Well, I'm still drinking way too much alcohol; drank a Bloody Mary for the second consecutive day.  But hey, at least ****e finally got back to me this morning.  It would've been too late anyway, but she said next weekend would be better.  And then she sexted me a picture of herself in a dress with convenient holes, shall we say.

So, next weekend is it.  But I have this nagging feeling she'll change her mind, damn it.

I've Given Up And Am Going Out A Lot This Week ... Again

So I've bitched often (though not in the past week like I thought) about "needing" to go out too many evenings in the week.  Man, sometimes I just want to go home from work and fucking stay there.

I was trying to reach some equilibrium with that this week, especially since it's a holiday weekend and you're supposed to just veg out.  But I had to chuck that all out the window.  First it's because of my cousin and her son.  She said that Friday might work, but that's The Official Start Of Summer, and I had plans to go to my speakeasy and ease into this Endless Summer by drinking.  Saturday could work, too, but United FC has a Match in the afternoon, I wanted to relax with pizza and a beer afterwards, and there is the possibility of the English Championship Play-Up Match that morning (I say possibility because as I type this, there is a hearing to determine whether Southampton, one of the teams playing, should be kicked out for spying on Middlesbrough, the club it beat more than a week ago to reach the Final).  Sunday and Monday are a lot freer, but I was hoping to fuck ****e one of those days and stay in the other, and I want to do both so badly that I consider seeing my cousin one of those days, as convenient that it might be, a frustrating spanner in the works.  I don't want to say I would rather not see my cousin, but ...

I'm getting over myself.  For one thing, all this soccer watching is still up in the air; Sunday, for example, is Decision Day in the EPL.  If Tottenham Hotspur is still in jeopardy of being relegated, I'm going out to watch it at a pub that morning, and in that case I probably won't have any time to myself at home this weekend.  Still, I'm looking for some solace, and I have to look to the workweek for that, too.  My plan during the workweek was to go out last/Monday night because I had a gas coupon that was going to expire, so I might as well work on my receipts and eat out.  Tonight/Tuesday night and tomorrow/Wednesday night I would stay in, finally.  Thursday I would, for the first time ever, go out to the State Fair, which now opens for Memorial Weekend.  Then Friday's the speakeasy.

That was all shot to hell when I came home from work last/Monday night.  Taped onto my screen door was a notice from the city.  They're doing something with the main sewer line tomorrow/Wednesday.  Between 8 in the morning and 8 in the evening, I am not supposed to use any water at all in the house.  Well, fuck.  I might as well not go home after work.  So, what to do?  How about go to the speakeasy then?  I don't want to "celebrate" summer two days early, but frankly, it makes a lot of sense to just do this tomorrow/Wednesday night.  Not only would I give the city time to not mess up the house's sewer system, going out (instead of staying in) tomorrow/Wednesday night frees up Friday night for me to hang with my cousin and cousin once removed.  Looking at it that way, a lot of problems get solved.

So I'm being a social butterfly again.  Yippee ... ?

(Aside: I am working the early shift at work today/Tuesday.  I should be in bed instead of blog posting this.  Anyway, if I get done with work early, well, it would theoretically allow me to go exercise at a decent hour in the evening.  Yeah, golly, I can do that.  But on that announcement by the city, I am supposed to pour water down all my drains in anticipation of this sewer line cut tomorrow/Wednesday.  It may not take up a whole lot of time, but if I'm doing that, I might as well do other chores ... like go through my stuff, finally.  Yeah, I need to get in shape, but if I really want to go home -- well, I should just do this, huh?  Might as well salvage one night to do nothing.)

More Doing Stuff

I had plans tomorrow/Saturday.  I would wake up early to watch the EPL downtown, then there is thing called Open Doors where many famous buildings open up their business sides to see how its guts look, and then I need to get a haircut, and then I would go home, have a shower, eat a frozen pizza, make myself a cocktail, and veg out.

But no!  My friend got a ticket to tomorrow/Saturday night's Lynx season opener.  I'm not feeling really good about this squad; they lost half their team, and Napheesa Collier got double ankle surgery and might not be back until June.  (The draft next year will be loaded, so I think they should tank and get into the lottery, but that's just me.)  So I've got a feeling they're going to lose to an ascending Atlanta Dream team.  But hey, this ticket is free, so the pizza can wait!

I Want To Know When I Need To Go Into Work, That's All

Now, I preface this by saying that I'm blog posting this due to unusual circumstances, namely that my co-worker is going to be out for a while because she is hurting in a big way, though I don't specifically know why or how.  One would think that would be an acceptable reason to see one's schedule change, even though that would mean a change in time you start your shift, like my job does.

But most of the time -- and again, I'm not blaming anyone, this rises only to the level of annoyance -- I don't know what I'm doing at work, and therefore I don't know what time I need to get in, sometimes until my last day of my workweek (usually Friday), and sometimes I don't know until I get in to start my workweek (usually Monday).  Beyond knowing what time I need to get in and thus knowing what time I need to set my alarm, I would want to know what I'm doing -- whether I'm doing data entry, I'm in The Third Department, or The Fourth -- before next week starts so I can get into the right frame of mind.  Each different position requires doing different things, obviously, and I want to know what I'm expected to do each day of the week before that week begins.  Again, I understand I might not know when I want to know.  Things come up, such as my co-worker being in traction for a while.  Also, my boss is real busy.

But when things change on me, I have to alter my plans.  Let me be selfish and rant here.  I was given my work schedule for this week on Friday.  There, I was supposed to come in to work early on Friday only.  And considering we have been asked to stay beyond our shift to key almost on a regular basis since, oh, the year started, my plan was to work a bit extra yesterday/Tuesday, go to the post office downtown, mail my taxes, then celebrate by going to a fancy restaurant downtown.

My co-worker being out injured switched around my entire week.  Now, my early day was, actually, yesterday/Tuesday.  And while I had to stay a bit after to get all the data entry done, I got done before the post offices (at least the ones here) closed at 5.  That meant I didn't have to pay for parking downtown to file my taxes at the downtown post office, which closes at 8.  Yeah, that could be seen as a good thing.  But I don't like it when my plans are changed for me, even if it means I could get home earlier than I thought and wouldn't have to pay for parking, which is a huge pet peeve of mine.  I spent a substantial portion of my workday wondering if I should just go to downtown anyway, even though I would be there way earlier than I thought.  Ultimately, though, the facts that I could mail my taxes before the conventional workday was over and could do it without paying for parking convinced me I should move this dinner at the fancy restaurant, which I was looking forward to, to another day.  (I also realized that the Twins were playing at Target Field last/Tuesday night.  I don't think they're getting any crowds, even though they're playing quite well right now, but I didn't want to risk any chance of losing my temper over traffic.)

However, having my evening freed up invited another opportunity I had to spend some mental bandwidth contemplating: Working out.  I haven't been to my gym in weeks, and after bellyaching over, well, my aching belly after eating so much while watching the WNBA Draft Monday night, this might be a sign that I could, and should, work out.  But I remembered I also had a plan of finishing off the two ginger beers that have been open for weeks in a dark 'n' stormy.  Not knowing what to do, I decided to go home after eating dinner at a mom-and-pop Mexican restaurant and try and sleep.  If I couldn't lose consciousness in half an hour, I'd get up and work out.  Instead, I woke up around 7:30.  I walked up and down the street for exercise instead.  And I drank my cocktail.

Still feel kind of bad I haven't gone to the community center.  But that's what happens when your work schedule changes on you.

Have I Passed Up A Massage For Good?

So out of the blue, ******a, my ATF from My Favorite Stripclub (Cover Edition), asks if I'm free tonight/Monday night.  I have been angling for a massage session since the New Year, and she kept putting it off, and frankly, I was wondering if it was ever going to happen.

She had said that she was shooting for the end of the month, so it was kind of surprising that she turned around and texts me if I were free tonight.  To be fair, she has not said specifically she was offering me a massage.  She could be offering to do something else.  I thought, because I saw her at a Lynx Game once, that she had a ticket to a WNBA Draft party at Target Center or something.  I have plans tonight, and ironically, it's watching the WNBA Draft, mostly because I wonder how it's going to shake out (I've seen four players projected to go #1) and the Lynx need to hit on #2 because they have lost almost half their squad, including starters Bridget Carleton and Alanna Smith.  But hell yeah I would ditch them if she only had time tonight to rub me down.  I tell her this, and she asks me to go on with my plans.  She might be free Friday or next Monday night.

I like that she's chill with what I've got going on.  Then again, I'm scared that I missed my chance of getting touched by her.  This is like the time I passed up on fucking ****e* because I was scared of sticking my dick in her.  Will I get another chance, or have I fucked this up because of a draft?

Goddamn, Car Trouble Fucks Everything Up

Man, don't you hate it when you have to stop everything just because of car trouble?  OK, I am exaggerating what happened and didn't happen yesterday/Tuesday, but it's still a pain in the ass.

So I go out to sleep in my car at work for my lunch break.  My paranoid eyes always makes me think I'm seeing something that's not there, but on this day, they latched onto something unusual and, turns out, scary: A bulge/blister/bump on my passenger-side tire.  Honestly, I didn't think anything of it.  I just thought I needed to deflate the air in that overinflated tire (didn't help), and then I went inside my car to nap.  But that bubble concerned me anyway, so I had to go to my cell and Google, "is it dangerous to have a bump on the side of your tire?"  And all the entries in the search said, "Hell yes, it's fucking dangerous!"

(Aside: I seem to have more problems with tires on this car than I ever had with my old one.  Is it because it's a subcompact whose tires are naturally lower profile?  I remember getting one of my tires punctured the Friday before Labor Weekend, and now this.  By the way, that bubble is probably the result of hitting one pothole, or one too many potholes.  Goddamn potholes.)

After making a couple calls to see if I could get a tire after work, I decided that after work I needed to swap out that tire for the spare.  But dammit, my mechanic screwed those lug nuts in so tight I couldn't loosen them.  I did not believe at all that I needed to call AAA, but because I am too weak, I had to.  Luckily, even during afternoon rush hour traffic and him helping me being led astray by his Google Maps, the guy who was about to save me arrived at work after one hour.  The last time I called AAA (and I think it was when I had to stop the minivan around St. Thomas for what was a broken alternator), it was at least twice that long.  And after using WD-40 and a long-handle lug nut remover to get as much torque working, he got the bad tire off.  Roadside assistants are angels, they truly are.

Also angels are, I now realize, the only car mechanic in the neighborhood that's open evenings.  Why aren't there more car shops that are open evenings, or weekends for that matter?  Cars don't break down at night or on weekends?  Anyway, the place I babied my car to was the only one around the area open at 7 at night.  And even though they couldn't get the same exact tire for me that evening, they can do so this morning.  Also, they did what I asked them to: Check the other tires to make sure they're fine, and to check the air pressure on the spare (even though I asked the roadside assistant to check and to pump it up.  I always forget to check the air in the spare).

So I talked about having plans ruined.  Specifically, I wanted to eat at either Culver's or Potbelly, two places where I can get free dessert for my birthday.  I then wanted to go home, look through the mail, call Mother about the mail if need be, then maybe nap before I caught the 8 o'clock showing of Ready Or Not 2: Here I Come.  But after I got everything arranged for the (hopefully) quick tire swap this morning, I got my car back, spare tire still affixed, and I still had time to make the movie.  I didn't feel completely safe that I could drive to the theater to watch when I could, and maybe should, drive back home.  But a mixture of relief that people were able to help me and defiance that I didn't want my car trouble to stop me from the fun I planned on having compelled me to get to the movie.  And I made it in time.  And the film was ... um, bloody and profane, but OK, just like the first one.

One problem after I left the shop and before I went into the theater.  I locked the door with the key fob, but I didn't see the light flicker on indicating everything got locked.  I then noticed that the hood was slightly open.  Now I noticed when I was at the shop, looking through the window into the bay where the mechanics were looking at my car, that the hood was opened up, presumably for the guys to go through their customary check of everything in my car even though I was just there to get a tire replaced.  I didn't think anything else of it, though, because I assumed they would slam the hood shut.  But they didn't.  I didn't drive really fast; you're not supposed to on a spare, plus I used side streets to get from the mechanic to the theater.  But I realized that I drove several miles with the hood open.  The hood of my old car flew open while I was driving to the gym a baker's dozen years ago, and that was the scariest fucking thing that's happened to me on the road ... well, OK, maybe top five.  My point is is that it seems very, very dangerous to drive with the hood open.  I don't think anything got ruined, and yet I feel my car is beyond repair because I drove it with the hood open.  Look, if anything did get damaged, I probably won't know till much, much later.  Fuckin' A, man -- these guys were quick, and they treated me well.  But they fucking forgot to slam my fuckin' hood shut?!

No, I probably won't bring it up.  Again, if there's damage because I drove with the hood open, how would I know?  Oh, well, you take the head-slappingly bad with the good when you're in a jam.  Hopefully they can just get me my new tire and do so quickly and easily.

So ****e cancelled on me today.  Said she has a bad cold.  I believe her.  This is the first time she texted me in advance to say that she can't do it.  There was that weird day where I came over and a man was there telling me she couldn't have company.  And there was another time where I let myself in, stayed for half an hour, thought she wasn't there, left, and then got a call from her, while she was home, saying she just had overslept.  (I had plans that day, so I figured I would just start them early instead of going back to her place.)

What can I do?  She's sweet, I like her, and she is the only person I know who will, uh, let me love her like I want to.  I just don't know the next time I'll be able to see her.  Hopefully soon.

In the meantime, I'm still, unfortunately, horny.  I have thought about asking one of my stripper girlfriends to come over.  But nah; instead, I'll eat or do laundry, and then I will exercise in the evening.  I'll keep it holstered for another time.

Two Changes Of Plans

So I was plotting out which days I would eat out and which I would stay in and eat leftovers.  Specifically, because I wanted to finally pay for limes and lemons for the cocktails I am going to make this weekend, and since they're discounted on Tuesdays, I would eat out today/Tuesday and, to make up for it, eat in tomorrow/Wednesday.

But those plans blew up.  While at work, I got this text from ****e saying that she and ***i* are having a party tomorrow/Wednesday.  Then, she texted ominously, "Last chance."  Last chance for what?  Will I not be invited anymore if I don't come?  Are they hanging up the wanking lifestyle?  Is one of the two women going to die soon?  I don't know what she meant by that, but it has been a long, long time since I got serviced by either babe, so I decided I am going to this house party on tomorrow/Wednesday.  And since I'm spending money then, I might as well eat out then, too.

Then, I got another text, this time from my aunt.  She wanted to know when I was going to be home because she made food for me.  Then I remembered that around the Chinese/Lunar New Year, she has always come over to give me food she made for the holiday.  Very sweet of her, and it allows me to eat in several days over the next week.  And it would make sense, then, that one of those days would be today/Tuesday.  It's a lot of food, and I should get on it in an effort to eat it all before it goes bad.  And yes, this blows up my idea of getting citrus for my cocktails, but hey, I can make cocktails without lemon or lime juice, and besides, there's a good chance I will be out both days this weekend.

So, to sum up, I went from eating out tonight/Tuesday night to staying in, and I went from staying in tomorrow/Wednesday night to eating out.  And for once, these changes aren't frustrating to me.  It just necessitates a change of plans -- two changes of plans, in fact.

Bored Me Napping, Then Shopping For Big-Ticket Items

Braced myself for another long day at work yesterday/Friday ... but it wasn't; it was actually tame, and very tame compared to Thursday ... and yet I have to brace myself for today/Saturday, because my bosses said that today/Saturday could bring in a bunch of work which I don't understand why it couldn't have come yesterday/Friday, and so I'm coming in to work as soon as I wake up.

So my plan of staying in today/Saturday has blown up, but hey, I am getting beaucoup overtime this week, so I'm not too upset.  Still, I wondered what I would do once I got home (on-time, which I did not expect) yesterday/Friday.  I thought I would be awake enough to start on the leftover pizza that I had decided I would eat, but the setting sun convinced me to take a nap first.  If I wasn't tired, I'd pop up early, and work on the pizza before the sports Games I wanted to watch would start at 7.

I crawled into bed before 6.  I woke up a couple minutes past 9.  Didn't expect to do that.  I thought I didn't have time to eat pizza and should pivot to spaghetti, which I planned to eat today/Saturday, but I am getting Pizza Hut to watch for the Super Bowl, so I went through with the pizza.

Yeah, nothing exciting.  So, in my bored state, I was reading up on the latest on how these assholes continue to plague and besiege our state.  One person believes that the announcement earlier this week that they're withdrawing troops was just a way to get people in the state and the national news media off their backs.  Then, the next step is for the remaining pricks to go hard not necessarily after non-Whites but observers that have made their loud objections to what is going on here a state-wide issue.  Intriguing, and I can see that that works, and is working now.

And then I clicked on a link recommending the best gas masks to buy.  If I have to physically commit to this struggle, I'll probably get tear-gassed, so I might as well prepare, right?  I looked through not one but two websites dedicated to the best gas masks, and me being a thoroughly-researching consumer, I think I settled upon one.  And, to make things even more tantalizing, the gas mask is on sale.  (I'm not going to link the websites that reviewed the masks or the company that sells the one that appears to be the top-rated one, just in case they're snooping around here.)  I think maybe I'm sounding too paranoid, but dammit, the thing's on sale.  I'll wait till tomorrow/Sunday; if I remember, and if it's still on sale then, I think I'll buy one.

What I did pull the trigger on is a new robe.  After seeing the two website review gas masks, I went to the website that does nothing but review consumer products (to think gas masks are a consumer product -- what a world we live in), The Wirecutter.  And bored me went down another rabbit hole, to their review of robes.  Now, I have thought about buying a robe for the past, oh, few years.  On the one hand I didn't think I needed one; either I would wrap myself in a towel and just hang out on my bed in the nude, or, if I'm alone in the house, I'd just waltz around naked.  But there is a limbo state where you are not totally dry but still want to putz around in the house without your man bits hanging out -- well, unless you want to open up your robe to thrust out your dick.  I'd reserve that occasion when I want to surprise one of my stripper girlfriends.

Anyway, the main obstacle to buying a robe, believe it or not, is price.  The ones The Wirecutter recommends are routinely in the triple digits.  One hundred dollars for a damn robe?!  I may have seen one for $90, but even that's expensive.  However, when I am bored, I am weak.  And thus I was ripe for the picking when I saw one of the recommended robes being sold for about 30% off if I use a promo code tied in with the website.  At $65 ... well, it's still expensive, but it'll be as cheap as these robes will ever get.  Also, I didn't plan on spending any money tonight, but the company said I could pay through PayPal, and my stupid brain has convinced myself into thinking that is not real money, so I bought it under the illusion that I haven't really paid anything today.

So I threw my sleep pattern off last night, I bought a robe, and tomorrow/Sunday I think I'll be buying a gas mask.  This is what bored me does.  Now, off to bed.

Well, Thanks For Telling Me, Amazon!

No joke, I spent a lot of the last 24 hours thinking about what I would do after work last/Tuesday night.  Combining my principles (or OCD) of trying to use only cash or credit cards a day and not making four trips in my car a day (three is fine, five is fine, four is not because four is an unlucky number), I was figuring out whether I should immediately drive home after work or go out and get groceries.

Beyond the OCD principles above, the thing that factored into my decision was that the measuring cup I bought that I was going to use as my jigger for cocktails.  Amazon said it'd arrive Monday, but it didn't.  If it had, I would have gone grocery shopping yesterday/Tuesday at the discount food store close by to pick up a lemon and a lime.  I would only go there yesterday/Tuesday because on Tuesdays everything is an extra 10% off.  And since I would have gone there, I would have gone to the ATM to pick up cash, probably get gasoline for my car, maybe get some fast food to eat both last/Tuesday night and a future day, and, oh yeah, buy more cocktail items like ginger ale and ginger beer.

But yet, I got to thinking at work.  Why buy a lemon and lime if I don't have the measuring cup?  What I do is slice one of them in half and squeeze them into the cup.  That does two things.  One, I can see how much juice I squeeze, and that dictates which cocktail I would make for myself.  Two, I hear that you leave out lemon and lime juice sitting out because it tastes better about four to ten hours after you squeeze it.  It's a waste buying them without getting the jigger first, especially since this is (I think) the second time Amazon moved the delivery date of the cup.  Amazon said that instead of Monday, it would arrive Friday, and in fact, if it didn't arrive on Friday, I could ask for a refund.

So why am I doing all this stuff yesterday/Tuesday?  I could do it, say, today/Wednesday.  I get out of work early because I'm cutting.  For fast food, I could go to the last Godfather's Pizza in the state, which is going to close on Saturday.  Assuming I leave early enough (and that may be in jeopardy because we have been asked to work overtime because the shipments are still playing catch-up), traffic both on the road and at the restaurant will be easier to deal with.  Meanwhile, I took out a rack of leftover ribs from the freezer to the refrigerator on Sunday.  I see on the Internet that leftovers in the fridge are good for about four days before they should be thrown away.  Why chance it and just eat the ribs yesterday/Tuesday when, by the way, I can watch an NBA Game on NBC?

So just going home it is!  And then, once I get home, I check the mailbox and see a package.  I was able to push my thumb into its middle, so it was the measuring cup.  It was supposed to come last week, then Monday, then Friday, and then for some dumb reason it came yesterday/Tuesday.  I thought I should check Amazon before I started my car at work, just in case, but I still blame Amazon for not getting the precise delivery date right.

But I stuck to my guns and went inside to eat ribs and watch basketball.  My plan on doing everything I thought I would do yesterday/Tuesday today/Wednesday after work is still mostly intact.  Well, besides getting the lemon and the lime, since it's not Tuesday anymore.  And I guess I can make do with the alcohol I have now, so the ginger beer and ale can wait.  I just hope nothing goes wrong, like me falling asleep at the wheel or getting detained on my way home.

Of Drips And Noisy Furnaces

I need to talk about something else.

This has happened for as long as I can remember, but this personal, multi-day lockdown has put me alone with the appliances in this house -- in particular, how creaky they sound.  For example, every single sink and toilet seems to drip.  Right now, I'm bothered whenever I flush the upstairs toilet because it always drips loud enough that I could hear it from my bedroom.  That's been going on for years, so that means that at some point, it'll, I don't know, warp the wall or floor or ceiling or something.  I'm by myself, plus it's cold outside, plus we're living under fascist rule right now, so bad luck will almost demand that the shit hit the fan when it comes to this bad drip-drip-drip.

As much as I need water, I need heat more right now, and my furnace rattles as it's working.  Sometimes it rattles when it starts up, sometimes it sounds alright until the middle of its cycle.  But it is nerve-racking to hear that rattle because it makes me feel like the furnace is struggling, and it's about to give out.  And obviously, I can't have it give out.

Things are fine, or at least tolerable, on both fronts.  But I just saw the website; they are concentrating on this neighborhood today.  Don't know why.  I was hoping I could dash out, grab some food, then come home and enjoy the football Games -- you know, live my life.  But these motherfuckers are depriving me of that simple joy.  Do I stay home, or do I go for it?  Well, in the meantime, I am hoping that there isn't a catastrophic water leak or furnace breakdown.

Addendum To: On Money -- When I Spend It And When I Complain About Spending It

OK, so this is what I did on Sunday.

I was still feeling the pull of the Megamall.  Moreover, I was feeling the pull of Grand Casino Arena, which was staging both Semifinals of the World Juniors.  I stay pretty late after Vikings Games to make sure the traffic thins out, but I could move it up and still leave without getting stuck.  So I formulated a plan to go down to the Mall Of America, buy some stuff at the pop-up store, eat at Popeye's (I had this digital coupon of three tenders for a buck), then drive to downtown St. Paul.  If I could find parking close enough to the arena (parking meters aren't enforced in St. Paul on Sundays, so yay for me), I would park, buy a ticket, then see the second Semi at 7:30.

That last bit was buoyed in part by the prices I saw at scalper sites.  I checked after Friday night's Quarterfinals, which included the United States losing to Finland in Overtime.  I thought the prices would crater because the host U. S. was no longer in it, but prices were too high for me to entertain.  In fact, I think StubHub told me there were no tickets to sell.  But I checked again Saturday, and not only were there many tickets, prices were falling like a stone.  SeatGeek's cheapest ticket Friday night was $93; it became about $50 Saturday, and while at work, I checked again and it fell to $39.  That's it, man; even though I was tired as hell and I would be driving all around the Twin Cities, I decided to do all this.

Well, first of all, me eating so much after the Game that I had to shit really bad threw the Popeye's deal out the window.  I felt this push out of my asshole while I was driving down to MOA, and if you know that feeling, it feels like you're about to fucking shit your pants so bad everyone will see and point at you and laugh.  Scariest feeling in the world, am I right?

But I made it to the public men's room next to the doors at MOA, aka the last place I would want to evacuate my bowels, but of course, I had no choice.  This diarrhea attack made me second-guess if I should even try and go to the Game.  Good thing, then, that I didn't plan on buying a ticket unless I found a space to park in St. Paul.

Systems back to normal, I went to the pop-up.  That orange quarter-zip that probably was going to be the thing I buy?  Well, it went from one or two of those to six or seven.  Unfortunately, the only sizes available were small and extra-large.  This was something I saw with several popular items while I was browsing for World Juniors clothing.  I couldn't buy that, and nothing else there interested me.  So I didn't buy anything there, like I thought I would.  Yeah, it was kind of a waste driving down there.  But I had to know.

Didn't feel the urge to crap after that excretory meltdown when I cashed in the winning Powerball tickets I bought (oh yeah, I did that, too) on my way out to the car, so I felt good going to the arena.  And maybe I shouldn't be surprised considering the half-empty crowds at Mariucci Arena for group and Quarterfinal Games, but I found a spot easy-peasy.  And so I turned off the car, leaned my seat back, and looked at SeatGeek and StubHub for a ticket to that 7:30 Game.  And I was surprised, and disappointed, that somehow prices for that Game went back up.  It can't be demand; these scalper sites are running fucking algorithms to maximize prices.  Makes me so goddamn frustrated.  But hey, I got there, and I wanted to go, so I bought a ticket for Canada-Czechia for, hrmph, $50.

By the way, great Game.  Back and forth, but the Czechs got the upset (even though this is the third straight year the country eliminated the Canadians), 6-4.  (That Semifinal, by the way, was delayed from its scheduled start because the first Semi went past Overtime into a Shootout, where Sweden slipped past Finland, 4-3.)  I'm glad I went, and this is the World Juniors, so maybe I shouldn't bitch so much over the price of the ticket.  Anyway, I had plenty of time to check out the merchandise tables at the "Gicka."  You remember my obsession/fear about "exclusivity," buying items that I could only find at Mariucci or the pop-up store at the Mall Of America?  Well, that OCD blew up in my face.  That hoodie with the huge 2026 IIHF World Juniors logo right on the front that I bought at Mariucci?  Saw it there.  And I also saw the Paul Bunyan & Babe t-shirts I also bought at Mariucci, as well as the first pair of t-shirts I bought, the ones that had the flags on the hockey blades on the front I bought at the pop-up.  Oh, and the pin, too.

So, when it comes to buying things that appeared to be at only one place, I got the scarf that I bought down at MOA and the winter hat with the logo on a plate stitched on it at Mariucci.  All the other stuff I bought I could've bought at any of the three places.  And the scarf and hat, for all I know, were being sold at the other two places before they sold out.  I'll rest in the peace of my ignorance.  But I think I could've been more judicious about what I would've bought if I could've went to Grand Casino Arena for that Sunday group stage Game if not for the snowstorm that blew in that day.  I think I would've gone up to the merch tables, realize that most if not all the items were the same as that at Mariucci, realize that some of the things I saw down at the Megamall I didn't see there (and vice versa), and purchased accordingly.  But now I have a lot of things that, right now, I'm not cool with (see Title of blog post).

But hey, it was the World Juniors!

And after lunch today My Father told me to clear the driveway of snow.  I don't know if we even got half an inch.  But I cleared it anyway, even though I really, really wanted to not even step foot outside to begin the New Year.

Fuck what I said before.  I can't wait for them to leave.

Father And I Got Along Like Two Peas In A Pod!

You know when I said I didn't think Father really meant it when he said he wanted to spend the holidays with me here at home?  Well. ...

I woke up late in the morning to see flakes fly outside.  I've seen and driven through worse, but I didn't want to chance a risky drive to St. Paul just to see a hockey Game, especially since it was supposed to get worse.  I told Father, who noted the snow outside, that I wasn't going, so he fixed me up a sandwich and fruit to eat for lunch.

Later, for dinner, I convinced my parents that since I bought a couple extra bottles of sparkling apple juice, this would be a good occasion for us to break out the apple-cranberry bottle in the fridge.  So, even though it wasn't Christmas or New Year's, we got to celebrate a "big dinner" (and it was big -- nice pork and salad ... they went out for dinner last/Sunday night).

Right after that, Father wanted to clear the driveway.  I thought it better to wait, but he went out and prepared a pair of galoshes for me, so I went out too.  I've obviously plowed a driveway by myself before, and once you get that machine going, you're unstoppable.  But I've got to say that it was really, really nice to have My Father help with shoveling all the small parts of the driveway, like the walkway up to the stoop and right next to the cars.  He even helped scrape all the ice and snow off of my windshield.  With both of us doing it, that chore went by even faster.

And finally, after I got back in from plowing, I decided to finally wash the bedsheet, something I've wanted to do for a week now.  When I grabbed it from the dryer, Father saw me and said, "Aw, I could've washed it for you tomorrow."  "Nah, that's OK," I said, "but thank you!"

It was a nice, friendly conversation between father and son.  In fact, Sunday was a beautiful and ... well, loving day between us.  You know, for all my misgiving about my parents -- all the fake sentiments, the lies, the passive-aggressiveness, the fighting -- I have fantastic days like this with them when we're the family we should be and I forgive all that other crap.  My misgivings and grudges totally melt away.

You know, right now, I actually believe My Father wants to spend the holidays here with me.  And I want to feel this feeling more often.

Was Going To Stay In, But ...

This might be a mistake.  But I went to a couple Games of the World Juniors at Mariucci, and there may be a few things I want to buy.  But the items on sale at that arena seem to be different, if not really different, from the items I saw at the IIHF World Juniors pop-up store at the Mall Of America.  Also, I went in the second Game, when Canada was playing.  The merchandise store at Mariucci was packed.  Now, the store is really small, even if the Game was only half-full, so the idea that things could sell out quickly based on what I went through last night probably is overblown.  Still, that has made an impression me, and add to that the items I thought I saw at MOA but not there has convinced me to change out of my clothes and go out today, to the Megamall, probably to buy some World Juniors stuff.  Other factors factoring into this decision: There are no important Games on TV I can stay home and watch (there are college football Bowls, but they're exhibitions, so they're not important; by the way, I think there are only three top-flight men's Games and one top-flight women's Game today, seriously!); weather's pretty good for driving right now (above freezing, no rain); and, surprisingly, I haven't been asked to come in to work.

I really don't want to drive, but instead I think I'll stay home next Saturday, when there will be a couple NFL Games on free TV.  This plan might blow up in my face, of course.  It's possible I could go down there and everything's sold out, or there are items there that I don't want to buy, or all the stuff there is exactly what I saw at Mariucci last night.  But like I said, the World Juniors ain't comin' around every year, so I might as well experience it while it is.  Let's hope it works out!

Why Doesn't My Sister Just Fuckin' Have My Car, Huh?!

So my sister has been using my car.  It's small and short and thus manageable, unlike the unwieldy and old minivan my parents use.  That van is a warhorse, but it's hard to account for the size, and when I pull out of parking spaces, I'm always fearful that I'll hit something because it's so big.

Well, my sis has been using my car a lot, leaving me to use the minivan, mainly to go to and from work.  She now uses my car to ferry Mother around for physical therapy.  But before she has been using it for frivolous things, like seeing childhood friends and going shopping.  And it looks as though she is getting a little bolder when it comes to requesting it.  Last week she needed it Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday, and I figured on Wednesday night that if she needed to use the car to take Mother to PT on Friday, I might as well use the minivan on Thursday as well as Friday.  I transfer the stuff I think I need to take to work with me -- sunglasses, sunvisors, maybe the tire pressure gauge -- into the minivan.  It doesn't make sense to me to use my car for just one day because I would have to shlep all that from the minivan back into my car, and then do the reverse so my sister and Mother could use it on Friday.

It's gotten more ridiculous this week.  Mother has physical therapy Tuesday and Thursday.  Sister said on Saturday that she wanted to use my car on Friday to see my brother and niece.  Finally, last/Sunday night she told me that her friend wants to see her for dinner, an early dinner, on Wednesday.  Well, shit.  If I need to take the minivan from Tuesday to Friday, I might as well fucking take the minivan today/Monday too, right?  So, for this week, it feels as if I own the minivan and my sister owns what used to be my car.  I should probably transfer the title to her since she's using it so goddamn much.

Fuckin' Christ, I think I transferred all my stuff from the van into the car, too.  I'll have to wake up early to dump all that shit back into the van.  Fuck me.  Oh yeah: I am annoyed, and my sister knows it, and she likes that I'm annoyed.  Pffft.

Disappointing Son Didn't Do What He Said He Would Do!

So Mother had surgery Tuesday.  Sister went with her.  They had to stay at a hotel overnight and be seen by a nurse who was also at the hotel tending to Mother and another patient.  Never heard that before. Anyway, that meant that Tuesday night offered up a situation I dread: Being alone with Father.

Dinner was fine because it was quiet.  He brought up stocks.  His portfolio is doing blockbuster.  Me ... I work and am tired all the time, so I'm not doing as well.  He asked me what companies I have.  I don't remember.

What I hoped he wouldn't bring up he brought up after dinner.  Of course he said, "Hey, every night you take a shower, right?"  And while trying to hide my frustration that he would belittle me with this same bullshit again, I go, "Yeah, yeah, yeah, sure."  "You brush your teeth too, right?" he replied, and I can't fucking believe he asked me if I brush my teeth every night.  I don't, but that's none of his goddamn business.

Just there and then, while I was also yeah-yeah-ing as to whether I brush my teeth, I resolved to leave the house.  Since I worked early I came home early, and that gave me the opportunity to exercise.  I then thought I wouldn't because I didn't want to leave My Fucking Father at home.  He's healthy, and as you can see he's as goddamn insufferable as ever.  But My Fucking Parents have pretty much been attached at the hip.  My Fucking Mother has taken girls' trips in the past, but Tuesday was the first time they've been away from each other longer than a trip to the grocery store.  I hate this fucker, but I would be sick to my stomach if I worked out only to come back and see him dead on the floor in front of his computer.  And yet, after he used the opportunity of being alone together to infantilize and lecture me once again about proper fucking hygiene, I decided that fear didn't fucking matter to me.

"I think I'm going to work out later," I said.

"OK," he said.

---

And then I didn't.  The downside to attempting to work out after I started out my day so early is that I might want to catch up on sleep instead.  That was a possibility; I allowed myself a chance to rest once I got done eating at 5.  And I woke up at around 7:30, way too late to go out and work out.

I was curious about whether My Fucking Father could tell.  So I just moseyed out to the top of the stairs and looked at the front door.  It was all locked.  I told My Fucking Father I was going out later.  He may have forgotten.  Or, he could tell I was asleep and knew I wouldn't be going out after all.  And knowing how his negative, derisive mind works, he knew I wasn't going to do what I said I would do.

I have to admit that pisses me off, and I am as angry at myself as I am at him.  He has seen me fail to come through on things I said I would do all my life.  This is a small thing, and again, maybe he just locked the door out of habit and totally forgot about what I said after dinner.  But this one galls me, and I think it's because I lashed out after he insulted me over stupid habits he shouldn't be concerning himself with.  It was I who wanted to, in a really vague sense, "prove him wrong" (even though exercising has nothing to do with getting back at him for asking if I shower and brush my teeth, I know) and then I absolutely did not do it.

I have known for a long, long time that My Fucking Father had dreams for me when I was born.  That's the problem when you ascribe to your progeny your dreams for them; they don't come through for you because they're not their fucking dreams, they're yours.  So yeah, I have a feeling My Fucking Father was disappointed in me just because I didn't exercise like I said I would.  But I am just as disappointed in him as a father, and probably moreso.

This Week Has Sucked/Is Going To Suck

Asked my co-worker yesterday/Sunday about my schedule.  I'm going into the lab weekly now, seems like, goddammit, and I do that tomorrow/Tuesday.

I realized last/Sunday night while exercising that today/Monday I have the MNUFC Playoff Match, and that starts at 8.

That means that I am getting home late from a soccer Match being played late, very late, on a school night, and then I have to wake up early for work the next day.

It's out of my control when I have to report early to work in the lab; it just happens it's the morning after a late soccer Match.  The soccer Match usually isn't played on a Monday night, let alone at fuckin' 8 at night, but it is, and it just so happens to be the night before I have to report early in the next morning.  This constellation of bad timing didn't have to happen.  It took a lot of bad breaks for this shitty situation to occur.  And yet it has.

I fucking hate everything right now.  I'm worried for Mother's surgery, my sister accused me of not flushing the toilet when I did, I didn't get to fuck my sex worker (I think I'll save that for another blog post), I'm scared I'm overworking my car, and most of all, pretty much every single Minnesota sports team got fucking embarrassed, from the Vikings Thursday through the Gopher football team on Saturday and the Gopher men's hockey team this weekend.  And Losses by the Wild (yeah, the Timberwolves won last/Sunday night, but they lost to The Bastard Minneapolis Lakers over the weekend), and I have been in a foul goddamn mood since Thursday and I will be at least until I get to rest tomorrow/Tuesday night.

Till then, everything fucking sucks.

I worked early yesterday/Wednesday, which meant I thought I had the time to exercise in the evening.  But actually, I had the time to take a dirt nap.  Like, I think I went to take a nap at around 5:30, and I woke up a bit before 9:30.  Guess I needed sleep more than I needed a workout.  But that's cool.  I think I can exercise Sunday.  Hope I can go to bed now.

Still Fucking Mad At My Fucking Parents

I realized Sunday night that even though I was able to save my shakers and strainer, my jigger and juicers are gone.  Don't know where the hell they are, so they must've thrown them away and I wasn't able to find them.  Jesus fucking Christ, if they just fucking looked at them, they would've known that they were useful.  And they just fucking threw them away.

I couldn't sleep last night.  I was determined to move my stuff.  Without knowing where they might hit me next, I honed in on all my Franklin Planners that I have kept over the years.  I know that if they want to, they can look through them and ask, for example, "Who's (stripper girlfriend's name)?"  And I won't know what to say.  For all the rank invasion of privacy they have just inflicted upon me, none of it appears to be sexual in nature -- as in they haven't found my porn or my cum towel because I had the foresight to throw those into my storage unit.  Thank goodness I still have that.  But, if they want to snoop and look at what I wrote, they might figure shit out.  And if they do, I wouldn't know what to do then.  And I'll leave it at that.

So I devised a plan on taking all my Franklin Planners and throw them into my car to eventually take to my storage place.  But I've been using day planners for, once I started packing them into bags, for upwards of a quarter century.  That's a quarter-century's worth of papers I have put in binders.  It filled two bags, and my unit already is six feet tall.  Man ... do I really have to do this?

I then thought I could bag them, then wait for a morning where I can quickly take them to the car, but I got stopped at the thought of throwing them on top of my tall pile of stuff.  And then I tried stashing them back in my room, specifically my nightstand, but that got full really quick.  I then realized that they were kind of perfect in the bookshelf in my former room which, for some fucking reason, has turned into My Fucking Mother's room she will use if/when she gets hip surgery.

I am scared that I will regret this, but I punted on my plan.  What I wanted to do was a hell of a lot of work that I didn't think was worth it.  So I kind of did half of my plan.  I have put the binders for the six most-recent years in a drawer in my bedroom.  The earliest binders I put back in the bookshelf, even though I made it nicer and put them behind a row of photo albums.  That left two binders, and I think My Fucking Parents won't see that I put them in my nightstand.  Over subsequent years -- if they don't fucking throw them away -- once I bundle the previous year's paper in a binder, I will put it in my drawer, then take the oldest one and put it in my nightstand.  It's the best I am willing to do.  And I hope to Buddha My Fucking Parents don't fuck with them.

And by the way, it may have taken me awhile to realize what else My Fucking Parents threw away.  And I reserve the right to get pissed off later if I realize there are other things they've taken from me.