only means one thing: Dick-sucking time!!!  I wish I wasn't so fearful that anyone would see me.  But maybe the danger of getting caught is the reason why I can get hard and come these days.  Well, I might also be able to respond so readily because ****a takes out my dick for me.  She wanked me using her toes -- her toes!!!  This time I didn't cum in her mouth -- I'll try better next time -- but while she was jacking me off.  "You got me on my chin!" ****a said.  What kind of a whore says that?  One that I'll be going back to again and again!  Oh, I also got tame dances from the host and Kat.  With cover the amount of the party was: $155.
• On Wednesday, May 25 I went to Caribou.  Plus tip: $6.75.
• Tuesday the 24th -- went to Caribou in the morning.  With tip: $6.75.
• Since it was a Tuesday, I took advantage of the savings at the local theater and went to see Captain America: Civil War.  I still find it jarring to see that Iron Man, the genius iconoclast so smart he doesn't need to listen to anyone, tow the government line while Cap, the red-white-and-blue patriot, turns into a rebel.  Still, I think this is a great movie.  The motive fake-out near the end is great.  More importantly, this film was able to say something about the current state of the world, about past sins spun as things that needed to be done for the sake of the greater good, and, most of all, forgiveness.  I think I'll give this an A.  Total for the ticket, popcorn and pop: $10.44.

Hey, this was just over a month now.  I'm making progress!

Done through June 26.

People Who Should Be Fired: The Bitch At The Wienery

So I was at the Nomad last Sunday and I was so hungry that, at halftime, I went to the Wienery, just a couple blocks down from the bar, to get one of their really good hot dogs.  (The Nomad is cool in that, even though there is a food truck that is open sometimes, they allow you to bring outside food.)

When I got there, though, the front door was locked.  That is weird because there were customers inside the restaurant.  I checked my watch; it was ten to 3.  I checked the "OPEN" neon sign; it was on.  And, once again, there were people inside.  So I don't get it.

Finally the cook comes from the kitchen to open up the door.  She says, "May I help you?"

"Yes, I would like to order something to go."

And as she opens the door to allow me inside she says, get this, "You're being very rude."

WHAT?????????????!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  Bitch, you're open!  Business hours aren't over yet!  Your goddamn sign is on!  You're fucking open!  So how in the fuckety-fuck am I rude????!!!!

I wish I had said something like that, but I stammered out something that, in retrospect, was a good comeback, even though I could have used a little more consternation and confrontation: "Am I?  You know, I don't have to order anything," to which she mumbled something and said if I knew what I wanted to order.  I didn't, but I made up something quick, because, frankly, I thought I wouldn't have someone who was in over her head.

I'm late for the second half of the soccer game.  I regret giving this place even a dollar tip.  The cook/bitch who told me I was rude then referred to me as "buddy" as she was getting my fries ready.  I would rather you not try to buddy up to me after being so rude to me.  In fact, don't talk at all.  Just shut up and give me what I order.  Better yet, if I was being so rude, don't let me in in the first place.  Say something like, "I'm too busy and I have to go to my other job like right now, so, I can't."  (She was complaining that she would be late for her other job.  Whatevs.)  I'll leave thinking, "What is up with that place?"  But better that than thinking you're a cunt.

Had to bitch to the bartender at Nomad about the customer service.  He said it was "bullshit" and that place is just riddled with "dysfunction."  Man, wish I had known before I went!

---

You know, I want to say something that will boost my own spirits.  Immediately after this bullshit happened I wanted to blog about it.  But I couldn't, so I thought I would wait until I got home.  And I did get home, but I got tired, and then when I decided to blog I blogged about something else.  I still remember this incident, but it's only now where I finally decided to talk about it.

At first I thought the reason it took me a week to blog about it was because of the trauma of being so mistreated.  And then I thought it was just procrastination.  But now -- and hopefully this is a sign of growth and security -- the reason I think I haven't bothered to write about it is because I don't feel as victimized about it as I initially did.  I'm realizing that, hey, she's the one who fucked up.  I had no reason to think they were closed because they were fucking open.  If she doesn't like it, well then, she should've said something, or turned off the fucking neon sign, or just fuckin' quit.  She didn't, so dammit, that's her problem.

That's so stupid that I think I had better things to think about, let alone write about.  Also, I did learn something: Don't eat at The Wienery for a long, long time.

Pithy Thoughts On The Brexit

I am absolutely convinced that the people who wanted to see the United Kingdom leave the European Union entirely did so because not caring one whit that they would plunge the world into chaos because, secretly, they wanted to see it burn.

In the most perverse recesses of my heart and soul, I do too.  But I know full well that those urges come from a well of hate and destruction.  If I were from the UK I sure as hell would have voted to Remain because the other people who have urges that come from a well of hate and destruction are backwards, cowardly xenophobes who, if they had their druthers, would send us back to China.

And yet somehow, they won.  Pundits after the results were announced were shocked that the UK voted to leave.  Yet polls indicated the vote would be really tight, and they were -- the margin was 3.8%.  These types of polls, especially the ones in Britain, are notoriously unreliable.  But I'm thinking that the possibility that people would say they want to leave was there and palpable, so I don't think the result should be a huge shock.  Well, the decision of a massive, important country to leave this union after decades is, but there were indications leading up to the referendum that a lot of people wanted to split, so that Thursday's result could even happen should not.

Was it tunnel vision, specifically ignoring the Leave sentiment that is festering in places outside of London, other big cities in England, Scotland, Norther Ireland and Gibraltar?  Possibly.  The weather seems to have affected turnout too: There was a huge storm around London, which may have discouraged people from voting, and since this is urban London, the people who would have voted would have been those who wanted to Remain.

But the starkest and most profound breakdown is by age.  Look at this YouGov chart: People under the age of 40 overwhelmingly wanted to Remain, but those 40 and over (and especially those 60 and over) wanted very much to Leave.  And this is a referendum on whether or not the UK will be a part of the EU -- for the future.  Murtaza Hussain of The Intercept is right: The old farts in England voted for a future its youth do not want.  How fucked up is that?

Then again ... did the youth of the UK actually go out and vote?  The BBC put out what I honestly believe is a bad chart, but it looks as though areas with a high concentration of young people were also the areas that, generally, had low turnout for the Brexit referendum.  If true, this once again proves that young people want something but won't do a goddamn thing to do it.  It's kind of like the Obama Revolution that ebbed after the midterm elections of 2010 and 2014.  There are some hardcore liberals -- Bernie Sanders supporters -- who actually are mad at President Obama for not being progressive enough.  Oh, he is plenty progressive.  He wasn't able to get anything passed because Congress is littered with Republicans.  And why is that?  Because young people who voted for Obama decided to sit with their thumbs up their asses so these teabaggin' racists could elect people who'll get in Obama's way.  And the young people blame Obama.  Same thing here.

Finally, in another sign that people (probably from both sides) don't exactly know what the fuck is going on and have weighed in on a decision they don't fully understand, Google searches emanating from the UK after the results were announced showed that a lot of people were trying to figure out what now.  One question I have to highlight because I want to make fun of people: The second-most popular search in the UK regarding the Brexit was ... "What is the EU?"  Now, one question when there are a bunch of other (smarter) questions that were also asked is not license to make fun of an entire group of people.  But really, all I can see is that people were running to the polls with drink in hand thinking this was going to be party time, and then they hear the results and see people cheering and getting all depressed, so they go, "Hey ... what exactly did we vote for?"

And already there's been some talk amongst Leave voters that ... "What?!  This vote is for real?!"  My God, stupid people don't just come from the US.  Honestly, at some point you can't help idiots.  Votes have consequences, and you can't just take back your vote once you realize that you don't like what you voted for.  So if they want to Leave, fine.  Make them go.  Make them pay.  Britain wants to skedaddle and leave the rest of the EU -- and the world economy -- holding the bag?  If hell is what they want, hell is what they should get.

The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey

#-1: Timberwolves (Re-Entry!).  I wouldn't call it a home run; I would reserve that for last year, when the Woofie Dogs finally got the first overall pick in a draft and got Karl-Anthony Towns, someone many experts predicted is good enough to be a great if not excellent player in the league.  (Based on what I've seen his rookie year, they're right; he's the man to build this team around.)

But based on the cards the squad were dealt, they did as fantastically as they could.  The Timberwolves selected Point Guard Kris Dunn out of Providence.  He is a tough-nosed defender, which is something Head Coach Tom Thibodeau likes.  And he has shown the ability to run the point and score, which is something Ricky Rubio can't do.  It is worrisome that he is so old, a senior.  (And by the way, it is perverse to think that people who stay all four years in college and get their degree -- maybe -- is somehow a bad thing when it comes to playing in the Association.  But from the meager evidence that has been offered, it is.)  But if he is as scrappy as he might be, he could supplant Rubio as this team's PG.  And be an improvement.

Nevertheless that didn't tap down blazing rumors that he was going to be traded to Chicago in exchange for Jimmy Butler.  There was a lot of heat that Dunn and either Zach LaVine or Andrew Wiggins was going to the Bulls.  From what I have heard, the Wolves would give away Rubio or Nikola Pekovic's contract, but Chicago said no.  Well, thank goodness for that.  The T-Wolves should have forced the Bulls to take a millstone away (either Rubio or Pek's contract), and this team has been too downtrodden for too long to give away a piece of their young nucleus (although I have nagging doubts about Wiggins).  Good on the Wolves for not mortgaging a future that has not been this bright in years, if not a decade.

#-2: Twins (Last Week: -1).  I got the feeling the Twinks had another awful week.  Turns out they finished .500 -- they got bullied by the Yankees again, avoiding a sweep only on the Sunday game, then failed to sweep Philadelphia yesterday (Thursday) afternoon.

The latest bugaboo with this club now (besides the awful pitching) are the injuries.  Miguel Sano is out, although he'll be back soon.  Trevor Plouffe got hurt yesterday ... or is that Brian Dozier?  I can't tell between the two anymore.  Is Byron Buxton back in the minors?  Oh, who cares.

The home-laden portion of their schedule is done.  This weekend they travel to the Bronx to get their heads bashed in by the Yanks again, then they go to Comiskey to play the White Sox for three starting on Tuesday.

A Good Stripper Party Memory

Yesterday I reserved a spot with ***a* next week.  She's going to let me shove my cock in her mouth, repeatedly, until I cum.  That might be the only way I cum these days.  Maybe it's because I'm old, but also it may be because the, well, aggression I feel when I shove myself in her mouth gets me off.  That is a display of power when I do that.  It makes feel like a man.

Oh, anyway ... last time I was there was for a stripper party.  There were only two girls that were working the party, I think, ***a* and *e*****, who's jacked me off to completion once before.  So they have both seen my dick.

I made it a point to get to the party as soon as it was supposed to begin, because oftentimes that means that I'm the only one.  And I was, gloriously, for the first, like, 90 minutes of the party.  So it was just me and the strippers.  I was the only guy there.  So we're all friends here.

Once I knew I didn't have to worry about any other man, I did it.  My fly was already unbuttoned, but right in the middle of ***a*'s apartment, I whipped it out.  Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh, fresh air!

***a* was in the apartment while *e***** was outside smoking a cigarette.  She told me, "You are crazy!"  She's said that before, and I love whenever she says that!  Then, *e***** came in and didn't say anything, which is something she said before.  But as all three of us congregated around the kitchen, my dick still hanging out of my pants (wish I were harder, but hey, I'm 40), *e***** finally said, "I can't believe he's just standing there like that!"  She said that to me before, at her party in St. Paul, when I whipped myself out in front of her and *a***.  Finally, *a*** referred to my pee-pee in a pun.  She was making pizza for the guests at the party to eat, and she said something like, "Well, I don't know how I'm going to handle his big sausage!"  (It's not that big.)

Shortly thereafter I came in *a***'s mouth and got a lapper with *e*****.  Good times.  Hope to have many more times with them, like that, where we're all alone and I can act on my perverted urges!

This Is A List Of All The Shit I Ate Today:

• I just felt like I wanted to eat Burger King for breakfast, and I did, even though I made the mistake of not changing my smartphone alarm back to 5:45 instead of 6:15, the time I planned on waking up because I was off of work, but I was called back into work this morning to finish the project.  Got there just at the stroke of 7 after stopping by at BK.
• After work but before the 11 o'clock Euro games began, I stopped by at Arby's.  Nomad World Pub is cool for letting people bring outside food.  So long, I assume, that I buy something from the pub.  And I did -- a special bar-made t-shirt celebrating the Copa America Centenario.  Got the beer free because of it.
• Inbetween the 11 o'clock and 2 o'clock games, I walked to the Afro Deli on the recommendation of the bartender working at the Nomad.  I three sambusas, which are the Somali version of fried dumplings, and fries.  Washed that down with a Coke from Nomad.
• While at the Nomad I was checking my Facebook Timeline, and I saw that the Caribou/Einsten Bros. combo shop just opened up today at the suddenly-booming shopping complex where our Cub Foods is at.  To celebrate, they invited everyone to a free bagel and spread with the purchase of a coffee.  I wasn't hungry, but man, I have to celebrate a store's grand opening, right?  So I ate the bagel there, just before dinner.  And as of press time, I still have the lukewarm coffee to drink.
• I was hoping for a light dinner.  Nope!  I had a huge bowl of soup.
• And just because it's so humid outside, I think I'm going to eat a juicy melon some time before I go to bed.

I swear I don't know how I ate all of these things and remain upright.  My colon blew, however; while at Caribou/Einstein Bros. I let out a very smelly fart, which means that some bad shit is coming, literally.  I was raced home and hit the throne before I shit myself.  And I still think it's coming.

See, I wouldn't be eating so much if I were working.  That's why I need to find a full-time job -- to control my diet!

Suddenly Without A Safety Net

Well, it took two Saturdays and a marathon 12 1/2-hour day yesterday (Monday).  But with a projected full-enough day today (Tuesday), we will finally get done with this project.  Surprised that it actually went the distance and, since it technically was supposed to be done yesterday (Monday), then some.  (So did my first scoring project for this test scoring place: It went over by a day.  This is something I could get used to.)

Unlike the last one, which had so many questions with so few responses for each that we were starting and stopping sometimes multiple times a day, this project only had two questions.  We started on one, then we went to the other about eight days later, which we stayed on until it got finished yesterday (Monday) in the afternoon, and now we are going back to the first question until completion.  I think we actually stayed on that second question too long: I think we were on it for about ten straight days.  What I would have done was alternate during each day -- one question for the morning, the other after lunch.  That way we wouldn't have to re-familiarize ourselves with the first question, which I did for much of the long day yesterday (Monday).

Nevertheless, even though this project was less than three weeks long, I will miss it, terribly.  It's mostly because, as it always is, due to the people.  First of all, the overall boss is really chill.  Unlike management in the first project (who were still quite good), she wasn't overly upset if we didn't so so many papers an hour, or talked with our neighbors, or went to the bathroom every hour, or came back from lunch 5 or even 25 minutes late, which has happened.  If anything, she's a little too chill; I wouldn't mind a little standard-setting from her.  But she's good, and I don't mind serving under her again.

More importantly are the three co-workers I had the pleasure and honor of serving with along our line of two plastic tables.  I spoke about them already, but I have to say that together, we had taken a break from grading papers and kibitzed about everything from unions to wormholes to fast food to, yesterday/Monday, reality TV.  It has been fun, and more importantly, an important brain break to prevent us from ramming our heads through the laptop screen at the umpteenth kid who thought two descriptions describing the same area of the world were two different areas of the world or just flat-out copied the entire essay, thereby forcing us to evaluate if the child is actually "answering the question" (and more often than not, that is not considered copying.)

The only big thing I object to is people suddenly being promoted to immediate supervisors based on one test, especially those that have never scored tests before.  Really, that's just bullshit, and I hope to quickly find the initiative to complain about it.  But that one thing might be a deal-breaker, and it's something that compels me to look for another temp job.  Look, I am really shocked that this place would wind up doing something so amateurish, and so I do not look forward to this massive project beginning in August because I think I'll be marching back into this same shit again.  So I have to metaphorically pound the pavement for some other work, but I don't know if there is any around.

In the meantime, I'll have about a month to just loaf around and convince my parents that I'm still being a productive boy.  That'll take a lot out of me, and I don't know if I'm up to the task.  And right now I actually do not look forward to having so much free time.  I would rather make money for the new laptop I know I have to buy, or the vacation that I'm still trying to keep for next month.

Technically, my break after this is over is only two days: I have been told by the room boss that we are back at Friday, but for only four days' worth of special questions.  (Last week she said only two days, and so we would be working Saturday.  She has a tendency to change her mind, so I'm still not absolutely convinced that we have four more days of work.)  I can keep myself busy for two days.  But after that's all done?  I don't know.  And so that's why I'm feeling kind of anxious tonight.

Poor Bastard: Anderson Varejão

Do you remember when I did a Poor Bastards segment in 2009 for hockey players Marian Hossa and Ty Conklin?  The Detroit Red Wings and Pittsburgh Penguins met in the Stanley Cup Finals in the 2008 and 2009 seasons.  Detroit won in '08, when the two played in Pittsburgh.  Then they signed with the Red Wings for the '09 season ... when the Penguins won the Cup.  Talk about shitty timing.

Well, the same thing could be happening to Anderson Varejão, the Brazilian Center who played 11 seasons for the Cleveland Cavaliers.  He was on the losing end of the last year's NBA Finals to the Golden State Warriors.  The fan favorite was traded to Portland this year, which promptly waived him.  After a mandatory cooling-off/non-tampering period, he signed with ... the Golden State Warriors.  And for the 2016 postseason the Cavs and the Dubs met again.

And, if you watched any part of the historically tense Game 7 last (Sunday) night, you would know that LeBron James helped beleaguered Cleveland feel on top of the world by winning the NBA Finals.  Too bad, though, that Varejão signed with the losing team for the second year in a row.

I say "could be happening" to him because the Cavaliers organization has the right to grant a title ring to any former player who played with the team.  So they could give him a ring anyway, which would mean this blog post is a moot point.  However, if he doesn't get a ring for his tenure with not only the franchise he's been with the longest but the one he faced in the NBA Finals a year after it was the other way around, well, I just have two words to say:

Poor Bastard.

So I Didn't Tell Them I Was Leaving

I got done mowing the lawn this morning, and after getting cleaned up I was on my way out to go to Caffetto and then to watch the Euro soccer matches at the Best Western in St. Paul.  I open the door, which sets off the chime ... but then I thought, You know, I should tell them I'm leaving, even though they know I always leave during a weekend day.

I look downstairs to see a light emanating from Father's computer room, which means that Father is on the computer.  And as I walk down the stairs I see a faint light from where Mother would be in her office.  So I'm at the bottom of the stairs, staring at the back of Father's head, and he looked like he was totally concentrating on reading up on news from China or something.  And the only thing I could think of was him berating me about going back to school or finding a full-time job.

I was up early today, and I actually spoke to both of my parents as they were headed off to walk around the neighborhood and I was getting ready to mow the lawn.  Mother reminded me about having Father's Day dinner next week as well as setting the alarm when I leave.  So, I also figure that besides avoiding any uncomfortable blindside talks about My Future, they kind of knew I was leaving -- if not from seeing me this morning, from knowing what I usually do.  Therefore, after looking at the back of My Father's head for a couple seconds, I walked back up the stairs and out the door without saying anything.

I mean, I don't want to act distant.  But, well, there were many times when they left without saying they were leaving.  (Of course, I was probably in my room when they left.  They probably thought I was asleep.)  And besides, they heard the chime.

I wasn't being a dick when I left ... was I?

Another Stripper Fuckin' Turned On Me

Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh ... bitch, you don't do that to me.

I've been good to you.  The last time I got LDs from you you didn't stop at one and made me pay for two.  I let it go because you're hot.  You're one of the few strippers with absolutely no tattoos anywhere.  That makes you the Perfect Girl Next Door, and so I let you get away with it.

But when you just walk past me and say, "Oh, look at you getting lapdances" at My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Version), when I get LDs there all the fucking time ... bitch, you better fucking check yourself.  First of all, you get your fair share of money.  More than your fair share.  I see you at the seats all the time.  Why in the fuck are you so hung up on me when you're hustling just fine with other people?  But more importantly, as I have said to other bitches that have complained about me not giving them money ... this is my goddamn money.  I will spend it, or not spend it, however and with whomever I want.  And if I change my mind, I will change my mind.  And I don't need your motherfucking approval to do so.

I got a dance from a chick who hadn't been there in years.  So what?  Do you feel left out?  That ain't true, and you goddamn well know it.  I spread my money around.  I try to be fair to all the strippers there, including you.  Yes, I have my favorites, and those are the ones who provide me with special favors.  But you are at parties all the time, and you allow me to touch your boobs, and that, according to me, are extras, and I am grateful.  But don't you push it, OK?  I may give more money to some, but you get more than I give to others.  I usually get dances at this place from girls who I like but don't go to parties.  That isn't any of your business, but more importantly, you shouldn't have to worry about that.  You're so fucking hot that you don't have to watch what I do because you're making bank for yourself.  So I don't know why you're all up in my business.  And I resent you thinking that I only give money to other dancers.  Because, like I said, that ain't fucking true.

And I was just talking to this bitch on-stage!  I thought she was cool!  And now she turns on me?  I thought she was different, but apparently she's like all those other crazy strippers.

So what now?  I don't know.  I think I'm going to demand to know what the fuck is wrong with her next time I see her.  But I'm not going to the stripper party Monday because it's the one with the $20 cover and it sucks.  I really don't want to lose her.  I hope we can just put this behind us and I can grab her sweet and natural tits again.  But if she wants to be pissy about it ... well, I can turn on you just as quickly as you turned on me.

Fuck off.

I Am No Fun

Just got out of work.  And since my parents are with my brother, sister-in-law and niece for Father's Day dinner, I was told to fend for myself.  So I am.

This should be a green light to do a lot of things.  For example, there is a huge wrestling bout at First Ave., something I've been to a few times and something my friends have tickets for.  But I hesitated because wrestling, while it was fun, isn't something I am enthralled by.  And then My Father came home and I thought I shouldn't go out (this was before I found out they were having dinner out), and then they sold out the show.  So, no wrestling.

There's also Rock The Garden, the annual Walker Art Center/89.3 The Current festival, which is being held in Northeast Minneapolis' Boom Island as they are tearing up and renovating the field outside the Walker this year.  I want to go to one of these at some point, and this year would have been perfect, but ... well, I got caught up in stuff.  Besides, it's really humid out today; I would probably hate being out in the sun.  So, no concert.

Oh, there's also a party going on.  It's way down in Bloomington ... which, come to think of it, is where I was.  But the party was stupid lame last time, with the huge cover and the lack of air conditioning and the girl who was supposed to suck my dick getting sick.  I need to get my rocks off, but this will turn out to be a week where I don't pull a wad of bills out of my account to get perverted.  So, no party.

So I have a summer Saturday night all to myself and I don't have shit to do.  Embarrassment is setting in, so the one thing I can do is be productive.  I'm at Caffetto now, nursing an iced mocha, and I'll try and post some alumni club stuff and work on my reconciling my monthly expense list.  There are a couple Copa America Centenario quarterfinals coming up real soon, so I can go some place for that.  But I might be stuck here at Caffetto getting my shit together.  So, maybe, no soccer, either.

I live an uneventful life.

Kissing My Father's Ass?

So My Fucking Father wouldn't talk to me at all on Thursday, so, because I've been traumatized to the point of brainwashing, yesterday (Friday) I felt I had to do something to placate him.  And then I remembered: Sunday is Father's Day.  I treated Mother out for steak; I think I would have to return the same favor for him, even though I had no idea he would be coming home.  (Why the hell is he home, anyway?)

Calling on the phone and dealing with his tone might have been too much and would have derailed me even further from work -- why the hell did I just trust this guy, anyway, the guy's a fucking temp! -- so I dipped my toe in the water by texting him.  We went back-and-forth, but cordially; he said we would talk about it after I got home.

I was afraid he would use Sunday's dinner as a jumping-off point to talking about My Future.  He didn't do that.  He didn't do much talking.  Instead, Mother drove the conversation about where to go.  They still haven't decided yet, but since it is Father's Day, Father gets to choose.  My folks are busy today (Saturday) because my brother and sister-in-law are taking them out for dinner one day early.  It'll be around that time where he decides where to go.  If that place takes reservations, I hope I can make them post-haste.

All in all, I wonder why My Fucking Father is not crabby.  My hypothesis as to why he isn't (as of now) is that he's happy that both of his sons are "being men" by taking him out to eat.  Because he's the Father, and it's Father's Day, and that is what he is owed.  I am thinking along those same cynical lines when my niece comes.  He barely interacts with her.  And Mother says that when they're out in Vegas he is asking my brother for pictures of her all the time, but when they're here in Minnesota and she asks Father if he wants to go out to see her, he goes no.  This might be a dickish thing to say, but I think it's true: He doesn't like having a granddaughter so much as he likes the concept of being a grandfather.  That might not make much sense to you, but it makes a whole bunch of sense to me.

Well, we'll see how long the good times last.  I'm betting that My Fucking Father will talk to me about finding a good job (which he's right about, at least now) or going back to college (I still don't know about that) during Father's Day Dinner, which will be either at The Only Chinese Restaurant They Will Go Out To, or Burger King.

The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey

We've finally reached the nadir of the WMNSS, where there's only one team I need to track.  Hallelujah!

#-1: Twins (Last Week: -1).  2-5 for the week.  Lost two-of-three at home to Boston, then lost two-of-three in Anaheim before beginning the annual visit by the New York Yankees (but at least this year it's four games and not three!) with a 4-1 loss.  Dropping two-of-three games sounds familiar to the horrid Twinks teams of the years before last year, where they were doing a .333 clip for every series.

Glen Perkins is out for the year.  He may be out for good, I'm afraid.

Ah, well.  We have outdoor baseball, right, guys?

They have been home a lot this June.  The club has only ten games on the road but 16 at home.  And this screening week is all at Target Field: Three more vs. the Yanks, then three hosting Philadelphia starting on Tuesday.

I Am So Fucking Stupid

Yep.  The worst case happened.  I was wrong.  I thought these guys weren't going to do what the old test scoring place did, but they did just exactly that.

I had caught an inkling that it could happen when the project began, but honestly, I totally forgot it.  Plus, the guy who is my immediate supervisor materialized out of nowhere, so I thought that he was being trained on all the software he needed to use to track us.  And by the way, unlike the hot cold fish at the old test scoring place, he was doing more things a guy like him in his position should do, and he was doing it with authority.  It would make sense since he's a member of the military.  But I could have given him credence just because he's a man.

Then, he told us in the afternoon.  He got the job just because he qualified on the first try.  One test.  Ten questions.  All of them, we have agreed, so capriciously graded that anybody who qualified on the first try got it on luck.  And now he -- and don't get me wrong, he's a great guy, and I thank him for his service to the country we share -- has been entrusted with the power to supervise us and tell us how to score, even though he: learned the material at the same time as us (where was this guy, BTW?  He wasn't next to me, like the girl was.  Where the hell was he???); in fact did not know the software he needed to know at the time; and is therefore learning how to be a supervisor, and learning the material, on the fly.  No wonder why the room's scores are so shitty.

Is this the same way that chick got to be a supervisor?  I think it's starting to become clearer now.  Doesn't mean it's any less fucked up.

Oh, and here's the kicker.  Not only is this his first-ever project for this company, he's also a temp.  We're all temps, but he was hired through a temp agency.  And he answered ten questions well enough to immediately be deputized as a supervisor.

I thought this company was better than this.  Guess not.

I spent the rest of the day shaking my damn head.  If these guys aren't going to take the process of scoring seriously -- and hiring guys as supervisors willy-nilly based on one test qualifies, and BTW, the immediate supervisor also agrees this is fucked-up -- why should I take this scoring seriously?

And I feel so, so stupid for walking out on the old test scoring place for something I thought was "better."  My fucking God, they're now the same.  They're now the same!  If that was the case, I might as well have stayed.  I would have probably gotten as much work, I would have been in an easier-going place, my commute would have been much, much shorter, and I could have seen that girl shake her fine ass when she went to the printer or the copier room.

---

Oh wait, this is the kicker: Father's home.  I checked my parents' real estate e-mail, and there was a message regarding a meeting where they could meet my folks.  Our last name does not end in an "s," but the guy put an "s" at the end.  As if they were meeting two people, like Mother and Father.

Couldn't do anything about it the day of, so I just girded myself for the possibility.  And when I came home, I saw him wiping up the dining room.  I said hi; he did not.  Probably because he popped his head in my bedroom and saw all the clothes strewn on the floor.  Typical.

Unbelievable.  This day went south so goddamn quickly. ...

An Observation At Work

People who score tests, we are a weird lot.  Sometimes they're weirder than I am; take, for example, the guy who pushed me aside to use the same faucet I was using.  This was at the old test scoring place, the one I left where, by the way, some asshole stole my energy drink.  This doesn't happen at the new test scoring place, by the way.

As much as we are a strange lot, there are some good people too.  A lot, actually.  Many of them surround me in the test scoring project we have now.  The guy next to me, for example, has a job as a cashier at a grocery store.  Might talk a little too much from time to time, but he knows that, and besides, he's a really nice guy.  The guy to the right of me keeps to himself, but every day he drinks a jar of ... organic stuff that he swears by.  Oh, and he has changed his name at least three times in his life.  If this guy was someone I met at a concert, or even another test scorer from across the room, I would think he's a freak.  But actually he's a pretty solid dude.

There are others.  There are four of us in our row of tables, and for some reason, all four of us are some of the earliest to arrive in our new extended, overtime-approved hours and some of the latest to leave when we absolutely have to.  The fourth among us has a career in chemistry and, she says, a long battle with sexism in the field that, hopefully, she'll be able to tell me before the project's over.  One guy behind us plays tennis a lot.  Another guy up front, according to the guy to my left, can, after getting the number of total papers that need to be graded and crunching our read rates, tell what time a project ends to within 15 minutes.  (When I asked the guy to my left what Rain Man thought about the drop-dead date for this project, he said early Monday morning.  But that was before more essays came in than expected and hours were extended to the point where I pulled an 11-hour day yesterday [Tuesday].  My boss for the room estimated that we'll be done between Monday and Tuesday, the latter of which might mess up my plans for going to a couple studies I've lined up.)

Assuming that they're not weirdos or anything, nearly everyone I met at these test scoring projects are really good, really interesting people.  And there is one obvious reason for that: To be a test scorer, you have to have a college degree.  That means that anyone who gets it has to have some intellectual ability and some critical thinking skills.  That's a good thing.

And that leads to another point.  We all know that we're working in a room full of college graduates.  (And more; I forgot that in my previous test scoring project I sat with a Ph.D.)  And yet all we can do to find work (at least most of us) is a seasonal position where we score kids' tests.  Not only are we united in our matriculation, we are united in the dumbstruck realization that we have achieved a certain level of matriculation and that this is the best job we can find.  Now, that's not to say that I think this job is beneath me.  And I know there are some others who are retired teachers, for example, and they just want to work part-time just to make some money.  However, I think the vast majority of those that work these projects are somewhat disappointed that they have not found full-time work with their degrees.  Therefore, we find ourselves in a sort of employment limbo where, underneath the chitchat and small talk about work experience and dreams of what they're hoping to do next, there is an undercurrent of, "I can't believe I'm doing this ... can you?"

That fosters camaraderie, I think.  There aren't any people at this type of work who are different when it comes to the divisive category of education level, and that allows all of us to relax and intrinsically know that whoever we speak to, that person at least comes from the same intelligent ballpark.  That intelligence hasn't garnered us a job with benefits, but hey, misery loves company.

I should go to bed now.  I've got along with enough of these guys that I think I'm going to join them in eating Burger King for lunch instead of taking a nap.

Will It Be Enough?

The Fit holds about, and maybe less than, ten gallons in its tank.  I believe that it's getting a lot more mileage than my old Lexus; I can track it on my on-board screen and it says that it has, for the life of the car, been getting more than 30 miles per gallon, which is much more than the 20 the Lexus reached on its best days.

However, it still seems as though that increase in mileage is translating to saving money.  I have traditionally filled up my car once a week.  However, mostly because my commute to work is so gargantuan (even though I am now driving a subcompact), ever since I brought the car out of storage I have had to fill it up twice a week.  Since the tank is so small the amount I have to pay is small too; the gas station I usually go to requires a signature for credit card charges of $25 or more, so I haven't had to do that in a long time.  But since I do it twice, it feels like I'm paying as much as I do for filling up the Lexus.

Since that's a waste of fuel economy (or at least the perception of it) I am doing my best to put in as little as possible that will get me to Tuesday, which is when I usually fill up my tank because the gas station I go doubles discount coupons on that day.  I don't want to run out of gas in the middle of the highway, but every time I do this mid-week fill-up (usually on the weekend) I put in so much that I have enough -- not a lot, but enough -- that it feels like I spent too much money on gasoline I could have waited to pay at a double-discount on Tuesday.

Finding that line, where I put in just enough to get till Tuesday, has become a brain teaser for me.  I panic whenever the gas light comes on, usually when there are only two bars left on the dashboard.  (It has 20 bars total.)  But I get really peeved when there are five, four, even three of those bars when I pull into the station Tuesday night.  I have overestimated the amount of gas "just a little" goes in the Fit; last week I put in $5 and the tank was miraculously half-full.

So on Saturday I put in only $4.50.  The plan was that it was enough so that by the time I had time to fill up on Tuesday, there are no bars and the tank is on fumes.  However, I have deduced that it takes me four bars round-trip to get from work to home.  And this past weekend I only filled it up to four bars.

I looked at the dash a lot closer on Monday.  I really thought that those bars used to disappear much more slowly; it now feels as if the car's getting so old it is rapidly losing its once-touted mileage advantage.  I didn't think I was driving carelessly, either.  But I have lost half of the bars I started with Monday morning.

So I want to see if four bars will take me where I need to go today (Tuesday), and it's not just work.  I want to pick up my dry cleaning from the locker at my shrink's office, then walk to Sports Authority to think about buying shoes at a discount.  I then need to go to the library to print out some stuff for Mother and maybe cut down on my e-mail, which I have let swell up again.  Then, after maybe getting something to eat, I need to start driving back home by stopping to finally get my hair cut.  Then and only then can I go to the gas station to finally fill up my tank all the way.  And I need to run all over the Twin Cities on just four bars.

I have some trepidation, but honestly, I kind of want to know how far four bars on my Fit will go.  If it can get me to the gas station tonight (Tuesday night), perfect, then I will know how economical my car really is on gasoline.  And if it doesn't, well, I have my AAA and can call for help.  Either way, I want to know.

The Bullying Rose

My parents try to make the exterior of the house look pretty -- possibly a byproduct of not having anything like that growing up in rural China and then in urban Vietnam -- but I'm not sure how good of a job they're doing.  My parents (Mother in particular, although Father does pitch in from time to time) love to garden and they do love flowers.  But while they seem to have green thumbs, I'm not sure how good they are at planting and maintaining flowers.

The case in point I bring up are the roses at the front of the house.  Several years ago, Grandmother, while the area between the front lawn and the walk-up to the front door was being tilled and soiled and, uh, prettified, bought rose bulbs.  Why?  Just because.  And so I had to help dig and plant and water and soil and organize.  But that first season it bloomed quite spectacularly, a small but concentrated bush of lush red petals cradled in vivid green leaves.

And I was surprised that rose bulbs, or at least the bulbs Grandmother got, are perennials.  So every spring you can see the stalks erupt from the ground, grow petals, and then bloom.  The stalks got bigger and more numerous, so much so that when in full bloom the stalks hunched over so that the roses hit the soil.  I had to buy one of those grated rose stands so the stalks could stand upright.  But still every year they get bigger and bigger.  That's a sign of a healthy flower, isn't it?

Well, something has happened in the past few years.  I don't remember how, but the flowers right next to it -- they may be roses, they might not be -- have out bloomed the delicate flower bulbs Grandmother bought.  I do not remember who bought them, or how or when they were bought, or even if they are flowers.  But they are dominating the rose cluster next to them, so much so that I've noticed the past few years that Grandmother's roses do not bloom as much as they did in the past.  In fact, some of the roses don't even burst at all, or are aborted when you can see the rose try to unpeel itself while in its nascent white stage.  Those are the sad flowers, the ones that you know are just waiting to bloom but, probably due to the behemoth next to it, gives up the fight.

But there are plenty of rose petals in the cluster next to it.  However it is far from a delicate-looking flower.  It's about five feet tall and has branches with thorns on them.  Do you remember the kid that helped her ex-stripper mom clean my house the night before Mother came home?  On their way out after they got done he ran into those thorns (it was nighttime) and got cut.  I think I've been cut too.  It's a gangly, ugly monstrosity, and it's overwhelming the poor flower Grandmother planted oh-so-many years ago.

So, something should be done about it -- pruning or something, if not outright removal.  Not only is it probably knocking the soil ecosystem in the front lawn flower bed out of balance, it looks mighty disgusting, too.  But I have not heard a peep about it from Mother.  Nor have I raised the issued with her.  Nope, we're just letting it grow and grow and allowing it to sap the life out of the flower Grandmother brought home to us.

You know, that might be the last sign that Grandmother was here.  I don't see anything else around the house that she bought.  Shoot, that's terrible.

My God.  Fifty people dead.  Supplants Newtown as The Worst Massacre In U.S. History.

Honestly, if 50 innocent people losing their lives is the price all of us have to pay for these gun nuts to enjoy their "freedom," well goddammit, then maybe we should take away all of their guns.

Fucking sick of this.

They Fought.

I think I've talked before on Wailing And Failing that my earliest memories of my parents had no pictures per se.  They worked so long that they wouldn't come home oftentimes till after dark, sometimes several hours after my brother and I got home from school.  They would never say hi to us; instead they would immediately trot down to the their master bedroom and the master bathroom, where they always showered together.  And while we were playing (more like fighting) upstairs, we would hear Mother just screaming in the bathroom.  Sometimes Father would talk calmly, other times he would give it right back to her.  But that is how I defined their relationship with each other, which influenced how I saw their relationship to me -- angry, dissatisfied, angry.

I'm in therapy over that, and as I get to know the intricacies of how it damaged me, I'll talk more about it on WAF.  However, as their time taking care of The Store wound down, they fought much less often.  Obviously their yelling (or at least Mother's yelling) centered around work, and with the source/trigger being sold off to the company next door, I figured the yelling stopped too.  (It didn't help, by the way, that they worked and lived together.  They are unique amongst parents, I think, in being right next to each other 24 hours a day for years.  That had to make things restive between them.)

But more than a week ago, they fought again.  And oh my God, I could be wrong, but this fight was as loud, as vicious, as violent as could be without someone raising a hand to the other.  I had heard them yelling for so long and for so often that I had become kind of numb to the screaming.  But there were times when I got scared that something was going to happen, like one of them was going to do something bad to the other, then come upstairs and do something bad to us.  And Tuesday, at the age of 40, I got that feeling again.

---

That Tuesday I said I wasn't going to come home to eat dinner.  This was a day where *a*** was having a party and I was going to force myself inside her mouth to the point where she would have to swallow my cum.  (Yeah, I'm burying the lede.)

I was going to type up a letter for Mother at the library the afternoon before *a***'s party, but I forgot it leaving in the morning heading off to "work," so I went back home so I could type it that night.  When I came home their minivan was gone and the door was open -- weird combination.  I went downstairs because I heard their TV on.  It was Father.  I figured Mother went out to do something while he stayed home, which happened a lot.  I just told him I had to grab some stuff and then leave again.  He told me to shut the door.

A couple hours later, after I got that letter done, I saw Mother upstairs knitting.  I've seen her knit this late in the evening sometimes, but oftentimes it's because she wanted to be away from Father.  She was being a bitch that night.  First she got on me for not telling her I was going to Target, and then she accused me of leaving something out of the letter.  She said none of the sort and was being sort of scatterbrained, again.  But I got away from her and hid in my bedroom.

I thought nothing of her strange behavior because she is sometimes strange.  However, a little later Father came upstairs, presumably to get something from the kitchen.  Almost as soon as I could hear his steps, Mother started assaulting him with words.  To this day I am angered that I don't understand Chinese; I didn't understand what the hell she was ranting about in the bathroom when I was young, and I don't know what she was screaming to him about that night.  What I did not hear, by the way, was Father's voice.  He got what he wanted or got so sick of the screaming that he decided to not get what he went upstairs for.  But Mother's loud words followed him down the stairs until we could no longer hear his footsteps.

Unbeknownst to me, that was only Round 1.  Round 2 began when Father finally summoned up the courage or the words to come back at Mother.  From the foyer he came and started yelling upstairs back at Mother, loudly and a lot.  I don't remember if Mother yelled back, but she certainly did for a raucous and attention-grabbing Round 3 when she decided to go downstairs and confront him.

I swear, Mother was as loud as she has ever been in my life, and possibly louder.  She was yelling at the top of her voice, so even though they were in the basement, she was able to penetrate the floor so I could hear quite clearly.  Again, though, she was speaking in Chinese, so the only words I could make out were something like, "You wake up at 2 o'clock, 3 o'clock and I don't complain!"  I don't remember too many words beyond that, but I noticed something I don't remember from my childhood: She was so emotional when speaking that she started to break down.  Mother probably was in tears when she really began to lay into Father.

This is what I think is happening/happened.  Although they no longer have The Store, they do have real estate interests in town.  Things aren't going as well as it could be.  It's Mother who seems to have the hand on the tiller on this; after all, she is the one who asked me to type this letter at the library.  In the meantime, I don't really recall Father doing anything for the properties they own in the area.

Adding that observation with the fact that he nowadays just lays about around the house while occasionally judging me for what I do and do not do, I am guessing that Mother had it up to here with Father's behavior (or lack thereof) and words.  So, she let her have it.

Father ... well, he either gave up, gave in, parried her meltdown or totally got the upper hand on this argument.  He pulls this garbage a lot: He says something really insulting (he always has a way to push my buttons, that fucking asshole), I (or Mother) go off and start yelling at him while defending myself/herself, and finally, in a quiet tone that makes him sound like he is the calm voice of reason and the better man, says something to the effect of, "Forget it, it doesn't matter" -- which is genius, because it both takes back control of the relationship and completely minimizes all the issues we raise.  Goddamn, he's so fucking manipulative.

That's what I imagine the overall gist of his side of the conversation was.  Again, the entire conversation was in Chinese, and I understand even less of his side of the story.  What I do know is, even though she was screaming so much that it appeared as though she would never forgive him for whatever problem she had with him, Mother quieted down.  Finally, they went to bed, together.

They always went to bed together.

By the way, this whole time I was stunned by all the yelling that all I could do was scroll through my Twitter timeline.

---

Things progressed/snowballed/collapsed after that.  At the tail end of dinner the next night, Mother told me to take Father to the airport.  That evening.  Huh?  (On the way there, of course he got on my fucking case about finding a better job.  That's why I'm not going to get that quote for you on moving the piano to the niece!)

After I got home I checked their e-mail.  He did not, in fact, buy a ticket that day after that fight; he bought it Tuesday afternoon, just before the argument.  So the ticket was the cause of the fight?  Huh??

And then the following day or the day after (it was last week, I forget) Mother, for the first time ever, volunteered information about a fight that they had.  According to her, they argued over this lawsuit regarding one of the properties they own.  She wanted to fight; he ... didn't want to deal with it, she said.  Mother wanted Father to work his network around town for a lawyer who could help fight this in court.  Finally, Father got sick of all of her haranguing and said Tuesday afternoon that he was leaving the next day for Las Vegas.  After a few hours of letting this move marinate, Mother started screaming at him that night ... or, she was continuing the screaming she began that afternoon.

This lawsuit is really weighing on Mother, and it can seriously damage my parents' income.  So, my parents are fighting again, just over a different trigger/source.  You know, I figured that a healthy relationship wouldn't break down to screaming matches, no matter how hard the situation or the times.  That has never happened with this family.  And this is why this family is permanently marked by disappointment and hate.

---

Three other things.

First, in this conversation I had with Mother about the fight, she revealed something interesting about My Father's airplane ticket: He made her book the flight for him.  What?  If you didn't want him to leave, why help him leave?  I pair this with her finally stopping her yelling and going to bed with him and thinking that she is nothing more than a little bitch.  She can scream as much as she wants; at the end of the day, not only is she not getting her way, but she's also going to help you get your way.  How was I so afraid of her for so long when she's just a paper tiger ... and a submissive paper tiger at that?

(By the way, she's gotten much more needy since My Fucking Father left.  She has continually asked me what does this e-mail mean, can you go to my laptop to find this, when are you going to the library so you can print this out, etc.  Did Father get sick of this same crap?  Is that the reason why he left?)

The second is something related, and something she also revealed during this dinner.  She felt like she didn't have any support from Father when it came to this lawsuit.  With him gone (with her help), I think she was implying that it is now up to me to help her with that.  So not only am I now helping her with her real estate affairs, I'm supposed to provide emotional support as well.  I'm still thinking, Fuck no, I didn't sign up for this shit.  But when she confessed this, I saw my feelings of abandonment in her words.  Did I get my loneliness from her?  If so, maybe I'm kind of, well, fated to stick by her, two lonely souls clinging to one another as we propel ourselves downward into the darkness.

Finally, I heard the damndest thing after coming home late from my trip back out to the mall after forgetting Wednesday night: Father was on speakerphone with Mother.  All that goddamn fighting, and now he's talking to her again, like fucking lovebirds?!?!?!

I don't get it.  This love thing is totally fucked up.

Just To Note (Stopgap Measure Because I Don't Have Any Time To Write Anything Else Now)

At work I've had the guy to the left of me and my immediate supervisor, respectively, sneeze and complain about allergies.  Meanwhile, I think I have blown my nose twice and haven't sneezed once.

Thank Buddha, then, for Flunisolide, which has the brand name of Aerospan.  It has worked even better for me this second allergy season.  It may be working even better because I heeded advice and began to sniff up the Flunisolide well before allergy season began so my nose could get used to the medication well before the pollen started to spray in the spring.  I started using it in mid-February.  It may very well be past tree pollen season now, but my nose has barely run at all in 2016, and I've had at most mild eye irritation.

Hey -- I'm a believer.  I can fully recommend Aerospan/Flunisolide!

The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey

#-1: Twins (Last Week: -2).  After winning the first game of their four-game series against the Bay Rays, Tampa won the final three.  The Twinks then won two-of-three against the perennially cheap Miami Marlins.  And right now they're losing at home to the Boston Red Sox in the final trip by David Ortiz, who came up through the Twins organization but was allowed to leave as a free agent because, apparently, then-Manager Tom Kelly thought the only thing he could do was hit Home Runs.  Yep, that's all he can do ... and he will be in the Hall Of Fame because of it.

Meanwhile, Byron Buxton was called up again from AAA Rochester, but this time he may stick.  He has been a lot more patient at the plate, thus raising (even incrementally) his Batting Average.  Anything that allows Buxton to see more time in the bigs, and more games where he can start at Center Field, is a good thing.  And maybe he now has enough plate discipline to stay with this club permanently.

After finally finishing a long homestand this weekend, the Twins fly out to Anaheim for a three-game series starting on Monday ... but then come right back home for seven more games, for some reason, starting with a four-game set vs. the Yankees beginning Thursday.  Minneapolis for ten games in eleven days, then three games in Orange County for three days, then back to Minneapolis seven games in eight days?  What kind of a schedule is this?

#-Infinity: Gopher baseball (Last Week: -1).  Well, it's over in the Regionals.  They fought back from an opening upset loss to Wake Forest, eliminating Binghamton and then the Demon Deacons in a rematch.  But the regional's top seed, host, and then-#1-ranked team in the nation, Texas A&M, are all of those things for a reason, and the Gophers will have to wait to advance to the program's first-ever trip to Super Regionals with an 8-2 defeat.

Takeaways?  I don't know if this squad has anything to build on.  But getting to the NCAA Tournament for the first since 2010 is something, as is winning twice before being double-eliminated.  Minnesota had historically been one of the best teams in the Big Ten Conference; maybe, just maybe, this means that the Gophers will be one of the best teams in the B1G again.

It's Not Different!

My God, on the way home tonight, I swear that as soon as I changed to the lane that was moving, it stopped and the lane I had left started to move.  And once I changed back, that bullshit happened all over again.  It was totally Office Space:



It took me about 75 minutes to get home.  This was supposed to be the closer warehouse from home.  The farther warehouse, at worst, was 80 minutes away from home in the evening.  My fucking God, this shit isn't different!

Mother was at one of my parents' properties, so she was going to be home late.

That gave me the time, I think, to pick up my dry cleaning at my shrink's office tower and then buy some chocolates for work.

Well, the code didn't work to enter the locker in order to pick up the dry cleaning.  I think it's been so long that they took it back.  And then I left the area without going to the mall right next door to the office tower and buying the chocolates.  So now I have to go back out to buy it before the mall closes, while wasting gas in my car in the process.

I hate forgetting.

Addendum To: Monday's Walk Of Shame

OK, so I didn't fucking fail.  I actually passed, eventually.  Needed some help, and didn't really need any help -- that's as much as I can say.

Look, I'm just glad that I have employment for the next week.

Monday's Walk Of Shame

I'm gonna fuckin' fail this test.  I know it.  It's impossible to score correctly or consistently.  Everybody's complaining about it, and they're doing better than I am.

Again, I understand that testing can no longer be a matter of counting how many things a kid writes down.  I even believe that you can wrestle subjectivity to a set of standards that everyone (or at least everyone smart enough) can all agree on this being a great paper and this being a bad one.  But there is nothing like that here.  I think I'm a pretty smart guy, and I'm surrounded by smart people, and I think at least half of us (if not more) feel absolutely lost, if not alienated, by the results of our tests.

I've thought for the past few years of a particularly damned type of existence: One where you hate a job you're good at, and you're bad at a job you love.  I didn't mind test scoring -- it's very monotonous and you can't listen to music, but I was good at it, and therefore I loved it enough where I pined for any possibility that I could do this full-time, or at least walk the world and score tests from country to country for the rest of my life.

But now?  With this shit?  After I fucking failed the first test in my test scoring career?  This portends badly.  Assuming that I don't get some major fucking help from a deity above, I will lose my job ... at least until Tuesday, where I have to try and latch onto the other question this project scores.  And if I fail this will be really ironic: This job will go from one that I like because I'm good at it to one that I hate because I'm bad at it.

I felt so shitty after leaving Friday, like I don't know what the hell I'm doing.  And if I don't know, I lose my job, and I have no-fucking-where else to go for work.

My Fucking Mother Is Driving Me Crazy Now

She has this thing where I go out and she goes, "Oh-oh-oh, here are some things I want you to do.  I need you to get this and get this and get this and ..."  As a son I'm not supposed to be bothered by it, and I usually am not.  But she's been piling more and more things that I can't remember more often lately.

The latest was yesterday, when I said I was going to the library and she had a fusillade of things she wanted me to print out for her.  She would continue to say, "Oh, and by the way, get this," as I was going to the bathroom to put on deodorant, or to the back door to make sure it's locked up before I left.  There were 26 pages I had to print out for her, but when I came back, she said, "Hey, did you print out that lease he just sent me?"  And I immediately remembered that it was the very last thing Mother said to get, something that was e-mailed to her, like, an hour before I left for the library.

That was bad enough; but today, she asked again if I was going to the library.  I was because I forgot to blog post about something that I wanted to do late last night.  Well, so long as I was going there, I might as well get this thing I forgot to print for Mother because, get this, she's going to see someone this afternoon and she needs it.

Well, that fucking ruins everything.  What I wanted to do today was mow the lawn, get lunch, go to the library, exercise, grab some regional BBQ from Target, and come home.  Now, I'm supposed to dash off to the library, print it out, and then come home as soon as possible.  So I guess then afterwards I can do whatever I want, she says, but really, why in the hell would I go to the library a second time?  Not to mention the gas I'm wasting running around like that, or the lunch I'm eating later than I wanted to.

I say "supposed to" because I'm openly disobeying Mother.  I really, really wanted to get my daily blog post here out of the way, and wouldn't you know it, I'm shelving what I was going to finish because I have something else to vent about now.  But since I'm done, now I can print this stuff out and drive home to Mother, because after that I'll take that late lunch and go exercise ... and to "punish" Mother for doing this to me I might go out tonight, too.

All I can think of right now is how I'm failing to qualify for this test at work.  I have never had to face such a hard test in my life.  In fact, I very much believe that I will fail this test.  Worse off, unlike the other test I fucking failed, this is one of only two questions that I have to score, so if I fail this one, I can only do one, at that totally impacts how much work I'll have.

My God, this is all I can think of right now -- marching into Monday and shamefully walking out to the unemployment line.  How did it get to this point?

RIP, Part Three: Mafia Wars

Got the news early April: Mafia Wars, the Facebook game that I stupidly stumbled into playing, which turned into a huge timesuck that I eventually obsessed over like a Bonsai tree, is closing down.  It gave its last date as June 7, or a few days from now.  Zynga, the company that made and is killing Mafia Wars, said it had to "put their passion, energy and time into developing new games for you."  I think they're trying to not say that people don't play the game anymore.

But Mafia Wars has never been a game, really.  It's been a ... thing you tend to by clicking buttons.  Really, this is less labor- and imagination-intensive than Dungeons & Dragons.  I started playing (or "playing") in either 2009 or 2010, and I don't remember who sucked me in or why I caved in.  But I started to "play" it -- sparingly at first, but soon it became a daily thing.

I have to admit, however, that I'm not sure I had any "fun" doing Mafia Wars.  Yet I soon felt a need to tend to it.  I had an empire to build, and as I started as a young punk in New York and soon spread my wings to Brazil and Japan, I felt a sense of accomplishment to check into Mafia Wars almost every single day and click a task, or collect from one of my properties, or fight an opponent.  Right now I am at Level 435 and have a mafia of 507.  (ETA on 11:53 a.m. on June 4 that according to the number after fighting some dude to earn the Daily Task Fix I have a mafia size of 609,232.  Who knows?)  I don't know where I stand compared to others when it comes to those things, but I don't care, that's a lot!  I kind of liken it to when I played video games when I was young.  When I beat a bad guy at the end of a level, I felt a sense or relief, mostly, but it was something that, in my young, small and limited world was something that built my self-confidence.  Actually, with Mafia Wars I still need games to build my self-confidence.  Nevertheless, it made me feel good.

But I have to admit that an obsession oftentimes turns into a burden, and there were times when I would rather have not played.  Sometimes I need to do other things, and sometimes I want to do other things.  In the past year or so Mafia Wars had an incentive where if you checked in they would give you a Daily Take, and if you did it for a week straight you'd get a special one at the end of the seven days.  I actually got depressed the few times when I would forget and/or be too busy and I would have to skip checking in.  Silly, isn't it, letting a game that isn't really a game affect your mood for the entire day?  It did take an important part of my day and life that I don't regret, but I'm not totally upset that Zynga is shutting this game down because, well, I have that part of my day and life back.

To make up for it they're offering some bonus for one of two games the company is maintaining.  One of them I think is a medieval-themed game like Mafia Wars, and so long as I have an opportunity to extract myself from a "game" that would take a lot of my time, I decided to take the bonus for their poker game, which is something I feel I could play a lot less often and not feel burdened to keep up with.  I mean, I don't know if you can build up levels as a poker player, you know?

Nevertheless I'll miss playing, so I'll try and play as much as I can until Mafia Wars is put down.  The problem is is that I don't know when exactly they're going to euthanize it.  The date is June 6, which is Monday.  But is it gone as soon as the clock goes to the 6th?  I think the "day" starts at 2 a.m. Central Time, so is it done 2 in the morning on Monday?  Or do we have the entire day of June 6 to play?  Whenever it is I'll do my best to add levels and my mafia size, and blow out my fat stacks of dollars and pounds and pesos to build up my empire because hey, when it dies, you can't take it with you.

I'll miss Mafia Wars until I forget it, you know?

The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey

#-1: Gopher baseball (Last Week: -1).  OK.  College baseball bracketology has a long ways to go to get as accurate as the dozens of college basketball bracketologists that pop up every February and March.  By virtue of their embarrassing 0-fer on their way out of the Big Ten Conference Baseball Tournament, the regular season champion Gophers slid down to a 3-seed in Jim Shonerd (of Baseball America)'s final bracket.  I was not aware until now that it appears as though all 4-seeds in the NCAA baseball tournament are all auto-bid winners of one-bid leagues.  Therefore, Shonerd said that the U. was in fact one of the Last Four Teams In ... and, if order means something, they were in fact The Last Team In.

Lo and behold, however, they didn't have to grit their teeth come Selection Memorial Day to make their first postseason appearance in six years.  They had a cushion as a 2-seed, where they had been projected before last week.  Apparently winning the regular season title helped them a lot, as did their 18-11 true away record.  They, however, are part of the four-team regional that is hosted by Texas A&M, which was named the fourth-overall seed in the tourney and finishes the regular season as the #1 ranked team in Baseball America's Top 25 poll.  (The Gophers, by the way, drop out of the poll due to the disaster in Omaha.)  So conference Player Of The Year Matt Fiedler (the program's first since Luke Appert in '03), All-B1G First Teamers (alongside Fiedler) Austin Athmann and Connor Schaefbauer, and Big Ten Coach Of The Year John Anderson all have their work cut out for them in order to make their first-ever trip to Super Regionals.  They face Wake Forest this (Friday) afternoon; the 4-seed, BTW, is Binghamton.

#-2: Twins (Last Week: -2).  As bad as their season has become (and they still sport the majors' worst record), I am shocked for the second week in a row about how many wins they got over the screening week.  In fact, they're over .500 -- sweeping at Seattle, getting swept at Oakland, then coming home to Target and beating the Bay Rays in the first of four contests.  That sweep of the Mariners, who then were leading the American League West Division, boggles the hell out of me, especially, Friday's 7-2 win, where they beat, of all people, Felix Hernandez.

Meanwhile the injuries, or at least the announcement of players going on the Disable List, keep mounting.  The most notable of these maybe Pitcher Kyle Gibson, who was going to start last (Thursday) night's game against Tampa but was pulled because of ... something.  Phil Hughes, who was demoted to the bullpen because he sucks, was put back into the rotation out of necessity.  He didn't figure into the decision, but at least they won.  A lack of healthy bodies is also the reason why Byron Buxton is back with the big club.  He still has yet to prove that he can hit in the major leagues, but since being busted down to AAA Rochester he has, yet again, torn the cover off the ball.  He can still defend with the best of them, but I'm really afraid that his career will be as one of those "AAAA" guys -- players to good for Triple-A but not good enough for The Show.  Well, this is one of Buxton's final shots to prove he can play in the MLB.

This is the beginning of a long homestand for the Twinks.  After finishing their series against the Bay Rays they have three games against Miami starting on Tuesday, then a weekend trio vs. the Boston Red Sox.

#-Infinity: Gopher wrestling (Re-Entry!).  Uh-oh.  This might be the reason why J Robinson's grappling crew had an historically horrible year.  And it might very well be the storied coach's last at the University of Minnesota.

Last Wednesday, an anonymous wrestler with the team told the Star Tribune that Robinson called a team meeting just before Easter Weekend and said that he knew that some people on the team were selling Xanax.  He did not report his suspicions or findings to the U.  Instead, he gave the offenders the weekend to give them the pills and, for some strange reason, make them write a one-page essay about why they did it and how did it make them feel to sell the pills.  In exchange, this anonymous wrestler said, Robinson would give the drug dealers "amnesty."

Also according to said wrestler, those selling gave their coach some and dumped the rest.  Meanwhile, on Tuesday Fox 9 broke the story.  That's when U. of M. police stepped in.  And on Wednesday, just before starting off on a caravan around the state, brand new Golden Gophers Athletics Director Mark Coyle put Robinson on paid administrative leave, presumably because he now has to review any culpability Robinson has for not immediately reporting his knowledge of this team's drug dealing to authorities.

Robinson has carved out a very interesting fiefdom at Dinkytown.  He has won three NCAA titles at the U., the school remains a renowned powerhouse in wrestling, and he basically could call his own shot as to win to leave.  That freedom has allowed him some latitude for actions that rubbed some people the wrong way.  He, for example, has been a loud opponent of Title IX, and once filed a gender discrimination complaint against the U. in 2004.  He even once had a match program printed with his thoughts on what he thought was reverse discrimination.  Also, in 2009 the student newspaper the Minnesota Daily ran an exposé detailing a network of Dinkytown-area real estate transactions among former wrestlers and coaches with the program.  That could have violated NCAA policies regarding giving extra benefits to recruits and current student-athletes.

Nothing came of the real estate dealings.  Nothing really seemed to touch Robinson, who occupied a very special place on campus: Successful enough to do whatever he pleased, yet presiding over an Olympic (read: non-revenue) sport so small that any controversies would fail to draw overwhelming public scrutiny.  This might change things.  It doesn't help Robinson that he now works for a brand-new AD.  And it really doesn't help that he is coming off a shitty season.

There are two things working for him.  One, he did his best to quash this in-house -- that may technically be illegal, but this isn't the obvious law-breaking that would turn ardent supporters of the wrestling program against him.  Two?  Well, does Coyle really think he can find a Head Coach as well regarded as J Robinson to replace J Robinson?

Watch this space.