Should I See Her?

With my parents now gone, I feel free to see my All-Time Favorite at My Favorite Stripclub (Cover Division).  I tell her on Sunday I want to see her this week.

Big mistake now that these fuckers are trying to push us around.  I started to see videos on websites, applications, social media and the news about people getting kidnapped by faceless thugs, who then push and teargas onlookers, protestors and patriots trying to film their illegal kidnappings.  And I have heard that these motherfuckers have been on my street the past couple days.

So yeah, I'm freaking out.  I don't know if I should be out and about these days.  And I told my ATF so, apologizing for possibly changing my mind.  But I thought about this too: If I am afraid these assholes are going door to door ... do I feel safe at home?  If so, should I be home?  Could I, in fact, be safer somewhere besides my house?  (I realized when I was working yesterday/Monday that I, to my astonishment, felt safer there than I have felt the past several days.)  If that's the case, would it be better for me to go to the strip club?  I know it's bad odds, but maybe I will be out on a night where these assholes are invading our street.

I've been looking up a website that tracks this vermin wherever they go and whatever they do, whether it's detaining some poor guy who got caught up at the wrong place at the wrong time or if they're just eating shit at some gas station.  No doubt they're here, and they have been extremely close in the area.  So I am looking at how frequently they are where I need to be and would like to go (work, strip club, parks, where I exercise) and see, over the next couple days, if it's safe or not.  (One observation I have made: These pricks are avoiding both downtowns, at least for now.)  And still I know it's a crapshoot that wherever I go and whatever I do, I still might get attacked.

When I told her I am having second thoughts, she said, "Do what you think is best for you."  I am sad that she sounds disappointed.  I hope she understands what I'm going through.  But when I told her why I was hesitating, she asked, "Do you think you look like what they're looking for?"  And I am disappointed that she doesn't appear to think that what is happening to other people of color could happen to me.  That "First They Came" poem?  I hope she read it.

Shit, I might just give her the poem when I see her this week.

What I'm Doing This Christmas Weekend; Christmas Song Review

It's not going to be much of a Christmas holiday for me.  I'm working today/Thursday/Christmas, and then, instead of just vegging at home, I've decided I am going to a few Hockey World Juniors Games, on Friday and Sunday.  I need to stand by my principle that I should go to things that might not come around here for a long time, and the Hockey World Juniors might not be in the Twin Cities ever again, at least not in my lifetime.  In fact, I changed my mind and bought tickets to not one but both Group Stage Games tomorrow/Friday at Mariucci.  I was going to go to Hooters at MOA after the afternoon Game, but as far as I know, Hooters will be around in 2026; the World Juniors will not.  I just need to figure out what I'm going to do inbetween Games.  Oh, and even though there are Games on Saturday, that's when I figure I'll just sleep in.  That's my time to relax for Christmas.

---

Before I delve into this Christmas' Christmas song, I have to apologize for doubling up.  I was looking through past Christmas song reviews and didn't realize that I wrote about Brenda Lee's "Rockin' Around The Christmas Tree" twice, last year and in 2019.  I don't know how I forgot I did it twice.  Sorry.  I will do better and check beforehand.

My Christmas song for 2025 is a challenging one because it's not originally a Christmas song.  It's "My Favorite Things," from the musical The Sound Of Music.  I'm still trying to understand how it accreted its Christmas meaning after it was made, but let me go through the chronology as I understand it.  I'm using articles from Mental Floss, Billboard, and Wikipedia (two articles) to research this.

The Sound Of Music first appeared on Broadway in 1959, with the song showing up in Act I, completely devoid of its current meaning.  The cast album was released that year and topped the Billboard charts for 16 weeks, then stayed in the Top 10 for the next two years.  Now here's where it gets weird: Julie Andrews, who plays the main character of Maria in the film adaptation of The Sound Of Music, performed "My Favorite Things" on a variety show on CBS called The Garry Moore Show at Christmastime in 1961.  Note that Andrews has no connection with the original stage version of The Sound Of Music.  She was eventually cast as Maria for the film version, but that was made in 1964 and released in 1965.  According to Wikipedia, a man by the name of Ernest Lehman was hired to write the screenplay in December of 1962.

It looks as though the "Christmasifying" (I'm taking that word from the Mental Floss article) of "My Favorite Things" came in 1964 due to, ironically enough, the film version of The Sound Of Music.  The music publishing division of the The Rodgers & Hammerstein Organization (Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein II wrote the music and lyrics for the stage musical, their last together before Hammerstein died of stomach cancer in August 1960) knew the film adaptation was going to be released in March 1965.  It was being marketed as a tentpole movie (it would go on to win five Oscars, including Best Picture), but that publishing division wanted a song from that movie to become a hit before the movie came out, otherwise they were afraid the movie wouldn't make any money.

Someone from the Rodgers & Hammerstein Organization went to a music producer named Mickey Kapp to see if there was a way to get a song from The Sound Of Music into any album Kapp was producing.  He told the representative that he was currently producing a Christmas album for a singer named Jack Jones; Jones, who died in October 2024, sang the theme song to The Love Boat, by the way.  This rep thought that "My Favorite Things" would be a good song for Jones to sing and for Kapp to add to the album, which is called The Jack Jones Christmas Album.

But why "My Favorite Things" for a Christmas album?  Well, that's where you listen to the song and note all the references to winter and Christmas, or at least references that lend themselves to the season and the holiday if you imagine big enough: "Warm woolen mittens"; "Brown paper packages tied up with strings"; "Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes"; etc.  Who knows if Rodgers & Hammerstein picked up on the Christmas allusions when they wrote the song.  But Kapp, sticking to the original context of "My Favorite Things," said it wasn't a good idea to put it on a Christmas album because it wasn't a Christmas song.  To which this promoter said, "Just add sleigh bells."

Well, Kapp did add sleigh bells, and Jones sang the song, and "My Favorite Things" was put into The Jack Jones Christmas Album, and ... it looks like it didn't become a hit, nor could people directly credit that song for people buying tickets to The Sound Of Music, the movie.  But people in the music industry apparently saw "My Favorite Things" as a Christmas song then, and thought it was good, because from then on other artists did their own version of "My Favorite Things" for their Christmas albums, and it then became the standard holiday song it is now.

But I'm not going for Jack Jones's or Julie Andrews's or even the original version of "My Favorite Things."  I love, and I mean love, John Coltrane's cover of it.  It swings so effortlessly, and my Buddha, his playing after the verses lifts me up to the sky.  I shouldn't leave out McCoy Tyner; his revolutionary piano playing on the song is a heaven-sent complement to Trane's virtuosity.  Only in the past year or so have I realized I now have a song that makes me feel happy every time I hear it.

And here's the ironic part of that: The album "My Favorite Things" is on (and the album is named after the song) was released in March 1961 -- a couple years after the stage musical premiered and almost four years before Mickey Kapp and Jack Jones put it on a Christmas album.  It wasn't a Christmas song when Coltrane recorded it, and yet you hear it come Christmastime.  I can't call this "retconning," short for retroactive continuity, but maybe this phenomenon could be called, uh, retroactive meaning-making ... or something?

OK, maybe not.  But here's John Coltrane doing "My Favorite Things."  Get happy, and Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays:

The Pains Of Being A Leader

So I organize a Game-watching event for my alma mater's football team.  For the past decade or so, we have, for the most part, congregated at this bar in downtown Minneapolis.  I think things could be better, but for the most part, I like it there.  It's centrally located and, I have to admit, many of the servers there are total babes.  Besides, someone else found this place, and I decided we would just keep going there because we have built so much familiarity and trust.  Well, that or inertia.  Possibly both.

I think we have been treated well by this place over the years.  That's why our group keeps coming back.  Of that group, we have about half a dozen or so who are diehards, those who have been to most of my Game-watching events going back many, many years.  I love them because I get to see them throughout the fall.  I would have no reason to do this if they didn't continue to show up.  So, if and when they have a concern, it would be my duty to listen and consider their grievances.

So, a couple weeks ago our alma mater's Game was on a Saturday night.  It was getting busy, but we found a table.  One of my regulars -- and seriously, this has been the group's A1 from day one -- comes in.  He's been under the weather lately, but he still managed to show up to root not only for our alma mater by also for The Los Angeles Dodgers, of whom he has been a lifelong fan.

Like I said, it got busy.  Not a big deal for a Saturday night, at least in my estimation.  After about five minutes my friend leans into me and says, "You know, I think I'm going to be leaving soon because the waitress is pissing me off."  Whoa.  He's never said that before.  Maybe things were going to blow over because we found a table closer to a TV that would show our Game, but after we scrambled to that table, he decided to leave.  He had a Dodgers hat on; he was planning on staying several hours to watch our football team and the Dodgers.  But he left maybe 15 minutes after he came.

Later that evening, after both the Dodgers and our football team won, I texted him.  I apologized if him leaving early was my fault.  It wasn't, he said, but it was the servers, two of them.  First, and one of the other regulars noticed this when I kind of brushed it off: One of the waitresses told my friend he should not be using a high chair he took from another table because a low one was available at our first table, but my friend's health issues get exacerbated when sitting too low.  There might have been an issue regarding the possibility that this low chair was underneath our first table, so maybe the server didn't know my friend couldn't see it.  Second, another waitress wanted us to wait to get onto this second table until she cleared all the dishes and glasses and wiped it down.  I think that's fine; in fact, I think that is what servers are supposed to do.  But the way my friend put it in his text to me, that was the final straw.  He felt disrespected twice, and so he split.

He was planning not to join us for our team's previous Game because that was on a Friday.  But they're back on Saturdays now, and so I would expect him to come.  But will he?  I wanted to ask him earlier in the week, but I got so busy ... well, to be honest, I have been thinking up the right words to say.  Look, I have left restaurants and bars before because I felt disrespected.  If you feel that way, go up and leave.  You should.  The problem is is that if you feel that way, you never go back to that place.  But that would mean, for me, that my good, good friend, and he's a real good guy, is never joining us for these Game-watching events ever again -- unless I change the venue.  And I am loathe to change our venue.  Sure, it would be nice to have the sound on.  There is a school with a bigger alumni group that literally takes over the bar when their Game is on, forcing us to one table or even to another place.  And maybe going downtown is a deterrent.  But it is such a pain in the you-know-what to patronize a brand-new bar that won't push us aside for a bigger alumni group.  As many disadvantages we've had to put up with, the equity we have built over the years is, to me, still worth staying at this place.  And, finally, I would like to think the slights my friend felt are not so serious enough to not go back.  But that's my perspective, not his, and as a leader, I feel like I have to take his considerations into account seriously.

So, what to do?  I need to text him to ask if he's coming.  Hopefully he'll say he'll give the place another chance.  But if he doesn't want to come back ... well, I don't want to change the place just because he's no longer comfortable going there.  Sure, you can call it laziness, but I don't have the energy to find another sports bar, I just don't.  Does that make me a bad leader if I make the decision to stay?  Maybe, but I can't see myself doing anything else.  So it's my friend or the bar.  And I can't decide.

Sucks being a leader.

I've been so busy with work and taking care of Mother and my sister being in town that I have yet to follow up with my clinic about the blood tests I took and the referral for physical therapy.  I've been meaning to do it, but I've been sidetracked by, well, everything.  And now I just remembered that I need to write down on the family calendar when I can't come home for dinner.  Gosh, things continue to get away from me.

Yes, this is a short and pithy blog post.  But it's all I have time for.  Sorry.

Yeah, You Told My Ass This The Day Before Too, I'm Sorry

I struck a defiant tone when I apparently screwed up at work on Thursday.  But I did not tell you that I made another mistake around the same time.  That one I definitely did fuck up, and with that I had no issues of being told I've done this four or five times before.  It was my mistake ...

... which I apparently repeated, to my utter disgrace, at work yesterday/Friday.  I did something I should not have done, to be slightly more specific.  And because my supervisor told me not to do this on Thursday and I did it again the very next fucking day, my boss had to step in and ... well, I hope it's not a verbal reprimand that's going on my permanent record, but he had to put in writing via e-mail that I did this mistake again and that this is what I'm supposed to do instead.  I have to admit that getting a warning that way is a good way for me not to make that mistake again.

But there are questions that abound from this.  The defensive side of me wonders how this mistake got back to my boss.  Did someone tell, and is that someone pissed that I did this two days in a row?  If so, who is this person, and does that person not respect me anymore?  I hate that, but I have to admit that if the roles were reversed, I totally would think that person is stupid and untrustworthy.  But the other side of me is wondering (after apologizing, which I did to both my boss and supervisor in replying to that e-mail) after years of doing it correctly (or at least I think), what is going on with me that I would fuck up something this basic on back-to-back days?

And to think I get to do this all again today/Saturday because I get to go back to work!  Yippee!!

Lost A Facebook Friend Over Chappell Fucking Roan

You know, I need to get off of Facebook, or at least ratchet it down the way I'm only dipping my toe in Twitter these days.  I don't think Mark Zuckerberg is insinuating himself into the day-to-day destruction of the American government like Elon Musk is, but like the Muskrat, he owns a social media platform that, as a direct result of Trump being reinstalled as President, he has turned into an unsafe, unfair, Republican forum of lies, rudeness and disinformation.  But I still get stuck in it because I'm addicted to wishing my Facebook friends Happy Birthday and giving condolences when one of their family members passes away.

And I need to emphasize "Facebook friends."  They're not "real" friends, I guess, because I've never met them.  But the vast majority of friends I have on Facebook I have never met.  Those people are mostly women, nearly all of them strikingly hot.  I was suggested by the Facebook algorithm to friend them, scrolled through a few pictures of them in bikinis or other revealing clothing, I extended a request, and they accepted.  And that's how we became friends, or "Facebook friends."

Well, I lost one Sunday, and it was over politics, or it was tangentially over politics.  It was ostensibly over supernova pop singer Chappell Roan.  I'm not completely familiar with her work because, frankly, I don't want to.  I heard of her persona away from the stage before I listened to "Pink Pony Club," and I didn't like it.  She waded into politics before November's election -- particularly how she stood up for Palestinians in Gaza and bashed both Joe Biden and Kamala Harris for siding with Israel.

Do you know, however, that the Missourian Roan has a Republican uncle?  Darin Chappell is a member of the Missouri House of Representatives representing a district in the southwestern part of the state.  Back in the fall, Chappell co-sponsored a bill banning public funds going to abortion facilities in Missouri.  I have seen no article that shows he has any progressive, liberal, moderate, or, dare I say, sane views.  He's a MAGAt, plain and simple, and even though you can't choose family, if you call yourself an advocate for drag queens and other liberal causes with the ferocity you bashed Democrats over Gaza, I think it stands to reason that your silence in the face of a family member's Republican bona fides makes you somewhat of a hypocrite.

The post that started this mess on Facebook gave me another reason to think Roan is a fraud.  According to this article -- and yes, I should be fact-checking what I see more often -- Roan seemingly took back the political stances she has espoused on stage and interviews in the past, saying she "doesn't have time to educate herself on politics" because she's just a pop singer.  That's pretty damn laughable on its face because she's stuck her nose in politics ever since she became popular.  Again, if you want to wade into politics, that's your right.  If you don't, and want to be a cypher like Sabrina Carpenter, that's OK, too.  But you have got to pick a lane, stay in your lane, and defend your lane.  Roan clearly has not, and the person who posted this article about Roan not wanting to get into politics pointed that out and called Roan a fake for this flip-flop.

Now, I didn't see this link to this article to which this person said Roan's a fraud directly.  I don't know the person who gave this opinion (although I followed her after I read it).  I saw the link to the article from my former Facebook friend, who I think (I'm not quite sure) was defending Roan.  Apparently, she's a fan.  And this being social media, there was a part of me that, after I read this opinion, fell in love with it, and wanted to engage with my Facebook friend, said, "Be careful.  You might lose this friend if you say what you want to say."  And I heard that part of me ... and I went ahead and disagreed with her.  Tastefully, of course.

Specifically, I said that Roan always smelled like a two-face and right on to this person putting Roan on blast.  To which my Facebook friend gave me a screenshot of a Variety article that said Roan was going to vote for Harris after all.  But it looked to get a little more personal than that: She accused me of not looking up evidence that proved I was right, and that she had already given proof that she was right, and that she had already proved to me that Roan was going to vote "correctly," and why did I think she had to prove it to me again.  I thought the Variety article made Roan out not to be the diehard Harris supporter my Facebook friend said she was; it sounded as Roan was being dragged, kicking and screaming, into the voting booth to vote for the lesser of two evils.

I was going to tell my Facebook friend this, but she defriended me.

I have to admit: This hurts.  I've been thinking about her off and on all day at work since she did that.  We are on the same side politically.  I had this big rant I posted on Facebook Inauguration Eve and she commented in a way that made me believe she was an ally.  I also found her to be very sweet when not talking about politics.  And yes, she's hot as hell.  So it pains me to see that she is no longer my Facebook friend, and all because of Chappell Fucking Roan.

But should I be that torn up?  This is the paradox of social media.  I have never met her, and chances were low that I ever would, but I think I know her.  She has been honest about some very low lows, and so there is a level of intimacy you can achieve with people you will never see face-to-face.  And that is why I feel so bad about this.  Then again, this is social media, a liminal state where people come and go.  I've cut off people I've been Facebook friends with for some time because of politics, and I haven't given it a second thought.  Doesn't she have the right to do the same?  And besides, is my real life truly, truly being affected if she isn't my Facebook friend anymore?

---

I slid into her DMs and said that, while I apologize, I did not take back what I said about Roan.  I also was sorry that she got upset that (according to her) I made her look up proof when she already said what she said.  And, well, that's it.

I do believe in inner peace.  Cut people off if they say something you don't like, absolutely.  And yet, when it happens to you, you just wonder why people get set off so easily.  Yes, that's hypocritical.  But dammit, she's no longer Facebook friends with me because of Chappell Fucking Roan.

Work Sucks Right Now, In So Many Ways

Before I rant and feel sorry for myself, I want to say that I am grateful for the overtime I'm getting.  The money is worth the grief.

Well, at least I say that now.  While I was working yesterday/Friday, it sure as fuck didn't feel that way.  The Third Department is utter fucking chaos now.  It didn't help that all the work that got stuck down South Wednesday finally reached us.  The work that came for me ... I don't know if I have ever left so much work for my co-worker, who is doing The Third Department today/Saturday.  I apologized to her before I left work.  I stayed an extra two hours, like I usually do.  I could've stayed till nine o'clock and not gotten everything done.  Seriously.

There are so many things to keep apprised up in that particular position that I am constantly bombarded with things that crop up which I need to immediately address.  Toward the end of my day (which, because it ran so long, became my night), I saw something that essentially became a "STAT" thing that I had to drop everything to do, and I know I let out a "Fuck!" that I meant as a whisper but was probably loud enough for everybody in the room to hear.  It was that frustrating a day.

It didn't help that I screwed up, which I did right before I saw this "STAT" thing I just had to do.  I basically signed off on, like, a dozen reports that I should not have signed off on.  And so I had to go through each report and fix my mistake.  I had a shit ton to do already, and I didn't need to make it harder on myself by fucking up like I did.  But I realized that I made this mistake because I was not doing these reports every day, and that makes me susceptible to forgetting a process of, say, doing a report.  I see now how hard it is to step into work someone else started.  I can't just apply my training at any point in a particular process.  If I didn't start it, I am likely to screw it up.  And in a job where I hop from position to position, that will mess me up, man.

Aside, and I need to make this vague because, frankly, this may blow up into a shitshow: I may have made a mistake, but I sure as fuck don't like her tone.  There were so many other ways to tell me via e-mail to stop.  And by the way, the mistake started with the person not writing down the date.  What condescending bullshit.  And if she decides to take it up with my supervisor or boss, man, I could be in deep trouble.

With all my venting here, I'm going back to work today/Saturday to help out.  They're still behind, so much so that they might bring in people for Monday.  But goddammit, I'd rather this have happened last weekend, or next weekend.  'Cause this weekend was the only Saturday over at least the next month where I could watch EPL downtown, something I haven't done yet this season.  The combination of Matches kicking off at 9 this/Saturday morning doesn't involve any team that would take over the pub I want to go to, and I can't say that for any day until at least April.  But then this opportunity of working ten hours again has to come up this fucking Saturday.  I could decide to work a full day, but I have decided not to.  One, I really was looking forward to watching soccer, and work like this won't change my mind.  Also, I have pulled ten hours several days over the past few weeks, and I was so stressed after leaving work last/Friday night that I am trying to take time for myself.  I'll watch soccer, then go into work for an abbreviated day.  And if that means passing up some money, so be it.  I'm making plenty this time period.

With all that said, this incident from this e-mail may blow up.  There is a non-zero change that I won't have a job by the time today/Saturday ends.  Just a head's-up.

We're About To Shiv A Good Man

I've been mostly down for the past day or so.  I've been able to tutt-tutt away story after story about how Biden is going to drop out.  But now that a story has put a timeline on that decision -- Axios says he will drop out this weekend (I won't link to it because I will not promote bad news) -- somehow a lot of people now believe it to be the case.  Including me, I'm afraid.

I still think it's a bad idea.  He has been a very successful President.  The economy is booming and crime is down.  Most importantly, he ain't Trump.  And yet for all that good news, he looked bad one night and everybody (and all of them allies) have leaked news pieces about how senior leadership wants Biden to quit.  I don't know why that story was the one where I thought, "My God, he's actually going to do it," but my mood has changed since I saw that headline.

It continues to amaze me how many liberal writers and talking heads whose opinions I had trusted have basically gone over to The Dark Side and are openly demanding Biden step down.  Just yesterday at work, Thom Hartmann, who I think is a very cerebral guy, was not only confident Biden was quitting but spoke about this impending move with such confidence and glee.  And then he had the audacity, the balls, to say, "It's best for Joe Biden.  I don't think anyone wants to see his legacy tarnished like that."  What, the Dow Jones at a record high, the country's reputation restored around the world, jobs aplenty and the most progressive agenda this country has seen since The New Deal -- that legacy?  He had one bad night, and he has looked sharp and even feisty ever since.  And no, a bout with COVID doesn't change a damn thing.  The concern trolling by Hartmann was so startling in its juvenalia.  I don't think I can listen to this guy until Biden actually quits or after the election is over.

I am still holding out hope that these stories, sourced by anonymous people, is bullshit.  Some people I'm trusting on Twitter/X believe that to be so, and the steady drumbeat of Biden-hating has not persuaded him to quit, thank Buddha.  And yet I still marvel at the near universality of news sources and people in the entertainment industry (and I can't believe that either) who, in my humble opinion, have turned on Biden.  I wonder why, and the only thing I can think of is evidenced by the surprising fact that the progressive wing of the Democratic party is backing Biden to the hilt.  He came in as the moderate, but his legislative victories have helped millions of people that are middle- and low-income.  Somehow, this centrist has become a leftist.  And it looks like the moneyed class, the donor class that somehow pays Democrats, don't like it.  And they're the ones pulling the strings, telling Democratic leadership Biden goes or no other Democrat gets money, or telling their reporters to run hit pieces on Biden and the "worries" over his old age.

I keep falling back on a mantra -- Biden is still with it, Biden has been enormously successful, Biden kicked Trump's ass once and he can do it again, etc.  Also, we don't vote just for a man but for an administration.  There is no need to rush this; let's get Biden elected and then go from there -- if we have to.  Furthermore, there are so many obstacles the party has to overcome in order to switch candidates midstream like this, some aspects of which are unprecedented.  I believe there are two or three swing states that won't even allow a different candidate on the ballot besides Biden at this point in time.  And this will provide so many entry points for Republicans to gum up the works and inject themselves into our side of the selection process, and that would be a fuck-up that we brought on ourselves.

And there is one final point.  I believe that this coup attempt (and let's face it, that's what this is) is being spearheaded by rich donors who would thrive regardless of who is president.  The fact not enough people are heeding is that there was a chance to get Biden out of the race.  It was primary season.  I have to apologize to Dean Phillips, one of my state's representatives.  He may have been lonely leaning against the back of a rented pick-up truck waiting for someone to take his donuts earlier this year, but he was the one complaining about how Biden was old when he was supposed to challenge Biden.  Yeah, we all ridiculed and mocked him.  But it turns out he was the one who obeyed the process.  Everyone now thinks we can just name a new nominee when 12 million votes for Joe Biden have been cast.  No one can be certain that all 12 million will just be happy voting for some other person.  And no Democrat should take for granted that they would vote for the replacement just because fascism lies on the other side.  It's a fucking heavy thing to take away your vote then say, "I know what's good for you."  I think many Black voters voted for Biden in the primary.  If they all just get cancelled, this will be another case where minority voting interests are haphazardly punted to the side because some White dude wants something.  I can totally see them getting so pissed off that they won't vote for the replacement.  Why the fuck would they?  They had their opinions and they were summarily rejected.

---

I went to exercise in the evening.  There were no sports on besides the NBA Summer League.  (Aside: The WNBA should have all their teams playing Games during the All-Star break.  Now, the league did have Games Tuesday night [the night of the All-Star Game] and Wednesday, but there should be Games all four Days there isn't any regular MLB action.  And yes, I'm aware that the WNBA's Olympic break is coming up and that may be a reason why Games weren't held Monday and yesterday/Thursday.)  I dipped into political coverage gingerly, partly because The Republican National Convention was on and partly because I didn't want to get more depressed by seeing more anti-Biden news.  But I saw some better news instead.  The co-Chair of the Biden campaign went on MSNBC and insisted, again, he is not quitting.  Also, there are some other polls that show Biden remaining tied and sometimes even leading Trump, thereby blunting other polls that show Biden behind.  I still cannot and will not believe Biden can't beat Trump, and that all the zeitgeist saying Biden can't be Trump is fed by oligarchs and The Media (who, I have to tell you, has been extremely disappointing.  I used to use #IStandWithTheMedia when I tweet.  I can't fucking do that anymore).  By the way, people continue to creak open the door of possibility of him stepping down, but only if it is "his decision."  Well, a lot of people are trying to convince him to make the decision to leave, and fuckin' A, that's just fucking coercion, so IMHO, that ain't exactly "his decision."

Add to all that Trump's acceptance speech last night.  He was talking about Hannibal Lecter?  He hugged and kissed the fireman's hat and coat of the guy who died in the assassination attempt on his life like he was saying, "Thanks for taking that bullet for me."  (And you know that is what that motherfucker was thinking.)  And Biden has to quit???  Fuck that.  Seriously, fuck that.  Hey, if Biden says he's still in after the weekend is over, that Axios piece was bullshit, and I won't trust The Media ever again.  The key to the election really isn't "Vote blue no matter who."  It's "Ridin' with Biden" because that is who people who cared enough to vote when they were supposed to vote voted for.  And goddammit, cut out this divisive backstabbing!!!

Addendum To: Politics Ruins Everything

I don't know if I've talked about this before, but this freakout over Biden's poor debate performance has been followed up with near-universal calls for him to leave the race ... by newspapers and journalists.  It has been so overwhelming that -- and I hate to sound conspiratorial, but I truly believe this -- it feels like a coordinated effort.  I have not been so disappointed, so frustrated, with so many writers I read and follow on social media that once I saw them (in my opinion) turn traitor and call for Biden's head, I had to unfollow them.

It is nuts how journalists have the knives out for him.  First of all, and more importantly, Trump's the asshole who's facing him.  Do they remember what the country was like with him installed as president -- the rudeness, the superficiality, the laziness (Biden's sleepy?  This motherfucker wouldn't roll out of bed until noon, there would be workdays where he wouldn't do shit, and he golfed every goddamn weekend.), the blatant self-interest, and how he allowed every Republican huckster and corrupt apparatus destroy the government to fill their own pockets?  I remember that at least one writer thought Biden won in 2020 -- fair and square, I might add -- because people just wanted a return to normal.  Well, this is what normal looks like: A booming economy, record low unemployment, low crime, a refurbished reputation abroad, canceled student loan debt, and days where we wouldn't even fucking hear from him because he wouldn't be a dumbass.  That's what we want -- right?

I also remember that back in 2016, nearly every newspaper endorsed Hillary Clinton over Trump.  Little good that did, although no one knew at the time how much Trump asked Russia to help him cheat to win the presidency.  And now, eight years after they unanimously repudiated his nomination, they are, in effect, endorsing it by going after Biden.  Not only is Trump the same cromulent son-of-a-bitch he was back in 2016, he has a track record of being an incompetent asshole.  But Biden's the one who has to step down?

These writers have spent the past week spewing these fucking worthless thinkpieces about who could replace him, and how it would work four months before Election Day.  I'm no political scientist, but I know there is so much bullshit Democrats would have to do between now and then that it would be impossible to get a new person to replace Biden as the nominee.  Why even try?  And how in the hell would these reporters think that shit would work, huh?

I have been trying to #IStandWithTheMedia.  But that loyalty has cracked since The New York Times has showed its whole ass in trying to tear down Biden because Trump as president sells more copies.  And now that everybody has seemingly gone after a good man who had one bad debate and are trying to stoke the fires of getting him dumped before the Democratic National Convention, with no consideration that changing horses midstream like this probably hasn't been done in at least half a century, and ... I'm done.  I'm fucking done.  Journalists should know that if Trump gets the presidency again, their industry -- their asses -- may literally be on the line.  And they're helping him anyway.  They're helping him now.  Fuck them all.  It's a broken industry.  I hate that I studied it in college, but I'm glad I'm not in it now because I would probably be seduced by what is making these writers stomp on their own brains and dignity in helping deliver this country into fascism.

---

I talked about going on this local news source website and commenting on people who seemingly want Biden gone.  I actually thought about deleting it because I didn't want to contribute to a toxic environment on a website I like and pay for.  But I re-read the comments to which I was responding, and I stand by my statement, so I'm leaving it up.

My comment was directed at two people.  One of them, and he's known as a pretty jovial guy in the comment section, says he understands the danger Trump represents.  He's not voting for him.  Now, he didn't say he'll vote for Biden.  But I'll take that bit of good news.  I liked his comment.  I also apologized for not being a good person while I argue over politics.  I don't want to be angry, and I definitely don't want to be mean.  But this race is too important for me to remain silent and pleasant.

A Four-Day Weekend Next Week Becomes A Three-Day Weekend Now

I'm so bad with days off from work.  This is a pretty big illustration as to why I need to do better.

So this basically started with one of my co-workers, one of whom has the same position as I do, needing to take a surprise road trip, presumably to see family.  I was told this by my boss, who, in order to cover the days she'll be gone, proposed that I shift my workweek that week one day down.  Instead of working Monday through Friday, I would be working Tuesday through Saturday (my old schedule when I started out working at this place) instead.  That's fine; I'm a company man!  (Actually, I'm not.  I should be looking for another job right now, but I've just gotten too lazy because there has been no overtime for me to work, so there has been no blow-up between me and my boss that would propel me into searching want ads.)

We get a shared calendar where everyone in the departments I work in can see who is taking which days off.  It's summer, which means, at least for our company, at least one person is off every day until Labor Day, seems like.  Also, I have recently learned of a new policy whereby only a maximum of two people can be out of the office each day.  I have been using a lot of paid time off this year, which is odd.  And yet I am confronted with the possibility that I won't use any paid time off this summer.  We can carry over only 40 hours of it into next year.  If I am forced to work this summer, I would then be faced with a situation where I have to find days off in the fall to get under 40 hours for the year.  I can do that, but really, with how I hate my job right now, I need a day off here and there during the summer or else I will mentally crack.

So, as I peruse this calendar, I see that June 18 is completely blank.  There is no co-worker who wants that day off.  And I check into the future and see that at least one person is gone every day till around early August.  That's way too far for me, so even though I have nothing to do, I asked to take that day off.

Unfortunately, I realized that that was the week my co-worker will be out of the state.  My boss' proposal made me think that he needed me to work all five days, and I just asked for the first day, that Tuesday, off.  I e-mailed my boss a day or so after my acceptance of his proposal basically apologizing for my oversight.  But he actually said taking that Tuesday off is not a problem; he just needed to make sure that Saturday was taken care of.

OK.  So that means that next weekend I have Saturday through Tuesday off.  Cool.  I can stay in, I can go out, I can wake up whenever I want to, and I can maybe line up my hoes to fuck.  Sky's the limit since I lucked into a mini-staycation.  But it was some time early last workweek where I checked the calendar again (I do so just because from time to time) and see that I am not working tomorrow/Monday but am working Saturday.  In other words, the brief Tuesday-to-Saturday workweek is not next week, but this week.  I thought that was a mistake; I mean, if it was supposed to be this week (and I understand that I last week ran down the above events that happened, so the workweek shift would be next week, but you know what I mean), my boss would have corrected me when I said that I could work Tuesday the 18th after all to fill in for my co-worker.  But I went back to my boss' initial proposal and, sure enough, he spelled out the workweek which he wanted me to work Tuesday through Saturday.  It's this week, and he did tell me.

So instead of having a four-day weekend next week, I work Saturday, probably don't go anywhere next Sunday because it's Father's Day (even though I could see myself getting out of the house if Father annoys me), work Monday, then have Tuesday off.  I alternate working and not working.  Some schedule, huh?

I am super bummed about the ruined four-day weekend, but I am very, very disappointed with myself for not getting my damned dates right.  I obviously didn't check the details on this, and I have been careless with dates for other things for some time now.  With that being said, I have to remember that I am in the middle of a three-day weekend right now.  Yesterday/Saturday I went to Bauhaus for a DJ party and had a beer under a sunny sky, with temperatures that were warm but by no means hot or humid, and surrounded by fucking gorgeous women everywhere I looked.  Also yesterday/Saturday, *****y texted me to confirm that I am going over to her place today/Sunday so she can give me a handjob.  I am going to have lunch by myself at Burger King, where I am going to use points that will expire July 1 on a free Whooper.  I will hopefully have the energy to go to a park and exercise.  I get to Zoom with a friend tonight/Sunday night.  I get to stay up because I don't have to work tomorrow/Monday.  And, tomorrow/Monday I should be able to watch a movie in the afternoon.

It's not four days, and I didn't even plan it, but I have to look at the positives.

Apparently, I Hurt Someone's Feelings And I Didn't Even Know It

So I've got a big to-do today/Saturday that's alumni-related.  I have been talking to a fellow alum who is part of the organization we're volunteering for.  It's been tough finding time to talk to him, but he is marketing this app with this organization, and we've been volunteering with that organization for a while, so I talked to him online.

And then we didn't talk.  I thought about speaking with him as our event was coming up, but I had work and then the jobs at Target Center and then my uncle died and then my parents came home ... just a bunch of shit rolled up on me, and so I thought to reconnoiter with him just before the event, or just about now.

So yesterday/Friday afternoon I see that he e-mailed me.  He talked about a bunch of stuff about his app and thanked me for helping him troubleshoot it.  But in the end of this long and involved message, he said something that has thrown me for a loop.  He said that I removed him from "the group," but he doesn't hold any animosity towards me.  And he hopes we can work together in the future.

I have no fucking idea what the hell he's talking about.  And if you can place yourself in my shoes, please understand the panic I instantly felt when this ... guy/fellow alum made this ... declaration/accusation out of the blue.  I expected to see this guy for a big meeting before our volunteering event is about to begin today, because he is supposed to make a speech touting this app for which he is shepherding.  I had been looking forward to seeing him.  Now, I can't afford to avoid seeing him.  And apparently, I hurt his feelings.

And I don't know how.  I don't know what "group" he is specifically talking about.  I have an e-mail group of alumni to which I sent out messages about events, such as this one.  I sent one out earlier this week, and I checked that his e-mail address was one I sent it to.  I sent another one, about a game-watching event I'm doing for women's basketball after our event, and I made sure he got that, too.  Is he talking about the e-mail list?  Because I simply can't believe I removed him.

But after sleeping on it, he might be talking about volunteering for the event itself.  One of the things we did while on the Zoom was fiddle around with the organization's reservation system.  He put his name in our group.  I thought he was just doing it to begin a troubleshooting exercise.  I swear he never said anything about actually wanting to volunteer with us.  Also, I swear that some time after our online meeting and I started putting names onto my list of reservations (which is something you're supposed to do for this organization), I did not see his name anymore.  I assumed he took himself off the list.  I know it's in my nature to leave things as they are.  Again, I was under the impression that he was just putting his name in there just because, but I would not remove his name unless I had other people who genuinely wanted to volunteer and I had no more spaces available.  At that point, I would have e-mailed and asked if he really wanted to volunteer with us, and if his name was just an exercise, whether it would be OK if I took his name off the reservation.

That, however, didn't happen.  Again, his name just disappeared, and I thought it disappeared because he deleted his own name.  But if this is the "group" he says I removed him from, I don't know how his name got deleted.  So I frantically replied to him about an hour after he apparently sent this e-mail, profusely apologizing for what I could have done wrong (even though I have done nothing wrong) and hoping we can iron out any differences or misinterpretations when we see each other this afternoon.  He hasn't answered back.

Well, fuck, this is going to be awkward as shit.  I need to hope to hell I get there early enough, and he gets there early enough, for us to talk about what did or didn't happen.  Otherwise, I am going to run into some guy who's mad at me for fuck knows why.  This is drama I don't need in my life, Lord. ...

Time To Port

I thought I talked about this, but I don't see it in my cursory Blogger search.  If I have talked about it before, I apologize for talking about it again.  But it's what I want to blog post about now.

As a sign that either time stretches and contracts in a way it hadn't before COVID or that I am getting very, very old, I am only pretty sure that this happened this year and when my parents were home.  Nor do I remember the circumstances behind how they figured it out.  But one morning, my parents told me that the home phone, the landline, wasn't working -- again.  And, for some reason, they asked me to test out the alarm.  When it's set off, it's supposed to trigger a call to the alarm company.  My folks figured out that didn't happen, presumably because the call is supposed to come from the phone line the alarm company has on file -- the landline.

So, to test it, I was told by the alarm company to put the alarm on test and then to trip it, to see whether or not the landline indeed is not sending that call to the alarm company.  When you trip an alarm, you hear some moderately-timed beeping, and then you hear more frequent beeping, and then finally it goes BEEEEEEP!!!!-BEEEEEEEP!!!!-BEEEEEEP!!!!, and I could barely stomach the bile coming from inside me as my fight-or-flight instinct kicked in in anticipation of the escalating warning from the alarm.  I hate that sound.  I truly do.

Anyway, once the alarm is fully triggered, we had to call the alarm company to see if they got a call.  They didn't.  Tried it again.  They didn't.  So the home phone number doesn't work.

Last time it went dead, my parents asked me to call the phone company and get it fixed.  Not this time.  Nope, those unsentimental motherfuckers (Mother in particular) went gung-ho on this idea they heard of that an alarm could be set up through wi-fi.  It'll be an obviously better connection, plus it'll save money.  All I have to do is say the word ... and abandon the home phone number we have ever had, and I have ever known.

I could see the writing on the wall.  It wasn't working.  It's supposed to work, but once again, after about two years (I think), it was on the fritz again.  And how can I argue against saving money?  But ... this was our phone number.  We have had it for almost a half-century.  It's become a part of us.  Well, they don't give a shit, but it's become a part of me.  I don't care how ridiculous this sounds, but I am defined by that phone number -- a phone number that I haven't used in decades, a phone number that apparently hadn't worked in months, but it's a part of me.  And I sure as fuck won't let a piece of myself die just because it makes sense.  (Yeah, that sentence sounds crazy.  I mean it.)

I couldn't beat back this situation and my parents' mental momentum.  Once they decide something needed to be done, they want it done.  They wanted my permission to do this (and they needed me to call the person who installed the alarm to come over and convert the trip line from phone to wi-fi), and like a complicit motherfucker, I said yes.  They then told me to call the phone company and cancel the line.  I refused to do that.  But I told them I did.

And I still have the landline.  Yes, and I'm still paying for it, even though the line is still dead.  Have to say, the phone company has no damn clue it's not working, and I kind of think it's on them to know that it isn't, and that it isn't incumbent upon us to tell the company.  So I'm not sentimental for the phone company.  I still am sentimental for the phone number.

In the past, I have wondered whether I could take the home phone number and use it as a cellphone number.  I don't know when it was possible, but it is now.  It's called "porting."  Now, of course, I have a cellphone number that I've had -- and has also become a part of me -- for a long, long time, and I don't think changing cell numbers will make a lot of sense now.  But I want to keep it, and I think I can use the old home number as something else: My Google Voice number.  I have a phone number to which calls can be forwarded, and I may have had that for about a year or so, but I am not sentimental for that number.  I can give it up.  And I will.

The thing is is that one cannot port a house number into a Google Voice number.  No, you have to convert the landline to a cellphone number, then port that number onto Google Voice.  There will be one-time fees for doing this port twice, but I will do it.  I'm just scared that, for some reason, it doesn't work and I'll lose the landline for good.

And that is what I am going to do today as soon as I am done blog posting this.  I hope to find my carrier's store, find someone who's genuine and competent and not on the make, get him to call the landline company and then give me a SIM card to which the landline can be imprinted.  In the meantime I will need to put this new SIM card in my phone because apparently either the phone company or Google will "call" me on this new SIM and I have to answer.  I cannot do this double port thing without answering this "call."  I then have to ask Google to port the number from the SIM, and maybe in a week or two (?) this will all be done.

I found instructions on doing this double port thing online, and I have no idea if this is going to work.  But for the sake of keeping my home phone number -- and in the name of saving money I am otherwise wasting -- I need to do this, and now's the time to do it.  Wish me luck.

Worst Day At Work. Ever.

I should have known that last week, where I worked in The Fourth Department and somehow left after eight hours all four workdays (Monday was Labor Day), was too good to be true.  I was hoping beyond hope that I had turned a corner when it came to work.  Sure, my boss was pissing me off about overtime, but he seems to have backed off.  And frankly, it has been a relief to come home "when I'm supposed to."

That was all blown to shit yesterday/Monday.  I really don't know what happened since the number of forms, while extremely high, was not an amount I hadn't seen before.  But it was a combination of going through all of those plus answering phones plus dealing with other weird shit plus another batch of stuff that came through in the afternoon (something, I realized, that didn't happen in any of the four days I worked last week -- a big reason, I also realized, why I left work on time last week) that I could not finish all the forms that came in before my self-imposed deadline of two extra hours of overtime only.  This is the first time that has happened to me since the early days of working in The Fourth Department.  Then, I was about to throw the monitors against the wall because I was so goddamned overwhelmed with figuring out just what the hell I was supposed to do to get all the information I need to get.  Yesterday I knew how get all the information; I was just ... overwhelmed.

I'm kind of embarrassed that I didn't finish all the stuff that fell into my lap.  I now pride myself for being able to at least touch every form that came in that day at least once, even if I have to work late.  But ... shit, man, there was just a lot.  Thing is, the morning couldn't have started off better.  Maybe there was one answer that came in over the weekend I dealt with top of the morning, and there were very few forms I needed to work on again.  I got into the new work 90 minutes into my day.  I thought I would be able to get through whatever came at me because I was starting the new stuff so early.  But I took a huge gulp at the pile of crap that waited for me from the weekend, and the other shit just kind of fucked me over through the rest of the day.  At lunch I called Father and told him I would be home at 7, the latest I would be home if I were going straight from work to home.  That was around 2:30.  I usually don't know how my afternoon is going to work out at that time; for all I know, things could settle down and I could leave earlier than I feared.  But I knew, based on the mountain of work I still had to tackle after lunch because of everything else I needed to deal with first, that that wasn't going to fucking happen.  And goddammit, I was right.

I got so stressed and anxious and upset as 6:30 crept closer that I developed a new knot, one up against the left side of my neck, that was getting really distracting.  I was scared that I wouldn't be able to clock out at 6:30 because I was balancing getting as much of the work as I could done and making sure I not only did all my end-of-day stuff but also cleaned out the Internet browsers and tidied up the workspace by 6:30.  I had to cut it off with several forms left over.  I needed to cut it a tad shorter than I would have because I needed to clean up because I am not working today/Tuesday.  Turns out, I now realize, I don't think I did a great job of cleaning up the workspace.  I did remember to apologize to my supervisor for leaving her all this work, however.

Hope she's not mad.  Hope my boss isn't mad, either.  I really hope he doesn't fuckin' ask me why I stayed ten hours and still couldn't get all my shit done.  If he accuses me of just sloughing off ... man, I don't know what I'll do.  I was working my ass off, man, really.  What really pisses me off was the helplessness I felt yesterday afternoon.  I thought I had overcome all my feelings of abandonment and confusion once I started "getting" The Fourth Department.  But by sheer tonnage, I was back to feeling besieged.  I hope I don't get that goddamn feeling again when I go back to work tomorrow/Wednesday, and I hope I don't get any blowback for the decisions I made in doing the best I could yesterday/Monday.

Not At My Best Friday

I admit I was not at my best when I got to my screening Friday.  I was asked if I had my "order," apparently a piece of paper that I was supposed to take with me to the screening.  I was not aware I had to bring one.  I wasn't even aware that there was one.  The technician who helped me thought I had it in my e-mail; the only thing I could even come up with (and this was after I logged onto my work e-mail from my phone, something I never thought I would ever do) was a confirmation number for my appointment, and that wasn't even close.

Perplexed, seeing that my best laid plans of going to Al's Breakfast immediately after this to break my fast were ruined, and not knowing what to do, I literally bolted out of there without even acknowledging her.  I was not having it right then and there.  And although I didn't want to, my only recourse was to go to work (which, thankfully, was about five minutes away), log onto a computer, and literally go to the website where I made the appointment to see what the hell kind of "order" she was talking about.

Although I had a computer free, my supervisor thought it better to let me use hers because it was already turned on.  And she helped me find what turned out to be this "order" since, well, it had an order number, or something.  I drove back (this took me about ten minutes), hurriedly knocked on the door, showed her this sheet and the technician went, "Yep, that's it!"

And ... everything was fine.  Everything.  Well, I was an hour late, and so maybe there wouldn't have been a line to Al's Breakfast, but maybe there would have.  But I got done what I needed to get done.  Hell, I even believe my blood pressure was below 120/80, and that was after I got pissed off and drove back-and-forth.

So ... crap, an apology was in order.  I apologized to the technician for my behavior.  She said forget it.  She shouldn't.  She has a right to fucking hate for the rest of my life because I was one of those horrible customers that makes a front-facing worker's life miserable.  And for what?  Also, and I don't quite want to admit this, when I saw this "order" I had to present and show to the technician ... I kind of remember printing one out in a previous year.  I don't remember a technician taking it, but I think I at least brought it, which means I have been aware in the past of an "order" I need to take whenever I have a screening.  Which means I blew up at her for something I should have known.

To be fair, I don't think I would have been so calm if I hadn't found this "order," and not have found it so quickly.  Thank Buddha, then, for my supervisor for letting me get on her computer and for helping me find what I need to find.  I still gristle at any criticism she gives me, and I will continue to do so.  But she answers my questions at work so I can do my job.  And whenever I'm in a bind, where I am as upset as I said I was when I bogarted her computer, I can't think of anyone who can help me better.

Once again, if I didn't find this "order," or if I had to go to some damn library to print it up, thereby pushing my screening back another hour where I have to wait behind a bunch of other people (oh yeah -- when I came back, there was no line, another good break that extinguished my temper), I would not have been so sanguine about the whole situation, and I don't think I would be so apologetic now.  But when I was running around feeling like I got screwed, it never occurred to me that things could work out.  And they did, easily.  So maybe, instead of losing my temper, I should just fix the fucking problem -- one I probably made.

Hottest Babe In The Hooters Calendar: January 2023

First of all, I have to say that I cannot believe that I'd be buying Hooters calendars, let alone evaluating all the hot women in them, for the past four years.  This wasn't even in my frickin' radar until, I guess (can't remember) a Hooters waitress goading me into buying one in exchange for, I guess, a free beer when I went in that day.

With that being said, this month is, surprisingly and disconcertingly, very underwhelming for me.  I have kept looking at the ten waitresses for the whole month of January and part of February and I find myself not really getting enthused about any of them.  Don't get me wrong, they're all gorgeous.  But compared with some of the other photos from past months and years, this month is comprehensively lacking.  Hate to say it, but this might be the worst month of babes I've seen in a Hooters calendar.

Every one of the ten has some flaw that puts each of them and their photos a clear cut below all of the ones I at least have pointed out in previous months.  For example, the main girl, Megan of Melborne, Fla., is cute, but she has both her arms fully wrapped tightly against her body, significantly hiding her tight belly from us.  Ireland, out of Madeira Beach, Fla., shows off a nice figure and has a Jenny Ortega vibe to her, but Jenny Ortega is a hell of a lot younger than me, so I'm just going to avoid looking at her so that I don't get into trouble.  There's Orlando's Portia, and she looks familiar enough that I believe I have seen her in previous calendars, and probably ranked her as well.  But for some godawful reason she's in a red one-piece bikini.  She might as well be in a burqa since she's hiding all her goods.

The drawbacks continue.  Gwyn of Kennesaw, Ga., is wearing a skimpy black two-piece, but she's way too flat for my taste, plus she's not smiling.  Also looking as if she hated doing a photoshoot are Emily of Orange Park, Fla. and Nova of Alcoa, Tenn.  Finally on my list of honorable mention-as damning by faint praise is Mariah, hailing from Clearwater, Fla.  She's sporting a white two-piece, and her sideways lounging pose would be arousing if not for her left arm hiding a good portion of her stomach.  Also, I have to say, her face looks kind of old.  Maybe if I saw her in a Hooters uniform I'd get hard over her MILF vibes, but it doesn't work for me in a swimsuit setting.

If I am going to put anyone in first place for this month, I will select Kya, out of Houma, La.  I hate that she too is hugging herself in her picture; her arms are covering way more of her stomach than the others of the month.  And I also think she's a bit on the elderly side.  The only thing I like about her, and the only physical characteristic that makes her stand out from all the others, is that she seems to have a big pair of tits.

You may have heard the adage, "In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king."  Well, same scenario applies here.  Congratulations to Kya for winning what may be The Worst Month In Hooters Calendar History.  Unfortunately, I don't know if I can get turned on enough to masturbate to any of these women.  Sorry.

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Who Is This Guy?

So a guy popped up at our alma mater's college Game last/Saturday night.  Never seen him before, but he sounded like an alum and a fan.  He wanted to be kept abreast of our activities, so I lent him my phone so he could put in his e-mail address in my Notes app.  And then, after out team, we hugged and said goodbye and I told him I'd catch him another time.

And then his check came.  And he wasn't there.  He was gone.

So I paid his tab, and I planned on e-mailing him this/Sunday morning telling him that hey, maybe he was upset and/or drunk and he skipped out on his bill.  But then I re-checked the e-mail address he put into my phone.  And maybe I was upset and/or drunk, because I noticed that his address wasn't formatted the right way.  There was no "@."  Instead, there was an "&" and then there was nothing after it.  And I am hating myself right now for not noticing until today that he didn't give me a goddamn e-mail.

So who is this guy?  Is he some fake who wanted to act like he was with us just so he could skip out on a $10 bill?  I don't want to believe that.  For one thing, that's sad.  And for another, he gave us so many accurate details that I have to believe that he did go to our school.  If he was going to do this much research in order to lie, he'd use it to sucker somebody out of more money than just fucking $10.  Which leads to me not doing the smart thing and giving him my cellphone because I have a money app on it.  People still money by asking to borrow a stranger's phone to call someone, for example, and instead go to their app and take their money online.  Well, I checked my account this morning and I still have all my money.  Maybe I need to check again.

The easier explanation is that he was pissed off and just left.  So what explains the e-mail?  I swear I saw something like gmail.com and not this "&" thing.  Did I somehow undo what he typed?  As bad as this guy could be a shyster, my opposite fear (although I'm not as much fearful of that as this is some guy who gets off on lying to people to skip out on tabs) is that he is an alum and he'll be upset at me because I haven't included him in my e-mails.  Great -- I gotta worry about this problem and then I gotta worry about that other problem.

Hopefully this is all an oversight and he'll come around to watch another game with us later in the season, and he'll profusely apologize for not paying his bill.  And then I'll get his e-mail address for real this time.  But dammit, why couldn't he just pay for what he drank?

Safe Space No More

So I went to this basement bar for the second Thursday in a row last night.  I planned on doing it after having a wonderful time there last Thursday; the drinks were great, the customer service excellent, and it was a great way to unwind after working The Fourth Department -- even though, as far as I can recall, last Thursday wasn't so bad and yesterday was quite possibly the easiest day ever back in that position because there was not an avalanche of work that was stressing me out late in the afternoon.  I started going to these secret bars because I needed to unplug for a bad day at work.  I didn't have that bad day yesterday, but I wanted to go back to this bar that I was set on going as soon as I left there last week.  Hell, when I came in and saw the same bartender who served me my drinks last week, I told him that I wanted to be back in my safe space.  Also, I wanted to go back because this will be the last Thursday I'll be back in The Fourth Department for a while now.  Because my co-worker left, chances are I will be filling in that position Mondays through Wednesdays (though sometimes just through Tuesdays), and this place is open only Thursdays through Saturdays.

I also had a great time last night.  Got a different bartender, but she made fantastic drinks.  They now serve food, and after getting one of the three plates last week, I actually got the other two this time around.  Add all that up and, frankly, I may have been a little punchy.  But hey, I was in my safe space.

They have great music there.  So much so that, when my ears perk up on a really interesting song, I Shazam it.  Well, there was this one that I had to know about, so I got up off my chair and stuck the butt of my phone at the nearest speaker.  This song was so damn obscure, Shazam couldn't identify it.  This speaker was close to a couple sitting at a table.  The man of the couple tried to peg the song through Shazam, but he too was unsuccessful.

The cool part about this bar is that these songs are played on turntables.  And right next to this speaker I sidled up against are the two turntables the bartenders play the music from.  They put the album covers right behind both turntables.  I swear -- I swear -- on a previous visit I was told by a bartender that I could pick up an album cover and look at it.  So that's what my drunk ass did.  I looked at it and put it back -- and by the way, I ate finger food before all this and I didn't wipe my hands, I confess -- and I turn around and almost run into one of the bartenders.  Now, I say that the customer service here has been excellent.  It has.  But I have to say that this bartender, the first time I met her, she fucked up my order.  She gave me a spirit different from the one I asked for, and so she made me two drinks that were similar to each other, and she charged me for both.  That's OK.  But ever since, whenever I've seen or spoken to her, she's given off nonplussed vibes.  So I apologize for grabbing the album sleeve and she said it was OK ... "just ask first."  And you know that means she didn't want me touching their records.

It could be me, but I kind of felt a chill from the bartenders after that.  I was going to leave soon after anyway, but at that point it felt like I overstayed my welcome, so I skedaddled -- well, after drinking a couple cups of water to cool down my tongue after eating the serrano peppers that came with that finger food.  It's going to be a while before I have an occasion to go back there, and maybe it's best that I cool it for a while.  But I don't know if I can be as 100% happy as I had been after that, uh, encounter.  And all because I got a little handsy with an album cover and she didn't like it?  Maybe I push things too far ... but I swear I was told I could pick 'em up and look at 'em!

I Know They're Pissed Now

I was supposed to have a follow-up call in this research study connected with the U. that I'm currently enrolled in back on Thursday.  I was all ready to receive the call ... but it didn't come.  Well, it did -- it just was sent automatically to voicemail.  I saw the record of it when I checked my phone (er, checked the phone app on my phone).  She called.  Up to five times over the course of the evening and night.  By the third missed call, I opened up my data to e-mail her that I am still around and that I apologize that my goddamn cell isn't letting me answer her call.

Eventually, I think a little after the fifth and final attempt of the night, which was around 9 p.m., I got an e-mail back from who I think was the person who tried to call me.  "We weren't the ones who blocked your call," she started, and in my reply I told her, once again, "No, it was my phone that blocked your call, and I'm sorry."

I may have blog posted about this before, but if I have, I'll repeat myself: I was supposed to have a phone call with these people earlier in the study which was also abandoned/postponed because my fucking phone for some reason blocked her call.  I still don't quite know why in the fuck this is happening, especially since I think I have called the number from which these people are calling me.  Regardless, from the tone of the e-mail I got back, they're getting real pissed at me.  I don't blame them, but I am at a fucking loss as to why this shit keeps happening, and how in the fuck I can stop it.

The person who e-mailed me Thursday night asked if we could try a call again tomorrow/Tuesday.  I told her that can't happen because I'm working The Fourth Department, and I might be tied up with work.  I asked if we could do a Zoom the following Tuesday (the day after Labor Day, and also after my parents leave so I can do a Zoom without them knowing), and I haven't heard back yet.  It feels as though they're frustrated.  Again, I can't blame them, but I don't know how defensive I'll be if they start giving me attitude as a result.

In the meantime, I may -- may -- have found a solution.  After looking in the Internet, I might have needed to turn off the Silence Unknown Callers feature on my phone.  That doesn't give me confidence I can field a call from them, however; I mean, if that feature is shut off, wouldn't I be getting dozens of spam calls from people I don't know?  I haven't, and I'm glad for that, but there is no proof that the feature is working.  If I knew it would, I would try to reschedule for tomorrow.  But now ... well, I've kind of put these people in a shitty situation, which means I am sort of fucked, too.

Technology goddamn sucks.

Well, Excuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuse Me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I didn't know the people in the lab "have a spot."  And I have never been kicked out before.  But I went in for overtime at work early yesterday/Wednesday, and about a half-hour in some lady (who, by the way, I swear was the one who breezed past me as I kept open a security door for her even though she didn't punch in her security code ... that's her, isn't it?) came up to me and said this was her spot.  I apologized and she said she would go to another spot.  And then I was told by the lab supervisor that I needed to move.

Either that woman complained or the supervisor stepped in and insisted she get her spot back.  Regardless, this is another reason why I and so many others in The Main Department hate going in there.  We're getting in other people's way, apparently.  Also (and I may have blog posted about this before), we have to ask to get into the lab; our security codes do not work.  So, this is another stipulation about the lab that makes me feel we shouldn't be in there.  And I hate that.