Doing Things With Family Is Supposed To Be Fun

So my sister and brother-in-law are coming home soon to visit.  They obviously have plans -- seeing their friends, seeing my niece, visiting landmarks around the Twin Cities and the state -- and that requires using a car, namely mine because it's newer than my parents' minivan.

Several hours ago she texted me about plans, which are getting more concrete in her head.  The Vikings Game I was going to work was flexed to Sunday night, so that means I'm free that day.  My sister thought that she could take my car to the Science Museum for a day with our niece.  I thought that with me being free now, I could go.  But she intimated that she thought it would be a day of just the three of them alone.  That's fine.  I'm not upset.

The thing that annoys me now, however, is that plans are taking shape for a big dinner that evening in St. Paul.  There are a couple complications that I'm still trying to figure out, and because of that I am kind of peeved.  For one: We are not going together.  Rather, they (my sister, brother-in-law and niece) are going to hang out at the Science Museum and then saunter over to St. Paul because the plan is for the dinner to be early.  My brother and sister-in-law are supposed to drive all the way over there from their home.  And we three (my parents and I) are supposed to drive from home to there.  That brings up the second complication: The minivan only seats two.  It was a work van from its days bringing deliveries from The Store to our vendor/clients, so one day, Father just ripped out the back seats.  They're in our basement now, but I don't know how or even if it's possible to put one of them back in.  So if he can't, what are we supposed to do, have just one of them ride on the floor of the van and get jostled around as we go across the river?

This is where a third car, namely a rental car, would be perfect.  As I've blog posted about before, getting one for a weekend would be perfect in order for them to do all that they want, especially if they want to go somewhere beyond the metro area.  But that would be the second weekend, not the first weekend, which is when the Science Museum and dinner are going to be held.  Them taking my niece to the Science Museum would be fine.  It's dinner that is royally screwing everything up.  Having dinner that Sunday instead would be better, even perfect, because it is my sister and brother-in-law's last day here.  And if we had a rental car, we would have a roomy vehicle for all of us to go wherever we want to go for dinner (and this would assume that my niece would be going with her parents, which are my brother and sister-in-law).

But nope, that won't happen.  Apparently, my brother has already made the reservation.  This planning seems so damn inefficient, and it makes us make inconvenient choices for some days that will also result in huge gaps of nothing to do in other days.  Such a stupid waste.  And now, I need to end this blog post because if I keep writing, I will only get more upset.

Expenses Without Receipt

Starting from Wednesday, July 13:

• We'll actually have to go back to Tuesday, July 12, a day I had off.  I was in St. Paul visiting my now-ex-shoeshiner when I thought today would be a good day to replenish the account I had with the family credit union.  This once was a bank that we had never used, but when The Store was still open, Mother had me open an account with that bank to facilitate checks given to my parents from one of the restaurants to whom they delivered.  I never had the heart to close it, even after The Store closed, even after the bank branch changed hands to this credit union.  So I make it a point to deposit money in the accounts we opened up annually.  This day was that day, and just because I had money and I was going to get more considering the handjob I was going to get, I splurged a bit and put $50 down on both the checking and savings accounts, for a total of: $100.
• I need to confess this: When I woke up on this Tuesday morning, my dick was so hard that I rubbed one out because an erection that solid couldn't go to waste.  I did so knowing that ***e* and ******e were cumming by to jerk me off.  Can I cum twice in one day?  No, not really, but I rolled the dice when I masturbated in the morn.  Well, it took some time and a switch from coconut oil to lotion, but they finally succeeded.  I'm not too old, I guess.  Cost for both naked ladies: $240.
• Sunday the 10th ... I have heard of this Korean chicken chain called Bonchon, a branch of which popped up in a strip mall not too far from work.  I wanted to go try them after a United FC Match, but I was rebuffed because they said it was too close to closing.  But as soon as I knew that I was asked to fill in at work on this day, I knew that after work I would have an early lunch at this place.  Man, the chicken is good -- double-fried, they say, to maximize crispiness.  I didn't know two things, however.  One, it was a sitdown restaurant.  I then realized why I was turned away that one time.  And two, the appetizer I was duped into getting -- tacos that said on the menu "MUST TRY" -- actually were (according to the en vogue euphemism for "appetizers" these days) shareables, not to be consumed by just one person.  I managed to eat nine pieces of chicken (six drummies, three wings) and those three tacos, but it was a struggle.  Oh, and I love that the pop I got was free.  Oh, and the price was pretty good, too.  With tip: $35.
• Back to Friday the 8th, where I went to my art gallery of choice for the opening of its latest exhibition.  It altered which secret bar to go to after working The Fourth Department; I was going to go to Sooki and Mimi but instead went to Young Joni because this art gallery was only a few blocks away.  I always slip some cash into the gallery kitty, five bucks.  I also threw in some money for a Coke, five bucks.  And five plus five makes: $10.
• Back to Friday, July 1 -- went to My Favorite Stripclub (Cover Division) and, well, I basically cover my trip and what I wanted to do in this blog post.  With cover and drinks and tips for said drinks and the girls onstage and the security, I spent: $181.
• I then went, with porno pants, to Up-Down, the arcade palace in Uptown.  A bunch of people, most of whom wearing no masks, being loud mostly indoors?  Sold!  I forget that oftentimes people put quarters (or tokens) in these games and then just walk away.  I also forget that, as nostalgic as I am for these games, I don't enjoy playing many of them.  I stuck a dollar in and was walking around the place for most of the time before deciding to play Arkanoid twice and Paperboy twice -- and that's after playing each game once and wandering around to see if there was anything else I wanted to play, deciding nah, and going back to both games.  But I liked the slice of bacon burger pizza I had.  With tip for the pizza, all told: $7.
• And after that I was still hungry, so I went to Zantigo for some faux-Mexican: $7.26.  (ETA at 11:05 p.m. on July 15 that I actually do have a receipt for this and therefore I should remove this charge.)
• Heading back to Wednesday, June 29, where the headache that was getting a handjob from ******e began.  I don't think I have ever had her service me alone; it has always been with ***e* because I think ***e* was the one who either drove or arranged someone to drive to my place.  My misadventure with ******e I recapped here, so I'll just tell you I paid her: $120.
• On Sunday the 26th I decided to get my hair cut.  The hairstylist was quick as hell, but she did this thing where she'd kind of ram the clipper against the side of my head before turning it to shave my hair.  She did it constantly, as if she was mad at something and was projecting it on to me, but holding off just enough so that she wouldn't give me a concussion.  I have a receipt, so this EWR is only for the tip: $4.
• In the evening I just had to go out, like I said here.  Went to Dream Creamery, an ice cream/burger place that recently opened up.  Wouldn't you just call it the Dreamery?  Have a receipt for the ice cream I bought, so this EWR is only for the tip: $1.
• Then went to Pryes for a beer.  With tip: $9.84.
• Saturday, June 25 ... went to Sebastian Joe's just before closing time.  With tip: $7.37.
• Back on Friday the 24th ***e* came over for a handie.  Don't remember why ******e didn't tag along.  This kind of feels like the Beatles breaking up.  Cost: $120.
• Back to Saturday, June 18, where I did my usual stop at Burger King before visiting Grandmother's best friend.  Frankly, this visit was a shitshow.  Severe staff shortages plus equipment apparently breaking down meant that 1) there was no Coke, 2) the kid taking my order didn't know how to get enter the code from my app to give me free fries, and 3) the couple before me complained about getting the wrong food and almost started a screaming match with the overwhelmed manager.  I really don't think I want to go back to this place again.  You know, I see this Mass Resignation and it feels as though the industry that is finally left holding the bag in terms of not being able to find anyone to work for them are the shitty fast food places.  Just an observation.  Anyway: $6.58.
• After visiting Grandmother's friend I dropped by ******a's apartment for a massage.  Goddamn, she's as hot as ever: $120.
• That evening I went back out to enjoy a summer night.  Had a chocolate malt at Bebe Zito; with tip: $8.51.
• I then went next door to Caffetto to work a bit on some writing.  Small hot chocolate plus tip: $4.46.
• To Friday, June 17: The guy who used to be The Fourth Department was leaving the following week, but I wanted to pay in to our parting gift.  He was moving via U-Haul, and so we chipped in for a gift card he could use to pay for the gas on his way out east.  That seemed like a great idea, but with gas so expensive, I thought he could use some money, so it appears as though I paid in more than everybody else.  That's OK; he saved my butt many times while we were back there, and we all will, and still, miss his institutional knowledge: $50.
• Went all the way to Apple Valley for a stripper party after work.  It was weird in the sense that both women took out my schlong in the dance room, which I thought was forbidden under house rules.  Moreover, host **y gave me a pseudo-handjob like she did the last time I went to her party, but this time I only paid her, like, $70 when she ordered me to pay her $200 the last time.  The only difference I could tell was that we had a room the last time.  So, if we had the dance room all to ourselves, and I ask her to give me an HJ right there, I could get one for less than $100?  I got three dances from another chick there, *****o*, who was there the last time but with whom I did not get any dances.  She was totally nice, and she yanked my cock out of my pants in the dance room, too.  (She was willing to watch me piss, too, but I had stage fright.)  They have a party tomorrow/Saturday that I can't go to, but hopefully this will be the standard experience going forward, so I'll hope to get back there in August.  With cover charge I spent: $150.
• I didn't cum, and I think a reason why is because I was going to the Purity Ring concert at First Ave. afterward.  This act had a vaccine and a mask mandate, and they restricted alcohol only to the upper floor.  The only other act I know that did that was Echosmith, and that band has faint Christian overtones.  I don't see that with Purity Ring, but I still loved the concert (and I loved the Echosmith concert, too, don't get me wrong).  Went upstairs to have a can of Coors.  With tip it set me back: $9.
• I couldn't help myself; every time I have gone to a concert in downtown Minneapolis, I have gone to Pizza Luce afterward.  Same thing here, even though I should watch what I eat.  With tip: $6.68.

Good through July 14.

My 2019 Playboy Playmate Of The Year

Before I proceed, I think I need to make an announcement.  This, in all probability, will be the final time I crown a Playboy Playmate Of The Year.  This follows a long slide into irrelevance for what was once the vanguard pornographic magazine in the world.  But the advent of cheap and free porn on the Internet led to slumping advertiser dollars which forced The Bunny to make editorial cuts.  To try and change the image in order to save it, they then switched over to non-nudity, which was a total mistake.  They brought back breasts (though not necessarily pubic hair), but the issues each year were cut from 12 to 11 to six and, for 2019, four.  It's now not even in print anymore; they discontinued hardcopy issues earlier this spring, although before the pandemic.

I would be sad, but I have disagreed with the changes for several years now.  The cutting down on issues was the first truly disappointing sign, but the pivot to non-nudity damaged my image of Playboy beyond repair.  I tried following along with pictorials on the website Vintage Erotica Forum, but I got the feeling so many former aficionados were so dismayed by its new direction that even they stopped caring enough to pilfer the images and put them on the website.  So that made me care even less.

But it's time to put 2019 to bed, so I looked at what images I do see from VEF, and I'm finally making some decisions.  Overall it is nowhere near the heyday of Playboy, which in my opinion was the late eighties, when I looked over my parents' Hong Kong editions of PB when I looked through them at The Store, to around 1998, when I graduated from college.  (I know a lot of Playboy diehards think those halcyon days were much earlier.)  Showing pubes makes a big difference, but near the tail end of the magazine they were going for much, well, artier photos when all I really wanted to see were tits, ass and pussy.  Playboy always said they sought a higher-end depiction of female nudity, and they tried to distance themselves from Penthouse, its smuttier competitor, throughout its life.  But I always thought that The Bunny always had the central intention of arousing carnal desires in the person looking at these spreads.  I didn't feel that way about the mag in the last, oh, two or three years.  Guess that's another reason why I'm not so heartbroken on the death of the print magazine.

With that being said, there are a few bomb-diggity photos that I like.  What I was hoping for were so pussy shots, such as the single, solitary one from a Playmate in 2018, which is the only reason why I voted for Olga de Mar for 2018 PMOY.  For example, Miss January, Vendela (her last name is Lindblom, but she doesn't go by that name in this pictorial) and Miss Septembe, Sophie O'Neil, are posed in such a way where you think you see their vajajays, but they've lifted up their left legs just enough whereby their thighs are sort-of-covering their triangles.  Drat!

With that being said, Vendela has a couple peek-a-boo shots where her slim tits are poking out on the outsides of a singlet.  Her whole boxing motif is a good one, and it harkens back to the days where Playboy had themes for their centerfolds.  Miss March, Miki Hamano, has this one shot where she's wearing a black slingshot swimsuit, but either she's wearing it backwards or she's pulled out the straps that would cover her nipples so that the suit is not covering anything.  Shots like that drive me wild.  And I love that she was considered to be a model for Sports Illustrated's Swimsuit Issue that came out over the summer.  Going from nude to non-nude in a more "reputable" magazine is so subversive it gets me erect, to be honest.

Yoli Lara, Miss June, has got a banger of a body.  The Puerto Rican is slim and tight and would fit with the vintage Playboy Playmates.  She's got two fantastic shots.  One of them is just a fabric wrapped around her breasts except that her left nipple is peeking out.  The other is her wearing just a bikini bottom that sort-of evokes the American flag, holding a glass bottle that seems to be holding Coke (branded with The Bunny logo) and her throwing her head back so we can only see her chin.  Man, her small tits in that shot, fuck. ...

So I gave you roughly my fourth through second picks.  My pick for top model, however, has to go to Miss April, Fo Porter.  I'll be honest, y'all: Her pictorial doesn't do much for me.  But if you were a fan of America's Next Top Model, you'll remember Fo as a contestant on Cycle 12 of ANTM, which aired the spring of 2009.  She finished fifth, and although I remember dutifully watching most episodes of that season, I don't remember much of her.  Still, like Eugena from Cycle 7, she took off her clothes (well, at least showed her breasts), and got recognition from me.  And in Fo's case, that recognition is best Playboy Playmate of 2019 from yours truly.

OK, so my reasons for crowning her may be cheap and inauthentic.  But, honestly, so was the magazine around this time.  Maybe it's fitting.

By the way, Playboy is still publishing Playmates online, I think.  I have not gone to their website.  Neither has anybody on Vintage Erotica Forum, nor has anyone on Wikipedia updated their list of Playmates.  We all stopped caring.

And I Got, Like, A Dozen Or Two More Of This Shitty Toilet Paper

Don't understand why there's a run on toilet paper, but that's just me.

I stocked up on toilet paper before the pandemic.  Many, many years ago, as my parents shut down The Store, they moved much of the unbought and unused merchandise home.  That included toilet paper, but the cheap, shitty, scratchy kind.  Nevertheless, for the past several years I have had a surplus of toilet paper in my bathroom closet, and because of that, I've felt this subconscious need to replenish that surplus.  I bought a bunch of toilet paper last winter, when my folks were gone, and I did so again shortly before they came home this time around.

But I wanted to make a point as to which kind I bought.  In liberal circles, buying the "right" brand of toilet paper has been low-hanging fruit to signal your allegiance to the Resistance because a couple of toilet paper brands are owned by companies that are owned by Koch Industries, and as you may know, the Koch Brothers (Charles and the now-dead David) are nihilistic libertarians who are among the oligarchs running the country these days.

To not fund our oppression, there are lists showing what consumer products are made by subsidiaries owned by Koch Industries.  When it comes to toilet paper, the Kochs own two: Quilted Northern and Angel Soft, made by Koch-owned Georgia-Pacific.  So, no Quilted Northern or Angel Soft for me.

But then, which one should I buy?  Believe it or not, there aren't too many webpages that pop up when you Google "best toilet paper."  What I did when I went to Target was to look at who owns the other brands of toilet paper and pick one.  I don't quite remember which one I bought -- it's the one with the swirly pattern on it -- but I think it's Charmin, and I think I bought it because it's made by Procter & Gamble and I hear they're a not-Republican company.

I think it sucks.  Charmin (if I'm right) sucks in one very particular way, a way which was brought about by the virus.  Ever since we were told that the coronavirus could last on stainless steel and other smooth surfaces for days, I have been paranoid not to touch any of said surfaces.  So when I wash my hands in my bathroom, I have been leaving the faucet open, drying my hands on my bath towel, then reaching down to get a square of toilet paper that I use to turn off both handles.

When I take a square of Charmin, I don't take a square. I rip off only a portion of that square, and it's usually around where I grip that square.  It rarely rips off at the perforation.  I have even tried to hold the square with both hands, my right one right around the perforation, and I still get only one goddamn piece of it.  It's so fucking flimsy as to be useless.  Toilet paper shouldn't be that soft.

Does it wipe my ass?  Yeah, sure.  But so does a leaf, and even though it may not be as scratchy, that sure as shit doesn't make me appreciate the Charmin any more.  Why can't it rip where it's supposed to rip?  I now have to be so fucking careful that I don't come into contact with the handle of the sink faucet because I'm holding a piece of toilet paper only an inch wide and long.  Fucking toilet paper.

Got A Stash Of Gloves ...

... from Mother because my parents, I guess, had some left over from The Store.  Will I use it?  I don't know.  There's the stigma that health care workers don't have any, so why should I bring a bunch from home and use it?  Also, once it runs out, I'll be sad, and I don't want it to ever run out, so maybe it's best not to use them in the first place.

I'm A Workin' Man

Just wanted to note that, because of filling in for other people and jobs not filled, I am in the middle of 13 straight days working at, uh, work.  In fact, today represents the exact middle of this "homestand."

Don't mind it at all.  Want to show that I can help out at work when I can, and I can.  Besides, my parents ran The Store by themselves for more than 30 years, and until they started taking vacations to Las Vegas in the past ten or so years, they were at The Store every day, seven days a week, no vacation.  Seen it before; doesn't bother me at all, especially when all I'm doing is a desk job.

Not for nothing: The evening of my last day at work, I pick up my parents from the airport.  So, in a sense, do I really get a vacation?

Expenses Without Receipts

Starting from Wednesday, January 8:

• Well, I'll have to start before then because the use of my credit cards has allowed me to shorten the EWRs (well, they remain long because I don't get around to them as often as I should).  So I go back to Saturday, January 4, where, after I got out of work, I went to Marco's, a lesser-known pizza chain.  I've seen a branch on the way home from work, and they have sent over a flyer every now and again, so I decided that I was going to pig out on pizza while watching back-to-back playoff football Games.  Better yet for Marco's: They have a small pizza version.  I got that, plus two types of sauce to dip the crusts in.  I didn't realize that Marco's sells sauces, however, and I couldn't find a place to edit my order, so I put in a new one.  I say that because it is relevant to the fact that the guy, once I got there, seemed confused that I had put in both orders and could not add them up ... because I gave him exact change for all three items so that I would only get dollar bills back instead, and he gave me back some coins in exchange for the coins I gave him as part of exact cents change.  Now, is he going to be either so embarrassed or some mad that I can't go back there?  Because I want to go back there.  Guess it doesn't matter; I put in a dollar tip, so even if the cashier short-changed the till, I more than made up for that with the dollar tip.  That's how it works, right?  Anyway, the total was: $12.02.
• Back to Thursday the 2nd, where work was so light that I decided to leave early.  It was a chance to do a few things I can't do during the workday now that I'm on a normal schedule.  One of the things that popped into my head was keeping active a small account at a credit union my family opened up as part of work with The Store.  The nearest branch was in Coon Rapids, so I went up there and threw in more money, even though the account is entirely irrelevant now that The Store is no more.  And not to look like a fool, but I threw in: $20.
• Later I got my hair cut.  Have a receipt for the card.  Haircutter didn't act like she gave a shit, so I tipped her only: $3.
• Then I called for ******e to come over.  Like I said, I should be aroused by her, but now I'm sort-of afraid of her.  And she probably still thinks I owe her money.  Total (for now): $125.
• Assuming I have some record of every expense until then, we gotta go all the way back to Boxing Day, aka Thursday, December 26.  My sister and brother-in-law were in town, and after staying with my brother and sister-in-law for a few days, they came up to the childhood home and stayed her with me for a few.  All they wanted for a Christmas gift was dinner and a movie.  The dinner was Saturday.  The movie was this night, and it was Parasite, the Korean thriller.  It was good, but the critics make it out to be a parable about class warfare when I just don't see it.  It is just a twisty caper between amoral people that makes me think of Shallow Grave.  But one of the decade's best?  Let's pump the brakes.  We had to go to Edina to see it, at a rundown cinema I had never been to in a tony part of town.  Three tickets plus large popcorn and large pop we all shared: $38.50.
• Monday the 23rd was the last night of BJ's.  I found a seat nowhere near the stage.  I ordered a Bud Light and gave a tip to dancer *****y (who was strictly waitressing) for the can of beer.  And then, until the owner threw us all out at the end of a bar fight, I got lap dances from, in order, Kirah, Lola, Giselle, Harley, Ashlee, Cali, Sky and Kelsey.  There were a few more strippers there I wanted dances from, but alas, that was it for me and this place for good.  The final grand total I spent at BJ's on this night is: $168.
• ETA on January 9 at 9:48 p.m. that I remembered that I went over to the Moose because, as we were getting thrown out of BJ's, that's where a bartender said everyone was migrating to.  I saw Kirah and another stripper, but that was it.  I nursed a domestic beer and left.  I totally forgot the cost with tip, so I'll just conjure up an amount: $4.50.
• On Sunday the 22nd ****e* came over to clean my house.  It had been almost a year since she came over.  She's great, but I still have the urge to be perverted around her in the very faint hopes she just gets naked and starts to fuck me.  But I did drop my pants and pee standing up while she was cleaning around the bathroom.  Yeah, I'm me.  ****e* said that the house was actually cleaner than the last time she was over, and because of that she didn't stay as long as she normally does, which means she asked for a little less than usual: $200.
• Saturday, December 21: After work I went over to My Favorite Stripclub (Cover Edition) because I wanted to see my ATF, Claudia, before Christmas.  Luckily she was there, and to make up for lost time I got a record 16 table dances from her.  But Sky was also there!  I saw her onstage, and she didn't recognize me until I sat down and slipped her a dollar bill.  We had a laugh.  With cover and a Coke: $174.
• After that I went to Hooters, then after that I went to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Division) where, on stage, I saw Sky again!  And we both laughed our fucking asses off over the coincidence.  So I got an LD from her, even though I wanted a TD from her at the other place.  Anyway ... with tips and Sprite: $31.
• Thursday the 19th -- was shifted towards a later start in the morning, so I went to Caribou.  The foreign barista, I was convinced at this point, is a rude idiot.  Cash for the tip: $1.
• That night I went to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Version) because I needed to pack the visits in before it went.  Stage tips, vodka cranberry, and a lapper from one of the girls I saw The Last Night but didn't get a dance from, JJ: $33.
• On Wednesday the 18th I was also covering for someone who usually starts at 9, so again I went to Caribou for (again) a mocha and (again) I write down the EWR for the tip: $1.
• After work I needed to buy a white elephant gift for my sister-in-law and brother's Christmas party.  I settled on champagne flutes from Macy's, but I needed someone to wrap them.  Thankfully, Rosedale (whose Macy's store I bought the flutes from) gift-wraps at the customer service desk.  Thank Buddha for them!  And it only cost me: $6.50.
• While waiting for the gift to be wrapped I went down to the other end to take a second look at the brand-new food hall, POTLUCK.  It replaced Revolution Hall, another food hall that crashed and burned after eight months.  People have their theories as to its failure: It didn't take cash, no local vendors, the food was all made at the same place by the same company, and the storefronts were all just "fronts," bad customer service, etc.  It looked like POTLUCK had a bit more traffic, but that could be just because it was the holiday season.  I went to Nordic Waffles, which opened a storefront at the Minnesota State Fair in 2018 and was an instant hit.  With tip: $7.98.
• I then went to a party in North Minneapolis.  It was rented out by host *****a.  I thought the place would be crawling with strippers from clubs around the area, but I only saw, like, eight, and I only was able to get a couple of chaste dances from a woman named Summer before the party ended.  The way the party ended, however, was ... fuckin' bananas.  A stripper, who was drunk when I passed by her, apparently started a fight with the other girls over god knows what.  And there were punches thrown, hair pulled, and fingers bitten.  This is the first time I have ever seen strippers fight at a stripper party, and frankly, I thought it would have happened before this night.  Oh well, at least I have a story to tell.  With cover, the total was: $70.
• And I think I found a penny at a gas station, an Infusion of: 1 cent.
• Tuesday, December 17 ... went to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Version).  Coffee, tips, and two dances, one apiece from Asia (another of the strippers from who I wanted one final lapdance on The Last Night) and a lesbian stripper named Ariel.  Ariel is very nice.  She wasn't going to be around when the place shut down because she was going to Kansas to see her girlfriend's family for the holidays.  And when the waitress asked her for a drink while she was talking to me, I relented and paid for Ariel's drink.  All told I spent: $62.25.
• And on Sunday the 15th I fucked ****e for: $120.

Good through January 8.

Will I Miss Working Saturdays?

Today, Saturday, will be my last regular Saturday at work.  (I might work other Saturdays, but only if I'm asked, and only in exchange of time off another day or overtime.  In fact, this might be a not uncommon occurrence.)  Through a series of staff switches precipitated by one woman living her post because she wanted to live with her father in New England, a couple weeks ago I became the next-to-last domino to fall.  In short, I am moving not jobs, but shifts: I used to be Tuesday-Saturday, but as of Monday I will be on a, well, Monday-Friday schedule.

And I don't know if I like it.

I jumped at the chance because of what happened to me in the fall.  Well, football happens in the fall. Saturdays are when my alma mater plays Games (or, seeing their performance in the Holiday Bowl, "plays"), and I have had to take paid time off on several occasions to be there to run the event on time ... or, if it was too late for me to beg to take the day off, I would have to forgo the event until my shift was over and I would get there, usually, late in the Third Quarter.  That seems to wrong for the president of the club, and shifting to a normal workweek would obviously obviate that issue.

The pros take over Sundays.  I had worked at my day job on Sundays when the department was underemployed, but otherwise I was free to do the day work for Vikings telecasts I have done for the past 15 years.  However, there were opportunities, especially when the coordinator over the summer e-mailed me, to get work in as a runner on set days, aka the day before Game day.  I literally was offered the chance to work the day before seven of the eight Vikings home Games.  And I couldn't because my schedule at work had me penciled (more like "penned") in as an indispensable part of this or that department.  I couldn't take paid time off at my main job to maximize my hobby job, even if I have been at that hobby job for a decade and a half.  There was one exception: When I was sent this e-mail, the calendar only extended a few months, and I had the day before the Game against Detroit earlier this month open, so I did use paid time off for that Saturday before my boss would put me in a spot where I would feel I'm letting my team down if I said I wouldn't come in to work.  (This also allows me to get money from one job while actually earning money on another -- the "double dipping" I'm so fond of doing.)  That headache is gone now that I have my Saturdays ostensibly free.

And yet ... and yet I have to admit I've gotten used to working on Saturdays.  I might be used to it because, back when my brother and I were young, my parents forced us to help them at The Store.  So unusual work time frames are something I'm used to.  And this Tuesday-Saturday work schedule is something that I have gotten accustomed to.  The bulk of my duties at my job are data entry, and that's dependent on the forms that are delivered to us, and those depend on people coming and giving urine samples ... which are usually done in a normal, Monday-Friday schedule.  It takes a day for those samples to get here, so that is why most of the people in my main department work Tuesday-Saturday.

Data entry is boring, but at least I can listen to the radio while I do it.  Mondays are dependent on forms filled out on Sundays, and since most businesses aren't open on Sundays, there is relatively little data entry on Mondays.  So, as confirmed by my boss yesterday/Saturday, what usually happens is we go into the lab (the same lab I refused to go into to pad out the rest of my workday yesterday/Saturday) to process these other forms that ... well, I don't know when they come in, but my boss says that there is usually these types of forms to enter into the system in the lab on Mondays.  The rest of the day we go back out to the data entry department to enter the rest of the information from these "special" applications.

So the way he describes it, I'm sort-of terrified of what my Mondays will be like.  It's boring as hell in the lab; you cannot wear earphones while in there, although you can bring in a radio and blast it.  I have a satellite radio device, but I don't know if I can bring it in the lab.  If I can't, I have to rely on terrestrial radio, which is stultifying to listen to for four hours, or use my data and listen to Sirius XM over the phone, and that might drive me to my limit in no time flat.  I'm in a no-win situation there.

Also, I'm slow to do these forms, mostly because no one calls me out on it and I'm allowed to daydream.  I don't know if there is space for my pace to be scrutinized by higher-ups, but if so, I'll have to step to it, and I don't want to step to it.

Finally, my trepidation on working Mondays has an opportunity cost: What I lose by working Saturdays.  Take this Saturday, for example.  I am in ... let's just say I will be in the department where I am the only one.  I am left alone, no one is looking over my shoulder, I can work at my own pace, I can take breaks when I want, I can take my lunch nap whenever I want, and I can blast my satellite radio in there.  (Oh, and in that part of the building, my Sirius XM receiver has just about perfect reception; can't say that completely in data entry, and who knows if I can even get a signal if I'm stuck in the lab.)  If I'm working a Saturday there, it is just about bliss.  I usually am working in data entry, and it'll get mind-numbing to keep myself entertained (moreso when I get to the spring and summer when I can only listen to baseball), but even then, I don't truly mind it.  Plus, there's no traffic to fight on Saturdays, when there's all kinds of traffic to confront on Mondays.

The more I think about it, the more I am talking myself out of thinking this switch is a good idea.  Which brings me back to what I said about the "dominoes that fell."  See, that woman who left for New England had a filing job.  A supervisor in filing decided he no longer wanted to be a supervisor, so he took her job.  That left an opening for a supervisor, and a woman who has the same title as I finally decided that it was time to move up in rank, and she took that job.  Her job was Monday-Friday.  I'm taking over her schedule.  That naturally opened up my shift, Tuesday-Saturday.  And another guy who has the same job as I, who has a weird shift of 10-hour days from Saturday to Tuesday, is assuming my schedule.  (His four-day/ten-hours-per-day shift is probably going to be put in the classifieds.)

Do you see what I mean by dominoes falling?  It feels as though all of us are in an ordered chain, and so we all move up whenever a link is altered.  In other words, even though missing Saturdays this fall has been a pain in the ass, I felt kind of ... obligated to take this shift because it ... feels expected of me.  Otherwise, this four-day/ten-hours-per-day guy "leaps" over me to take Monday-Friday.  And he got hired after me.  (Well, he technically wasn't; he was laid off from this company even though he had spent many, many years there.)

So ... yeah, I don't know if this is the right decision.  I need to stay on these days for at least six months before I ask about doing something different.  Maybe this will grow on me.  Or maybe I will despise it so much that I'll ask the guy "behind" me if he wants to do Monday-Friday instead so I can re-take Tuesday-Saturday.  I hate the unknown and not knowing if I'm making the right decision.

Start Of The Grind/Suck

Alluded to this in this blog post, but it hasn't hit me until now.  Today, Sunday, is the first of many Sundays, for the time being, when I work.  This is the shift the girl who quit on Thursday usually has, and for now it is being split between me and one other person ... except that this other person is on vacation for a while and I will be doing the next two Sundays to start.

I'm going to ease myself into working Sundays starting with today.  I will be only in one department, and my main job is processing the folders of applications for tests that, somehow, were done the previous day, which is Saturday, which is not a workday.  There are several, so someone has to be there to do them.  The upside is is that there are only several, and I can get out of here as soon as they are all done, which usually takes, according to my bosses, two and four hours.  Seeing as I want to take in the State Fair while the weather is perfect -- and seeing that I didn't even remember telling my actual boss I was available to work today until this week -- I am going to try to get out of there ASAP.

Next week and onward is going to be different.  There actually was an exodus of workers that finished yesterday/Saturday.  Over the four departments I work in, four people have left over the past eight days.  The immediate impact, for me, is that I will need to help out in filing for the weekend, and since my workweek ends on Saturday, that means I come in for overtime on Sundays.  But I have to fill in on Sundays?, you may ask.  That's right!  So it looks as though, starting next week, I will come in at 7 to file.  (I had the option of choosing my work times, and already I'm regretting the time I said I would start.  Should talk to my boss about changing that.)  These folders that need to be processed come starting at 10, so around that time (I probably will take my break before then), I'll move out there to start keying and scanning and what not.  I might take lunch or not, but once those folders are all done, I have the option of moving back into filing for the rest of an eight-hour workday (though I would probably take my other break first).  And all of this is OT.

On top of all that, I have already mapped out for my boss the Sundays I'm available from now until the end of the year.  And because I want to be a team player, I gave my job all the Sundays when the Vikings are not at home for a game I would work at.  So, in other words, my Sundays from here on out are either going to be working at my main job or working Vikings broadcasts.  Or, in other words, working.  You know, this takes me back to the time when my parents worked at The Store.  Until they started having my uncle and I fill in for them, they never took a day off.  I get my ... industriousness? ... from them.

This all ends once the company finds people to fill in for the jobs and shifts I'm covering right now.  Or if the company finds people.  Yeah, more like "if."

The Three Things I Expect To Donate To Goodwill After I Blog Post This

1. Red bedsheet.  It's not torn or anything, it's just too big for my bed.
2. Sheer white bedsheet.  Also not torn, it's also just too big.
3. Off-yellow sheer pajama bottoms.  Parents probably gave them to me from an excess supply from The Store years, if not decades, ago.  In the right light, you could see through them -- they're that sheer.  I love them, especially in the summertime, but the elastic band just got worn out.

Phew! Potentially Dodged A Bullet From Mother

I could not do what I wanted to do last evening (most notably packing my things for my vacation this weekend) because, once again, Mother wanted me to do something that hijacked my entire evening.  (OK, maybe not; maybe if I just put my nose to the grindstone I could finish packing.  But why do that when I have a ready-made excuse?)

She said that she needed me to check up on a credit card bill I paid while they were gone on vacation.  She got another bill that showed that the previous month's bill was not paid, and therefore my parents were hit with a late fee and interest.  And the interest was going to be huge because the bill was in the thousands.

So I called.  I got spooked by a security question I was asked; I was going to talk about it because I felt humiliated, but it doesn't matter compared to what happened next.  I called a second time, got another person, and was told that I needed to call another department which, at that time, had an hour-long wait.  Once I told Mother, she, who was extremely bent out-of-shape over paying money she didn't think she should pay, decided not to wait and spent an hour in her office holding on the phone.

In the meantime I retreated back up to my bedroom.  But I still was able to hear Mother because her office is right below my bedroom.  I was also able to hear her because when she gets upset, my God, she becomes a bitch on wheels.  The yelling and anger I heard her spew on the poor representative who got her call was humiliating and, honestly, familiar.  Remember that when I grew up, I didn't really see her because she and Father worked at The Store from sun-up till sun-down.  All they did then was retreat downstairs and immediately take a shower together, whereby Mother would just bitch and bitch and bitch and bitch at Father for something.  And she did the exact same damn thing last night.

Customer service always seems to bug her.  She gets her dander up as a defense mechanism just so she won't get screwed over by people to whom she's giving money.  That is great when, for example, I needed to get my new car -- I mean, fuck car salesmen, they're dirty anyway, amirite?  I see myself in her whenever she is outraged at something that hits her checkbook.  I learned to yell because of her, to be quite frank.  Anyway, acting petty and juvenile over a late payment when the person on the other end of the line did nothing to impose a late fee and interest, is, to put it mildly, is unwarranted.  But she didn't care.  I don't know if she was screaming because she wanted someone to waive the late fee and interest or because she was really angry.  Probably both.  But eventually, another person (maybe it was the manager Mother demanded while on her tirade) got on the phone and gave her everything she wanted: A waiver of the late fee on the statement and interest that may have accrued in exchange for paying off the original charge right then and there.

Glad that is over.  And yet I could not help but look at her with complete disgust while this embarrassment was going on.  So what if she got what she wanted?  There were much better ways to prove that I paid on time.  Why couldn't she just give the rep on the phone the Confirmation Number I wrote down for her, precisely for cases such as this?  But that's not my retirement-age Mother's style.  No, she will raise fucking hell until she gets what she wants.  Raising her voice, making up lies, accusing the other person -- all to "prove" she was right.  And being on the other side of that often -- especially the accusations, which I hate about her -- confirms once again why my main relations with other women consists of money for sex.  Mother fucking ruined me.

Oh, here's the kicker: There's a chance, a very small chance, that this may have been my fault.  You see, while my parents were away, there was a bill I paid which I subsequently cancelled.  I remember that (did I blog about this?) because I needed to thumb through a checkbook in order to enter the account number online.  For this particular bill I found the checkbook Mother wanted me to use to pay.  But after I established the payment, I looked through the checkbook again and saw that, for some goddamn reason, there was another set of checks, from a completely different account (and therefore a completely different account number) within this checkbook.  I entered the wrong number, and so I needed to cancel that payment and set up another payment with the right number.

I am almost 100% sure that the bill for which I originally cancelled a payment I subsequently re-did.  In other words, there's almost no chance that I somehow overlooked paying this bill.  Not only could I not because I did pay attention, but 1) this was a huge bill that 2) Mother actually called home to tell me about.  On top of that, I got a Confirmation Number.  How could I cancel a payment after I wrote down its Confirmation Number?

Well, that's the thing.  Maybe ... I did set up a payment, realized I put in the wrong account to pay for that payment, cancelled it ... and that was it.  The poor phone rep who took My Fucking Mother's wrath insisted that someone (namely me) established a payment two days before the day I said I paid the bill, and then she said that that payment was cancelled, and there was no activity after that.  I really don't think that cancelled payment was the one I wrote down on the statement for Mother -- but am I 100% sure?  Don't tell Mother, but ... no.

Doesn't matter.  She berated the credit card company into removing the late fee and interest.  (After she got off the phone she cut up that credit card; knee-jerk reactions are another thing I learned from her.)  But I have to honest about one other thing: I am so, so glad she doesn't believe I screwed up.  During her call, she asked Father to ask me if I cancelled the payment.  I told him, and then her (after I went downstairs to her office and overheard the resolution to the call).  Now, I didn't completely lie to her.  I did cancel a payment, but I don't know if that is this payment, and even if it was, I am almost certain I replaced it with a good payment.  But am I completely certain?  No.

Mother believed me instead of the credit card company, however.  So don't bother Mother.  Let her believe those people are snakes.  And let me be at peace.

Damn Pharmacy Ninja

My Father asked me to get his refill of sleeping pills, even though he's out of the country and won't get them until he gets back here.  (He's a fucking addict.)  He demanded that I get them this week, but the day after I called it in, I was told by the pharmacist or the cashier in the pharmacy said that it was $151 because My Father's insurance would not pay for it.  That's odd; three months ago, in late August, My Father's insurance totally paid for it, to the point where the co-pay was less than three bucks.  The guy said I needed to come back with My Father's insurance information.  I left puzzled; he already has My Father's insurance information.

Because of that, uh, clash, I no longer believed he would help me, at least in a way that I would be satisfied with.  I just can't see how anyone would not be able to look up information voluntarily given to the pharmacy, and then applied to a drug regularly used by that customer, to cut the price down to its rightful amount unless, well, unless he didn't care.  And that is what I concluded with this guy: He didn't give a fuck, and so it would be useless to take my grievances back to him.

Told my parents about this.  If worst comes to worst, My Mother said, I could go into their room and find My Father's insurance cards.  I was hoping I would not need to employ such drastic means.  I figured I could just find the receipt for the pills I picked up in August and show them that the insurance information used then to knock down the price of My Father's sleeping pills to three bucks is information they still have, and since it's still 2018, there would be no reason for it to change or be rendered inaccurate.

I found that receipt, and on Black Friday I went to the pharmacy right after work.  But I had to case the joint for a bit because I really did not want to even see him working there.  If I did, I would walk right back out.  I'm serious -- this is how low I thought of his willingness to help me.

On Friday I was milling about, casing the joint.  I wanted to see if that guy was around without looking as though I was seeing if that guy was around.  And sure enough, while pretending to, uh, look up the price for Mucinex, I saw him, behind the counter, answering the phone like any pharmacist would.  Talking to him would be a waste of my time, I thought, so I promptly left.

---

Work was so slow yesterday (Saturday) that I was cut a half-hour early.  I thought about going back to the pharmacy Sunday to see if he was there (or if he works seven days a week like my parents did when they ran The Store), but getting off work early yesterday/Saturday compelled me to give it a shot after work.

Once again I cased the joint.  I casually looked around the pharmacy to see if he was there.  Behind the counter, all I saw was some girl working by herself.  I looked to my left, then to my right, and then I started approaching the counter as though I wanted to pick up a prescription.

But as the girl went to the counter and looked up the information she had to use to retrieve My Father's refill, from my left, outta fuckin' nowhere, was that guy, opening the door to get into the pharmacy.  WHERE IN THE FUCK DID HE COME FROM?!?!?!  I looked everywhere for, like, two minutes before sticking my neck out and talking about the good insurance on the meds.  Just as I thought the coast was clear and I could get a fresh face to take a lot at the situation, this damn pharmacy ninja fucks up my plans.  Quite literally, I must say; once I saw him enter, I turned my head, put the August sleeping pills receipt up to my mouth, and quietly uttered, "Fuck."

But by then the cat was out of the bag.  If I had just told the girl that I needed her to re-check the insurance information on those pills, and if he overheard all that, there's no reason to keep that a secret from him, too.  From them on I spoke to the guy who initially rejected me.  And you know what?  It looks as though he looked up My Father's insurance information again and used it on the pills.  And it applied -- the total went from almost $151 to just under $3.

So all's well that ends well.  That guy just corrected his mistake.  Shouldn't've made it in the first place, but whatevs.  All that's important is that I will get those pills when I remember to bring my folks' credit card.  But if that damn pharmacy ninja blindsides me again when I come in, I will take umbrage.  Believe me.

Expenses Without Receipt

Jesus fuck, I haven't done this one in over a month.  Starting from Wednesday, November 221:

• Back when my parents still had The Store, they would take regular but short vacations to Las Vegas.  That's when I would sneak out to My Favorite Stripclub (Cover Edition).  This being Dranksgiving, and remembering that I haven't seen my ATF in some time, I eschewed an invitation to a stripper party closer to my house and went.  I wouldn't've gone if she weren't there, but thank God this place has a website that regularly updates its roster.  I won't lie to you; she has gained some weight since the last time I saw her, and she's really, uh, fatter than the first time I've seen her.  But I want to be loyal to my ATF's, and her being there for upwards of a decade is a hell of an accomplishment, so I got 11 dances from her.  With cover (didn't get ramen to get a discount because the discount scantly covered the cost of the ramen), beer on Happy Hour and tips to only two other chicks (aside: a lot of the girls I saw were more plain-looking and were natural up top), the total came out to: $150.
• I then went to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Division) because, by the time I downed the last fried pickle at Hooters (ugh), there wasn't enough time to enjoy a stripper party.  So I went to the strip bar instead, where I got coffee, gave stage tips, and got a lapper from Barbie, who I hadn't seen in some time and thought had left the place.  I did not give a tip to Barbie and I did not get a lapdance from the other three girls working the last shift before Thanksgiving, so I shelled out a total of: $30.
• Oh, after getting an LD from Barbie, I saw some money at a chair close by.  The bar was scantly populated, so I moseyed on over, sat down on the money, and tried to suavely slip it into my pocket.  That was when Willow, another of the girls working that shift, invited herself over to say hi.  I told her I was behaving funny because I was partly stretching my bad back and partly farting.  Was that worth just one dollar?  Uh, maybe.  An Infusion of: $1.
• On Tuesday the 20th I went to see Widows.  Like I said, it is too big of a movie.  Ticket, popcorn and pop: $11.81.
• I still have not gone through my receipts yet for the month of October, so because I had Thursday off, I went to Caffetto on this Tuesday night to work.  Glad I did.  Had a discount I used: Two bucks off my large coffee and pumpkin cheesecake.  With tip and I had to pay just: $5.
• Monday, November 19 ... I went to the library to print out an Arby's coupon and copies of my parents' corporation: 30 cents.
• It amazes me that people continue to leave change in the copy machine coin register.  The two quarters I slid in slid back out, and in trying to fish them back so I could use them again, I found a third quarter.  Whoa.  So these copies only cost me five cents total.  Score!  An Infusion of: 25 cents.
• Sunday the 18th: Fucked ****e.  I wanted to sleep with her overnight, but she sleeps with the dogs in the living room.  Anyway, I could say a lot of things about her, but I'll just give out this one story: When she was preparing her big lunch (which has become a part of our day together), she promised that she would make me cum twice.  And she did!  Several hours after we fucked the first time, and after I took a log nap during football, she came in and said, "I'll give you a blowjob!"  And I wish I were more, uh, responsive, but she then let me rawdog her a second time that day, and I beat off and ejaculated all over her stomach a second time.  She didn't even ask for more money.  But I gave her an extra $20 because she fucked me twice!  You can't blame me, can you?  Total: $140.
• Back to Saturday, November 17 ... OK.  I popped into my alma mater's game-watching place on Tuesday because I need to tell the guys there what time it'll be on.  And to keep up relations, I figure that I should sit down and eat and drink there.  That's what I did this time around, like I did several times this season.  But this time I forgot my wallet.  I yanked it out because I charged a bunch of things online, and I just put my wallet on my dresser and didn't put it back in my pocket when going out.  So I apologized to the manager, and he said I could pay him back for the game Saturday.  I have no idea how to settle up in a situation like this.  And I didn't want to use money on this day because I decided this was a no-cash day.  But it was just so much easier if I just personally gave him the cash he used to pay for my bill.  So I did.  And I hope I remember this so I don't forget my wallet again.  With tip the EWR was: $19.
• On Friday the 16th I went to the University of Minnesota men's hockey game vs. St. Lawrence.  Scalped a ticket from my guy for the first time in a long time.  He's one of those guys where I am totally satisfied with our relationship at the level that it is.  That ticket plus a program, a hot dog, and a medium Coke came out to: $27.50.
• I then wanted to go to Glam Doll, a place I hadn't been to in weeks.  But when I got there, they were closed.  Apparently they sold out all their donuts.  Hadn't ever seen them do that by 10 o'clock, however, and that makes me wonder.  Regardless, that turned my night into a wandering one.  Walking up and down Lyndale, I had no idea where I wanted go.  Finally, I went to The Leaning Tower of Pizza, a place I had been to only once before.  Thankfully they had a late Happy Hour, so I took them up on a break on a buck off an Angry Orchard, a break on mozzarella sticks and four (?) bucks on a slice of pepperoni pizza.  With tip: $17.
• Thursday, November 15: There was a house party, and I don't remember the last time I went to one.  Plus there were several girls there that I hadn't gotten freaky with in a while.  I decided I was going to get there early and not dawdle.  I knew that some strippers just wouldn't get there early, but I was OK with that because it would filter out the girls I would feel obligated to do something with.  I took the host, ******a, to the back, where I was too flaccid and had to jerk myself off (man, I am being totally honest).  I got lappers from everyone else who was dressed by the time I left.  And I took so many shots of Fireball that I was dangerously tipsy.  But I still showed my dick to one girl I wanted to for a long time, and I took myself out and showed it to another girl while walking with *****a to a bed and away from her.  Cover, tip for the host's sister, bedroom fee, *****a, lapper with Evette (who did not see my dick) and lappers with ***i and ****y (the two girls who did see it), I spent a lot of money, like: $230.
• On Wednesday the 14th I went to a movie.  I know, Wednesdays aren't movie days.  But I had not seen a good movie in weeks, I was tired of that, and Can You Ever Forgive Me? was playing, but at the Heights, which is a great old movie theater I hadn't been to in a while.  Good movie, but Melissa McCarthy can act.  Ticket, popcorn, pop and tip: $16.50.
• Went to Caffetto afterward.  Pumpkin pie, small coffee, and tip: $6.
• Then I went to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Version), where I kind of splurged and got lap dances from not one but two strippers, Tanya and Marie.  Don't remember the last time I did that.  Not like I minded.  With tips and coffee: $51.
• Back to Monday, November 12, when I went to the U. men's basketball game (with a ticket I bought at the Minnesota State Fair).  This team, I think, is a good team.  Program, souvenir-sized Coke and hot dog: $13.50.
• Sunday the 11th -- had ***e* come over to rake more leaves ... and to give me a handjob.  It's been a long time since she wanked me.  Grand total for those two tasks: $220.
• Before ***e* came over, I texted her if she wanted any food.  She actually said yes, and even though I got KFC for myself, I went to Chipotle to get a burrito bowl for her and chips and guacamole for me.  Charged this meal, but I threw in a tip: $1.
• To Friday, November 9, when I went to the U. women's basketball game (with a ticket I bought at the Minnesota State Fair).  This was Lindsay Whalen's first game as Head Coach, and I was kind of surprised they kicked ass.  Program and medium Coke only because, to celebrate Whalen, they were offering free Domino's.  I took three slices!  Total spent: $7.
• Keep going back to Wednesday the 7th, where I once again went downtown to tell my bar what time our game is.  But first, a trip My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Division).  Jade was there.  She demands five bucks at the stage every time.  I never will do that, but I tried that with other girls and one of them totally got pissed at me, so I figured that I would make it up to her by getting a lapper from her.  She's good, but I can't give her $20 every time she's there, you know?  With tips and coffee I shelled out: $30.
• Then went to my bar downtown.  Think I only got a Coke and soup this time.  With tip: $9.
• Tuesday the 6th was Election Day.  Saw on Facebook that Bauhaus was having an Election party, and unlike 2016, where I was happily going to the Herkimer, only to see too many states going red, I was happy seeing the projection that Democrats took the House.  The beer was a buck off.  Got a pint of that and a pint of root beer, too.  With tips for each drink: $8.
• On Monday the 5th I went downtown to take up The Local's Sunday/Monday deal of a burger & beer for ten bucks (while watching EPL) and getting my shoes shined.  I got those shoes shined after the soccer match because Lisa extended her hours, which she was able to do because her daughter moved off for college.  She gave me a break on polishing my Doc's -- half-off.  Buddha bless her.  I gave her my customary five bucks' tip anyway, thereby making the total for the shoeshine just: $10.
• Sunday the 4th ... after the Vikings game, went to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Division), per usual.  Cicily is still there, and still hot, and since I hadn't seen her in a long time, got an LD from her.  With coffee and tips and the total was, I think: $33.
• On Friday, November 2 (I think), I hired ***e* over to rake my leaves -- and to just rake my leaves -- for the first time.  I realize now that I spent the same amount on her this time as I did the next time, and that next time was with an HJ.  I guess I can justify it by saying that I had her do both the front and back yards and fill up the remaining bags with leaves enshrouded in snow because it had snowed around that time and it was still cold.  And hell, I love ***e*.  Gave her: $220.
• Shit, now I have to do the October.  OK ... Halloween ... Went to Hooters to see all the babes in costumes.  Only two of them were wearing slutty stuff showing their tummies.  Used my October coupon from the calendar.  With tip it came to: $25.50.
• Afterwards I went to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Version) to see hot women get out of their costumes.  Willow was dressed up as a sexy circus ringleader.  Nice!  Lapdance with her, Sprite and tips, and I think it summed to: $32.
• OK, so the next EWR goes all the way back to Saturday, October 20.  Was able to leave early from work to get to this alumni event downtown.  I was able to get free valet -- but of course I had to tip.  I wonder if I tipped too much: $5.
• After my alma mater's game, I went to, yep, My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Edition), where I got a lapper, finally, from JJ.  With coffee and tips, where my trip was a relatively short one, from the amount I spent: $28.
• Friday the 19th ... because of this alumni event I got a haircut from Great Clips.  Charged the cut, Update on 10:06 p.m. on November 22 that I actually paid cash and I have the receipt for the cut, so just ignore the cut; but the tip was cash and receipt-less: $3.
• Thursday, October 18 was the last home game for the U. soccer team.  Went to see a win.  Hot dog, Coke, program: $11.50.
• Wednesday the 17th: Oh, I got wanked by ******e on this date!  This seems so long ago.  Later that night I saw my basement flooded because my humidifier started leaking.  That may have been an omen to not bring her here ever again.  But her HJ skills are awesome ... even though she is kind of weird.  I first thought I would be spending only $120, but then she told me I had to pay her to drive up here, and then she wanted a tip because she was going to blow my mind.  Hey, her wanking skills are really good, but mind-blowing?  C'mon: $150.
• On Monday the 15th I did something I want to do more of on Mondays off: Go to a well-regarded restaurant.  After I went to see Grandmother's best friend, I went up to Edina and ate at Red Wagon Pizza.  The small pizza is expensive; so was the beer.  But it was good, and I am better for going.  I think.  Total with tip: $35.
• Sunday, October 14 ... after the Vikings game I went to, you guessed it, My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Division).  Ruby is a unique person -- plain-looking, but really smart and curious, and a great person to have a conversation with.  Got a lap dance from her, and I should do so again in the future.  With tips and coffee and it all came out to: $32.
• Was able to hit our local mom-and-pop grocery store before it closed.  Got bread for sandwiches and peanut butter-and-jelly.  Also got lottery tickets when both Mega Millions and the Powerball had crazy jackpots.  Man, those were the fuckin' days, man.  You know how much money I spent on lottery tickets, for myself and for my family?  I don't!  I usually am given a receipt at this place, but I didn't get one.  At least I remembered: $30.49.

Christ, I have to stay on this regular blog post more frequently!  Good through November 21.

RIP, My Favorite Late Night Italian Place

Got the news from my friend, who goes there every Saturday, that My Favorite Late Night Italian Place just got sold.

Oh wait ... have I told you yet about the Late Night Italian Place being up for sale?  Shoot, I don't think I have, have I?

Yeah, I had reduced the times I've gone here to about once a month, if that, because my parents stayed in Minnesota through the winter and so I didn't have to eat there because I was eating at home.  I was just driving by it many months ago when I saw this huge "For Sale" sign on the grass.  I nearly drove my car into a ditch.

The few times I subsequently popped in there I didn't really address the elephant in the room.  Well, I take that back.  I think the first time I was able to eat there I talked to the owner of the place.  I think she's there every day, just like my parents with The Store.  She was matter-of-fact about it -- "Yeah, I put it up for sale -- let's see if someone wants it."

She spoke a little longer about it when I ate there almost a month ago.  She's tired and wants to retire.  I told her that it is kind of a shock to me, and I liken this to when my folks decided they wanted to quit The Store.  At first I was furious that they would do such a thing because, in my selfish, juvenile and ridiculous mind, that is how I'd always known them to be, and they would be betraying my image of them if they just quit, even though they're old and of course you're supposed to quit at that age.  It took me several years to accept it, but now I understand.

As I am beginning to understand with her, someone who's always been hospitable to me.  She let me stay there for hours on weekend nights.  While other people were partying and drinking, introverted me sought refuge there.  Since nobody sat down to eat that late at night (they did most of their business delivering) I had the place to myself.  I nearly always had my table, the one closest to the power strip so I could plug my laptop in and surf the Internet while eating pizza or hamburgers or chicken or one of their many pasta dishes, especially the fettucine alfredo, which I have gravitated toward within the past year or so because My Favorite Late Night Italian Place has these coupons for pasta dishes for $7.50.  I spent many a Friday and Saturday night "living it up" while eating, watching sports and being on the Internet until they closed on weekends at 2:30 in the morning.

With all the security and hospitality she's given me, it'd be unfair to be angry with her now that she decided she no longer wanted to own and work there.  She's earned her rest.  How can I be mad?

My friend, who I met because he always goes there on Friday nights, said she sold the place to a couple.  Guess they're now pursuing their dream of owning their own restaurant.  The American Dream is passed onto another, the way it should be.  And yet ... well, you know, restaurants aren't always the same under new ownership.  In fact, they usually aren't.  Not that I'm upset with that either.  The owner owns the restaurant, he/she/they have a right to run it however they want, and in fact it would make sense for these two to redo the menu because they'll be the ones cooking it.  But will I have the rapport with that couple the way I did with this owner?  Will they let me just veg out in front of the TV for two or three hours?  I don't know, and it's that initial trepidation that makes me start to think I'll have to look for another late-night place to sit in when I want to feel like I'm going out when I'm really not.  Either I look for another place, or I will realize that I won't have My Favorite Late Night Italian Place anymore.

At any case the change is coming quick.  The owner's last day as owner is Sunday.  I wonder if it's going to be packed.  If not, I want to sit and eat there one final time.  If it is, I'll pop in and say goodbye.

RIP.  Maybe I'll see you again soon.

So It Is True, Mother

The housing market has been hot for the past couple of years.  I've seen it in the news, and I can't help but look around me and see several properties on my street with "For Sale" signs up on the front yard, followed extremely quickly by "SOLD" signs.  So it wasn't too much of a leap of faith to know that, deep down inside, my parents want to sell this house, too.

It's obvious why.  If this house gets on the market, chances are it'll sell within the day.  I guarantee it.  Plus they'll get a fortune, especially compared to how much they paid for it back 40 some-odd years ago.  They have no more ties to the area.  They sold The Store, and even though there are relatives very close by, my folks never talk to them.  They are in the process of selling all the rental properties they acquired in the area; they say that the bureaucracy with the city of Minneapolis got to be too much for them.  They do, however, still have their real estate in Las Vegas, and they are quite intent on being there a lot more throughout the year, if not full-time.

They are empty nesters, but unlike some, they don't seem to be heart-broken that my brother, sister and Grandmother have moved out.  It's just me.  I am the sole impediment to their plan.  Yet I am the impediment that is blocking the plan.  Even though my parents bought this house and thus were cognizant that it was under the ownership of someone else before them, for all I know, this house has always been ours.  And goddammit, it'll remain so as long as I have any say in it.  I can't bear seeing myself living somewhere else besides the only place I've ever known.  I certainly can't afford to live out on my own.  Not like I want to, either.  It's like The Store; if there ever comes a time that I will have to leave this place, it'll be like a piece of my died.  And frankly, I can't take any more change or stress if I have to move.  And my God, the moving!!!

Still, if they can sell The Store and evict Grandmother, giving away the house would have to be next on their to-do list.  I just assumed that, and was OK keeping that sentiment unspoken.  But it kind of erupted yesterday (Sunday) morning.

This weekend I was a participant in a research study at the U.  I had to wake up and get to the tube at 8 both weekend days.  However I did not tell my parents that.  There truly was a possibility that a person from the alumni group needed my help moving out of her place this weekend.  It did not come to be; she decided to hire movers instead.  But considering the blow-up My Fucking Father had on me, I decided to tell them that the reason I was busy this weekend (and the reason I had to wake up so early Saturday and Sunday) was to help her move.  I was going to help her Friday and Saturday evenings, too; that way I could sneak out to parties on the former night and head downtown to watch the Frozen Four Final the latter.

Sunday morning I am leaving.  Both parental units are in the dining room.  They ask me what time I'll be home for dinner: "Six?  So late?" Mother said.  "Well, we're not done moving yet," I replied.

And then Mother scooted to the top of the stairs and dropped the bomb on me.  "Hey, ask her if she's selling the house.  I want to buy it, sell this house and move you there.  How's about that?"

So it is true, Mother.  You want me out of the house so you can sell it.  That was the point -- yesterday morning -- when I know for absolute certain that I was blocking their dreams of getting rid of their past.  My past, my childhood, just so they can make a buck.  And while I understand it, by Buddha, I was totally unprepared for the psychosomatic punch to the gut I felt.  I didn't even hide it; I was nearly crying when I stammered out, "But I like living here!" before I staggered my way out to the car.

(I will say this.  There is a chance this is a sentiment prompted by Mother.  Saturday a new family moved into the house to the left of us.  And ... ah, shit, my parents are racist: They're a black family [possibly West Indian] and they think that means the neighborhood's going to shit.  Maybe that's why she said she wanted to move.  But I still think they've wanted to move in order to cash in for a long time.)

Honestly, I was as close to suffering a heart attack all day as I ever have in my life.  I parked in Rosedale just so I could recuperate and think of a story about what to tell her, and to just ... deal with the fact that they want to move out and want me to move out too.  It's not fun knowing that I am the loser/asshole son standing in the way of their dreams and plans.  But ... fuck, I CAN'T MOVE OUT!!!  I CAN'T LIVE OUT THERE IN THE REAL WORLD BY MYSELF!!!  MOTHER SAID THAT SHE'D HELP WITH THE DOWN PAYMENT ON ANY NEW HOUSE, BUT WHAT ABOUT THE MORTGAGE PAYMENTS???  I CAN'T PAY THAT ON JUST MY TEMP SCORING JOB!!!  AND WHAT HAPPENS IF I LOSE THAT, TOO?!?!?!

I'm 41 years old and I still haven't moved out.  And while I really don't want to move out, it's time like yesterday morning where I'm acutely aware that I am not like other people.  I know that people my age have established jobs and are raising families.  That's not me, and I know it's way too late to start.  And so I know that I have become such a burden on my parents that they no longer know what to do with me.  They probably think they failed raising me.  And ... well, they have, it's times like these where I examine what is wrong with me.  All I know, and all I have ever expected out of life, is to go to sleep in a safe place and wake up in a safe place and just ... be, you know?  I get mad a lot, but so long as I have this place to call home, I think I'm doing OK.  So without it, regardless of financial situation or want to do something more or live somewhere else, is a huge and indelible part of my life.  And it's a hallmark symptom of my abandonment issues that I can't just move on and do something else and leave here because I don't know where I'd be.

---

My heart was palpitating to the point of bursting all day.  I finally had to face the music -- and get my lie straight -- and come home.  And I told Mother that I asked "my friend" about the house and she said that her ex-husband got it in the divorce proceedings and that's why she's moving.  And ... that seemed to be the end of it with her.

And so my heart is beating a little more normal now, and my parents and I are back where we were -- in a standoff, them being weighed down by me until I get my shit together.  Except that I know that I will forever be unable to get my shit together, because I am a disappointing son.

It Is Mourning In America

Well, shit, it's happening.  Donald Trump will be installed -- with the help of Russian hacking, voter suppression, sexism, racism and four decades of greedy, selfish intransigence by asshole Republicans, the true scum of the earth -- as the next President Of The United States today (Friday).  And those factors also allowed those same asshole Republicans to control the House, the Senate, the Supreme Court, many governorships and the vast majority of the country's state houses.

I'm kind of numb over this Republican cancer that is about to spread all over the country.  And even though I can't overtly say it's changed me, it has changed me, in subtle ways.  For one thing, I can't watch or listen to the news anymore.  I used to listen to National Public Radio all the time while driving.  But after Election Day, ugh, I started listening to The Current more.  It's not like I feel betrayed by NPR; like I've said, The Media has largely done its job.  I just didn't want to hear any news from that ass clown Trump, and I still don't.  And whenever I come home early enough to catch the national news, if the anchors introduce a piece about that piece of shit, I immediately change the channel, no matter what my parents want.  I think I will feel that way for a long, long time.

Yes, I am scared about what is going to happen next.  Once again, we correct-minded people should not be scared just of Trump, but also the people he putatively agrees with as a political party.  They control all the levers of power now, and unless Trump decides to be a real loose cannon and turn on his fellow Republicans -- and if he can then marshal his populism against the machinery he used and then took over -- people with true hate in their hearts are going to be running this country, and running it into the ground.  Already Republicans and Trump are about to cut massive amounts of the national budget.  The cruelty behind that move sickens me.

---

I remember eight years ago, back in 2009, when Barack Obama was going to be sworn in.  When he was elected President, I texted congratulations to the only black friend I had at the time.

I also remember being home the afternoon of January 20, knowing that I will indeed be witnessing history.  I was home and not getting hounded by my parents, who still had The Store at the time, because my "job" was taking care of Grandmother.

We were out in the living room.  I had the TV on; Grandmother was reading or something.  I wanted to watch it out there with her because I thought she would want to see this too.

Meanwhile I had my computer turned on.  Slate told me that they were going to follow the Inauguration in real time with this new ... er, function I had heard a little about at the time: Twitter.  I didn't know how I would use it for myself, but I thought Slate did a fantastic job with it.

I also remember Chief Justice John Roberts screwing up the oath.  I knew even then that people would want to luxuriate in that entire oath, the Chief Justice stating and the first black President Of The United States repeating, but that couldn't happen since Roberts effed it up.  I also remember the pastor at the Inauguration invoking a prayer that was awesome.

Things were much simpler back then.  Better, too.

---

I'm dressing in a black suit for work.  There's a funeral today, after all, and I have to dress up.

This guy saw me dressed all dapper and asked if I had an interview.  That's the lie I'm making up for my parents in case they see me dressed in this.  I really wanted to say that I'm all in black because America dies today, but I didn't want him to think less of me, so I stammered out some BS about just wanting to be weird and be the opposite of Casual Friday, which is not in effect at work right now because we're being allowed to dress casually every day through February.  And when I had my daily morning meeting with a bunch of guys I have decided are Republican, I made up another lie about wanting to see if this dress shirt and suit still fit me.  (It does, by the way, although I have to suck my gut in.)  Wish I could tell the truth about why I'm dressed like this, but you guys know.

#TheResistance

Life With A Single Mother Is Mostly Great

Mother has been home for more than a month now.  I always thought that my parents were inseparable.  They went to The Store together, and they went home together.  When they started to enjoy life, they took vacations together.  And now they are retired and travelling the world together.  So, when they were done wintering in Vegas, I assumed they were coming home together, like they did last year, like they did whenever they had trips out to Las Vegas.  But she surprised me when she said Father was staying in Vegas, at least for a while.

It's been a month now, and I have to say that living with Mother alone is a hell of a lot different than living with both parents again, or what I imagine living with Father alone must be like.  On the whole I think I have lost more than I gained.  I can't strew my clothes about just anywhere with her here.  I also can't sleep in my sister's bed, nor can I masturbate everywhere around the house.

But it hasn't been all bad.  For one thing -- the obvious thing -- I get to have a more-than-decent meal cooked by Mother every night.  Not only is it damn nourishing, it is also free.  But more than that, the constant nagging I thought was shared by both parental units has largely been kept to a minimum.  Mother still gets to arguing on some things; for example, just after dinner last (Wednesday) night she told me the bag of leaves were supposed to go in the trash and not the recycling bin when we both know that that bag should be sent to the compost site.  But there has been little talk of the bullshit that has permanently struck a wedge between me and My Fucking Father: No cleaning up my room, no when are you going to go back to school, no when are you going to find a girlfriend, no why don't you set up a schedule.

It appears, then, that the condescension and the bitter fusillades against me and where my life has been and where it's going is confined to Daddy.  I think Mother wants me to get on with my life too, but I think that she has not been nagging on me ever since she got home because 1) she knows how it affects me; 2) she sees how I react with My Fucking Father gets on me on one of those things; and 3) she might not care.  All she has been is ... there.  And you know, that actually is kind of nice.  Funny to remember her growing up as the mean parent.  Now, I think how she is treating me as unconditional love, which is something I've never had before.

Alas, I think it's about to end soon.  Really I've been holding my breath ever since I realized that living with just Mother was going to be OK, because I knew that that "dream" was going to end.  It hasn't happened for a month, but I suspect that's because the weather here has been fairly cold and dodgy, and he was just sick of that shit.  But as of yesterday (Wednesday) it has really warmed up and it appears as though the days of nights below freezing are finally behind us.  That means the weather here is warm enough for him to come back.  And that means that all the nagging and lecturing and fucking questions will come back too.  Oh, and I'll have to mind what I throw on the floor of my bedroom, also.  Fucking Christ.

Oh, one other thing: Mother last (Wednesday) night teased me about showering before or after I do the laundry: "You can't be wondering if and when you shower once your father gets home!"  First of all, I don't give a flying fuck what he thinks about me showering or not showering, and he can squawk about that as much as he wants.  But the main issue I have with her "wait until your father gets home!" threat is that Mother, after being such an imperious figure in my life to the point she ruined me for all other women, showed once again that ultimately she will enslave herself to the patriarchy and defer all potential "punishments" to the motherfucking man of the household.  If I knew before, oh, I left for college that she really was nothing but a coward at heart, I wouldn't have been so afraid of her.  Saying that, I really hate that she said that.  I mean, fuck Father.

Stuff I'm Giving To Goodwill Today And Why

• Dark blue jeans, 30x30,  from this label called Northwest Blue, which (and I just looked this up) is a generic brand for Sierra Trading Post.  This is one of those pieces of clothing Father buys for me on occasion.  I know I wore them at least a few times, but when it was its turn in my pants rotation, I couldn't button it because the waist was so tight.  Maybe this is an indication I need to lose weight, but I seem to recall that there was one week where the pants I was wearing was so tight that my abdomen really started to hurt.  I am guessing those were these jeans.  Nothing wrong with them, although they are a bit out-of-fashion, they just don't fit me anymore.
• Khaki/Beige shorts, 30 waist, "Hudson" kind, from the Gap.  Also nothing wrong with them, no rips or holes or anything, but they too became too small for me.
• This black-and-white-checkered pajama pants from Croft & Barrow, another piece of clothing my parents bought for me.  Have to throw these away because the elastic band has become old and unelastic.  I stretch it out and I hear the waistband crunch, you know?
• The light grey BVD sweatpants; it's supposed to tighten with the white string loop in the front.  In the ass part there are several small holes and the fabric back there is thin enough where you can readily see through it if you put it up to the light.
• These blue silk pajama pants with the psychedelic patterns on it.  I think my folks got it from The Store.  Love these pants, especially when it gets hot in the summer.  But it was getting too small for me, plus there's a huge hole around the from-under-crotch area.
• Pair of black socks that have huge holes at the heels.
• Pair of white socks that have huge holes at the heels.

Penthouse Magazine, No More? Well, I Can See That

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