When Will This Mailing Tabs Saga End??

So before work yesterday/Monday morning I go back downtown to the post office, which was where I mailed my parents' tabs.  It was supposed to be in their hands Friday evening, but according to the website, the last known location was St. Paul Thursday evening.  I was hoping that the postal worker could bring up more information beyond what I found punching in the tracking number onto a website, but it doesn't look like he did/could.

It was the right thing to do, going to the post office, but I would be lying if I wasn't badgered into doing it by Mother.  When she recommended going in the morning, she wanted me to call her.  It was around 5:30 a.m. her time, but, well, my parents are fucking crazy like that, waking up in the morning.  She was her usual panicky, overbearing self when I broke the news that there was no new news.  So she wanted to go to Plan B.  We get two tabs when we renew, but in Nevada you need only one license plate, so you need only tab.  Mother told me to send her only one tab for situations just like this, where the other gets lost in the mail.  That happened, so now she wanted me to send the other one -- but to Federal Express, not USPS.  Logical.

She wanted me to do this as soon as possible.  I thought to hell with that, and I told her I would go as soon as my workday was done, and no sooner.  I even turned off my phone from time to time at work because I didn't want her bothering me.  To be fair, she didn't call, and it just so happened that I got out of work at a decent time, so I went home to grab the tab, then go to FedEx.  (This is where I confess that I lied to Mother; when she asked me if I brought the tab I have to the Post Office, like she said she told me to do [and she did], I said yes when I knew I left it at home.  So glad I had time to go home, then go to Federal Express.)  Unfortunately, the cutoff time for packages to be sent overnight was five minutes after I got there.  However, I was directed to another FedEx place south of this location which has a later cutoff.  I went home, changed vehicles (I drove the minivan to the first Federal Express), kept my tab on me, and drove.

I made the mistake of calling Mother, which she wanted me to do when I was calling her from the first FedEx), when I was at this second FedEx.  She was telling me to do things with the tab that were obvious.  She was talking my ear off because she's anxious/upset she hasn't gotten the first tab I sent her.  So when I got to the front of the line, I hung up on her.

So for about $40 Federal Express says they will send it overnight, and it'll be in my parents' hands by 5 p.m. this/Tuesday evening.  Hope so.  Anyway, this fuck-up once again brings out the bitchiest in My Fucking Mother, which I abhor.  Saying that, none of this would have happened if the USPS just overnighted my package to my parents like they promised they would, and like I paid for.

I've lodged complaints.  Someone apparently from a post office in Las Vegas left me a message in response.  I'll hopefully hear from this person tomorrow, because I want this goddamn saga to end now.

The Autumn Equinox Is Killing Me

I love fall.  I really do.  But that might just be my mind, because my body is not adapting well, at least I don't think.

I had enough sleep over the weekend, and yet because I only slept about four hours overnight Sunday night, I felt really, really achy at work yesterday/Monday.  Also, not for nothing, my co-worker had a bad, bad case of the sniffles.  She put on a mask, thank Buddha (I have a stash, she asked for one), but it ain't no N95 or KN95, so let's see if I'm sick, too.

I had to go this place I was at Thursday because I have a deal that expires today/Tuesday.  There was a deal that was for one day only on Thursday.  Before these two times, the last time I was at any place at this chain maybe was a decade ago, and that was in the western metro at a place I think has closed down now.  Anyway, I got there and stayed for two hours while watching Monday Night Football.  The deal was a free full order of garlic bread so long as I buy some other food, and stupidly (even though it is good), I went for a personal-sized pizza.  I didn't finish either.  And when I brought it home, I fell back into my doomscrolling stupor, then went to bed just after watching the weather forecast.

I got up for good around 6 (an hour ago as I type this), but I must have been tossing and turning in bed for, oh, an hour before that, so even though I am awake, I think I've been up since 5.  My body feels better.  But last night I did what I've done often in the past month or so.  Sure, going to bed may be healthier for me, but my parents' coming back is looming, and I haven't done a damn thing.  I need to start cleaning up, but I had a chance to do that on Sunday because I stayed in all day, but I chose to do the laundry, start (but not finish) my receipts, eat and watch football.  I will bang my head against a wall the moment my parents tell me they're coming home because I had all this time to put myself in a better position and I haven't done it.  Right now I'm sorting my week as to when I will have time to start doing that, and I still feel the pull of going out and, say, watching a play or a movie.

Maybe the oncoming winter is killing me.  Or maybe it's my bad decisions.  Or maybe it's the specter of my parents coming home, like a bleepin' sword of Damocles.  Or probably, it's all of the above.

Maybe They're ... Not Coming Home?

I blog posted about not wanting to directly talk with my parents because I don't want to hear from them that they're coming home, but it's been about a week since I last spoke with them, and frankly, that is kind of weird.  I'm a chickenshit, but even this period of incommunicado was getting ridiculous.

Still, I took a baby step after my long day at work last/Thursday night.  No mail came that I needed to alert Mother about, but I looked at an e-mail on her e-mail account that she paid for the trash bill at an amount lower than what was stated on the bill I got and told her.  I was concerned that there was a reason she didn't pay the amount I thought she needed to pay, but as I've done the past week or so, I only texted her.  I thought she would call.  Well, Father called back on his cellphone, and he started off by giving me the number of a roofer who was willing to come by the house and inspect and give an estimate for replacing the roof.  He really wants me to call him, then take a day off to let his guy go all over the top of our house.  Well, if you're coming home, why can't Father do that?

Father then got Mother on his phone.  She got my text; she put in that amount on purpose after haggling with the trash service.  Nothing else she said rocked my world for the worse.  In fact, she said that they might be planning a trip.  After coming back here?  Before?  Instead??  I got the feeling, then and there, that my parents might not be coming back home after all, even though Mother said as early as August that they would.  I didn't press her on this issue because I don't want to jinx anything.  But if they're going to be away from home for upwards of a calendar year ... well, that just means the ultimate state of freedom for me, isn't it?

Ironically, though, this makes me believe that I should visit them.  They have things here they might need if they are taking a long trip out of the country.  Besides, and don't tell them this, I kind of miss them.  And I don't my hanging out with them so long as they're away from all my stuff that I've strewn around the house.  I should start making plans to fly to see them, risk of getting kidnapped by the government be damned. ...

I Definitely Have Brain Rot

Woke up this morning to the sound of my sprinklers going.  Now, lately I've (or my body has) gotten into a pattern of going to sleep and waking early (at least when compared to when I usually go to bed).  But this/Sunday morning, man, I think I would've been able to sleep in ... if not for the damn sprinklers being my alarm clock.  I don't need an alarm clock this morning, especially since I did need one yesterday/Saturday because I was working.

The sprinklers were on because I turned on the sprinkler system yesterday/Saturday because I wanted them to water the lawns while I was off to work and not in the house.  I just forgot to shut the system off last night so it wouldn't wake me up.  And I forgot because I have brain rot.  I got home late from dinner after work last/Saturday night, and sure, I went off for some late night Taco Bell, too.  Oh, yeah, there was a lot of soccer I was watching, too.  (Hey, the Loons won -- whadathunkit!)  But I spent the vast majority of my evening doomscrolling.  Goddammit, man, my mind has atrophied not due to old age but because I'm on my fucking phone all the time, filling my brain up with short dopamine hits of what gets me off.  I think that if I wasn't so addicted to my phone, I would be way more attentive at doing things, like chores, or just remembering stuff, like turning off the water sprinkler system.  Shit, I have a bunch of things I should do now, and yet my cellphone is just waiting for me like a dealer in the alley.  And of course I'm going back to him -- definitely some time today, and possibly right after I blog post this.

I have a lot of stuff to do -- going through my stuff, the laundry, etc.  And I do want to fix the sprinklers; after I did a couple heads in one section of the front lawn last weekend (at least I think they're fixed), I want to try to fix the other heads in the front lawn.  But I wanted to do it on my own time ... well, my body's time, but my body was forced to wake up to the sound of the sprinklers out front, and I think because of that, I will be tired later on this evening when I want to go out.  May be overdramatizing, but maybe not.

Need to stop looking at screens and start looking at real life.

Giving My Sister The Silent Treatment Back

She texted me back just now.  Just remembered that this is around the time she pays me back for their cellphone lines.  If she hadn't texted me out of the blue, I don't know when, or if, I would have remembered she needed to pay me.

It was obvious she wanted to start a conversation with me, as if her flipping out on me over my name showing on a piece of mail she got in Hawai'i didn't happen.  She shut me down, I shut her down.  So after telling her to shut up and wait so I can check to see if I got her money, I dutifully answered her dumb, empty questions with one-word answers: "sure," "no," "fine."  She actually has the fucking balls to act as if nothing happened, like she didn't fucking put me down when all I wanted to do was help.  Goddamn her.  See if she likes the fucking silent treatment, shit. ...

I Have To See Supergirl Again Because I Took A Shit For Too Long

I have this -- I think I've spoken about this before -- OCD thing whereby if I don't see a movie from the beginning, I will, most likely, pay another ticket to see it again so I can be sure to see it from the beginning.  Now, that is kind of a problem if I don't drop everything and make a concerted effort to get to the theater in time to make sure I see that film from the beginning.  But until last/Tuesday night, the last movie whose start I missed was Equalizer 3.

Well, I missed the start of Supergirl.  And what I really hate about myself is that I planned on getting there in plenty of time, and everything that I needed to happen so I could get there in plenty of time happened.  I was given a shift where, if I had a normal shift, I would get out at 3:30.  I never have a normal shift at work, but I only had to stay a little longer, till 3:45.  The listed showtime is 3:50, and they have so many trailers that I knew I had plenty of time to get there.  And I didn't want to get there so early that I would start looking at my watch to see how long after the listed showtime will the damn thing actually start.  I've grown to hate trailers, so, after I punched out at work, I went to the bathroom.  Nature called.

And that's where I fucked myself.  By the time I got done relieving myself, I looked at my watch and saw that it was, oh, around 4:05.  The theater is close to work, but it still took me about ten minutes.  And even though I was able to get a ticket, the guy giving me my ticket said I missed the first 5-10 minutes.

Goddammit!  I lollygagged.  I didn't look at my watch.  Seeing how much time I thought I had when I clocked out made me overestimate how much time I really had.  I was doomscrolling as I was pooping, proving once again that looking at your phone promotes brain rot.  And, sorry to get too graphic, I did have to go.  I picked up a limited time honey brown butter bacon, egg and cheese biscuit, a sausage burrito, and a coffee from McDonald's on the way to work, and that lubricated my excretory system.  It was the second time I had to void waste during my workday, and so when you need to do #2, you can't just say you're done if there's more you need to force out of your body.  Maybe I shouldn't've eaten any breakfast at all.  That would mean I wouldn't need to doo-doo, and I could've just gone to the theater instead.  But nope, I had this great plan laid out before me, and I just tossed it to the side.

And what really makes me hate myself?  Sorry, I don't think Supergirl's that good.  Now, please don't get this twisted.  There are a lot of Republicans and incels who hate this movie for culture war/rage bait reasons, which are not legitimate reasons.  I thought the movie was kind of rote and, um, boring.  But my OCD compels me to buy another ticket so I can see this mediocre flick again in its entirety.

I plan on seeing Toy Story 5 after work today/Wednesday.  I was hoping the showtimes for that movie and Supergirl would line up in such a way so that I could get to the theater super early, buy my ticket to Toy Story 5, and sneak in to see the start of Supergirl, then go see Toy Story 5 from the start.  But unless I get there in the afternoon, that can't happen.  Welp, that means I need to see Supergirl again either Tuesday or next Wednesday.  That's when the price of tickets are the cheapest at the theater I go to.  I may have OCD, but I also know a bargain when I see one.  And hell, I might change my mind and not see this C+ movie from the beginning anyway.  But I could've just avoided all this mess if I would've  taken advantage of the time I had and shit quicker.  So disappointed in myself.

Sleeping Like Normal People Might Be A Thing I Do Now

I could have stayed up to watch the Matt Damon/Noah Kahan rerun of Saturday Night Live, but the cold open was him acting as Brett Kavanaugh having a beer with Colin Jost's Pete Hegseth and Aziz Ansari's Kash Patel, and ... well, I know they aim for parody, but I just did not want to see them, so I didn't see it.

So, after doomscrolling, I shut my eyes.  That was around 11:30.  And I woke up around 7.  I was fully energized and also a tad upset I didn't get to the things I wanted to do last night.  But I had time to do them this morning -- watering the plants, watering the lawn, going out for groceries (in particular a banana; I had time to eat cereal for breakfast!), doing the dishes and, now, doing the laundry.

And I'm pooped.  But I still have time to blog post for the day, then go out to get some pop and maybe some ginger beer and/or ale), then go home and nap before The World Cup Final.  Maybe sleeping like normal people is not only a thing I do now, but something I like to do.

This Stripper Really Loves Me

So I made it to a stripper party last/Friday night.  I wish I could say I was more relaxed, but the stripper I was with really took things in stride.  She's a really cool chick.  I hope to get with her again soon.

I was planning on going home because I was, well, spent.  But *****y, even though she wasn't technically hosting (*****a was because it was her birthday), she wouldn't let me leave until I stayed there for a while longer.  *****a had made me a strong frozen margarita a few hours before, and *****y didn't want me to just drive off.  Now, this is not the first time *****y has asked me not to leave so soon after a house party.  Also, and make of this what you wish, I felt fine driving home.  (She has continually said to other strippers working parties I've been to that I don't drink much.  I don't know when I should tell her that, uh, isn't quite the case ... which makes me think I should cut down on the drinking, but that should is a blog post for another time.)  But like the first time she asked, I was struck by this stripper, the ethos of whom I normally associate with being a free spirit, and with acting with wild abandon, being so concerned about me, let alone anyone.

*****y gave me a bottle of water and told me to stay, so I just drank water and doomscrolled.  After an hour of this (again, I was all tapped out, so I didn't have any fun with the other strippers there), I thought I was good to go.  She let me go, but she insisted on me texting her once I got home.  Now, don't tell her, I went to Chick-Fil-A first because I had an urge for a peach milkshake.  But then I got home, and I got home in one piece.  And when my cellphone picked up my house wi-fi, there waiting was a message from *****y asking me if I got home safely.

Yes, our relationship is built on sex work.  I cannot deny that when we always "hang out," money changes hands.  But that shows me that *****y loves me.  I am absolutely convinced of that.  You do not go out of your way to prevent someone from getting into an accident, and then proactively text someone whether he got home safe, if you don't love him.  Now, I know she's not in love with me; it's not like that, and I don't think it can be like that.  But our relationship, and I can't think of a better term to call it, has become different over the many, many years I have known and, well, gotten serviced by her.  This is not meaningless.  The concern for my well-being she showed me yesterday is something by which I am deeply moved.  And I guess I am still processing all that.

Ironically, I could see My Mother doing this same thing to me (not at a house party like this, of course), to which I would probably scream at her, "You're suffocating me!!!!!!!!!!"  But I don't feel that way from *****y.  Probably because *****y isn't My Mother who has confused me whenever she hasn't psychologically tortured me all my life.  Plus, I've seen *****y naked ... and I quite love seeing her naked!

Time Discrepancies For World Cup Matches On Television And Satellite Radio

Just want to note that of Fox TV, Telemundo and Sirius XM, it appears as though Fox TV is the "closest to live."  Telemundo appears to be between 25-9 seconds behind Fox TV, and Sirius XM is about 59 seconds (no, not a minute, but 59 seconds -- I timed it on my phone!) behind Fox TV ... so, to be a completist, Sirius XM is 30-4 seconds slower than Telemundo.  Watching Games (of any sport) live is something I have a thing for, and if there is more than one way to watch and/or hear a Game, I will listen to the radio or watch the TV network that's "first."

Exercise Or My Stuff?

Today/Wednesday I have the day off.  Well, I need to go to the dentist in the morning, but I don't have anything I have to do after that.  I could finally delve into clearing out my stuff ... but, because the community center is now closed on Sundays for several weeks, tonight/Wednesday night would be a good time to work out.  It's not like I'll get home too late and be too tired to exercise, which is the excuse I always use to not work out after a workday.

Last/Tuesday night I actually got out of work early.  (I think it had to do with mechanical problems down south.  The work that was supposed to come yesterday/Tuesday will come today/Wednesday ... when I'm not there.  Heh-heh.)  I could have gone home and gone through my stuff.  But no, I wanted to celebrate instead by eating Mexican because it's Taco Tuesday.  Then I saw a movie -- The Sheep Detectives, which is a neat movie, but I was going to see Mortal Kombat II.  When I got to the theater, however, they said the movie had already started.  The cashier gave me a showtime a half-hour earlier than the one I saw.  He said I may have been looking at the wrong theater, but I checked my phone -- it said the MKII was starting at 5.  (No matter; I wanted to see it because I thought it was the sequel to the Mortal Kombat film I saw back in 1995.  Tonight I learned that there was not one but two movies between that and this film.  If I missed a flick in a series, I don't feel the need to see the later ones.)

And Monday I got home, but I was, um ... worked over by my ATF.  I wanted to just sit in bed and mentally bask in what she just did to me, so I felt no need to give myself angst by going through my stuff.  Right decision, too.

All's that to say that, once again, I have had ample opportunities to go through the stuff I say I need and want to go through, and yet I don't.  I think the excuses I give are credible.  Still, they're excuses.  And still, my stuff piles up.

I'll go work out anyway.  Got to stay in some sort of shape.

The Last-Ever Meal At Peter's Grill

I started this blog post just with the title.  It was July 3, 2013.

The place closed for good July 29, I think.  I had never been there, but after 99 years, a place that had a solid connection with Old Minneapolis was going to close, and I felt the need to connect to it.  And sure, maybe the irony of being a first-timer to Peter's Grill on its last day was too much for me to resist, but I went and, after a long wait where all the servers were too busy helping others and, I guess, trying to rectify the death of an institution that was a part of their lives for so, so long.

And I think I hesitated to write this blog post for so long because ... well, I eventually forgot.  But I remember taking a picture of my meal, and I wanted to, for the first time, post a picture I took myself in the blog post, but I never learned how to upload a photo onto Blogger.  And then I think I began hesitating as to whether I wanted to put a picture I took myself onto WAF for identity reasons.  Whatever the reason, I don't know where that photo is now; the ones on my cellphone go back only to 2014.

I remember sitting at the bar and I was told that all the food was gone by the time I got there.  I may have played the woe-is-me card because someone, and it very well could have been the owner, heard my sob story, went to the kitchen (and I could see into it from my barstool), and took what appeared to be a prepared dish.  I don't think it was going to be given to a customer; I got the impression that one of the workers prepared it for him or herself, either because they were hungry over their busy day or they wanted something to take home to eat and/or remember Peter's Grill by.  And this guy, presumably the owner, took that and gave it to me.  It was a tuna sandwich.  Can't say I was blown away, but it was, and is, important to me that I had a piece of Peter's Grill before it shut down.

But assuming that tuna sandwich was for someone else, I feel bad.  Sorry.

It was packed in there.  Which raises the usual issue that if it were packed before it closed, the restaurant wouldn't have had to close, now, would it?  But hey, it's a downtown restaurant, and those are vanishing by the minute because it's so hard to make money when you cater mostly to people coming to and from work.

I just read that the owner blamed food trucks for permanently crippling his business.  Well, this is also ironic, but as I have heard, there are no more food trucks in either downtown since the pandemic.  So many companies decided their employees could work from home during COVID that food trucks determined there was no longer money to be made downtown, either.  Maybe that has changed since we're now six years beyond the pandemic.  But I haven't heard of a glut of food trucks invading downtown Minneapolis every lunch hour.

You know, I assumed I would have more to say about the death of Peter's Grill.  Well, shelving this blog post for 13 years shortens the story, I guess.

I'm A Desperate, Horny, Forgetful Goddamn Lush

So I'm starting this blog post at a quarter to 4 in the morning.  I'm doing what I want to do over an extended holiday -- staying up, surfing the Internet, listening to music (this time terrestrial radio on my boombox).  But my cellphone is plugged into my power bank.  The fuckin' thing is pissing away energy.  I juiced it up to 80% last nigh, then unplugged it like you're supposed to, but then within, oh, half an hour of active doomscrolling, it couldn't even hold its charge for that long.  When it dipped to 76%, I plugged it in again, hoping I would unplug it once it reached 80% again.  But I knew there was a chance I'd be distracted by looking at my laptop, and of course I did.  It soared well past 80%, which I hear is bad for my phone (even though it's already in not-great shape).  At this point, if it's already past 80%, I might as well charge it all the way so I can delay when I need to charge it up again.

That's the forgetfulness I hate about me that reared its ugly head over the past 24 hours.  This past evening I made myself a cocktail, a margarita featuring juice from a lime that I bought over a week ago that may or may not have spoiled.  I drink too much already, so I'm trying to hew to the "1-2-3" rule Dr. Vivek Murthy recommended in his last days as President Biden's Surgeon General.  The problem, I realized while drinking the margarita, is that that was my fourth drink of the day.  I started off with a bloody mary in the morning while watching the English Championship Play-Up Match (won by Hull over Middlesbrough in a 95the Minute Goal), then had a cider at the United FC Match, then had a beer with a Farina Rossa pizza after the Match at a craft brewery.  And this is on the heels of drinking three drinks Friday ... and two drinks Thursday ... and two (or was it three?) drinks Wednesday.  All I can say is, I drink a lot.

Oh, MNUFC has a program where you can drop off pop tops at their waste receptacles.  I have a pile of them, and I was going to bring them with to drop them off, but I forgot to put them into my cargo pants.  I didn't leave them in my cargo pants because, unlike my denim jeans, my cargo pants don't have that fifth "watch pocket," and I didn't like the feeling of those pop tops jangling around inside a big pocket on my cargos and potentially falling out if I'm sleeping in my car and put my legs parallel to the ground.  But all day yesterday I reminded myself to put those pop tops in my pants.  But I didn't.  Oh, and then I took out the pop top on my Wild State cider intending to deposit it ... and I fucking forget to do that, too.  I meant to be rid of these pop tops, and I wound up collecting more.  And even though there will be a MNUFC2 Match at Allianz Field in one Month, the Loons are off because of the World Cup for two Months.  Fuckin' great.

And all the while I've been trying to see if I can arrange a fuck session with ****e.  Earlier last week I texted her; no answer.  I texted her again, saying I am free either today or tomorrow; she just said, "ok."  She gets this way sometimes, minimally responsive and vague.  I asked for clarity while eating pizza and eating beer last night, but she has yet to respond.  I'm horny enough that I want to make booty texts to all of my stripper girlfriends (even though a lot of them are out of town this Memorial Weekend, dammit) so I can get some lovin' this long, lonely weekend.  But ... fuckin' A, ****e is the only one who'll let me inside her, so I gotta give her every chance to get back to me.  But what if she's on one of her episodes where she ghosts me?

This weekend is supposed to be fun.  In many ways, it is.  And I am seeking every which way to find the negative in all of this.  Maybe that's a sign that I should fix myself instead of just rationalizing my decadence and inattention as part of enjoying the long holiday.  Or, maybe I should just say fuck it all.

They're Coming Home Because They Think I Should House The Cousin I Haven't Heard From In Decades

This was going to be a more expansive blog post because my cousin isn't the only person who has reached out to me and wants to see me.  But things had to take a scary bad turn for me, and that's because of my goddamn parents' meddling, again.

I have learned to check the spam texts the hard way.  I lost out on a gig I applied for because the person hiring for the crew texted me, and since this number was not from a trusted contact, it went into the spam folder.  Curiosity was the only reason I checked that folder, and I saw it months after this person offered the gig to me.  What an embarrassment ... and that company hasn't hired me since.  And yet I still go to their hiring board.  I applied for something a couple weeks ago.  And I am checking the spam folder just in case they give me another chance.

Anyway, it was also in this spam folder where I saw a long text from my long-ago cousin to whom I haven't spoken in decades.  She is in town and wanted to catch up on old times.  I will be honest.  She is one of four sisters and brothers my brother and sister and I remember hanging out with from time to time when we were young.  I like this particular cousin the most even though that's based on guesses on what I remember back when we were kids.  The oldest of the four I have problems with; thing is, I don't remember if I ever got into a fight with her.  My memories of interacting with her enrage me now, but I really don't know if she thinks we don't get along.  I just don't want to see her again.

But I need to give family a chance, so I reached out ... as soon as I spoke to My Father, whom my cousin, or "cousin," said gave her my number.  I hadn't spoken to my parents pretty much for the past week, but I finally had reason to ring them up.  And yes, Father said my cousin is the real deal and so gave her my number.  OK, this is not catfishing.  We spoke -- can't say I was over-enthused on catching up, but I want to see if I could see her over the holiday weekend.  We promised to compare schedules the middle of the week.

With that matter kicked down the street, I went to Art-A-Whirl's last day.  And while I was minding my own business, trying to give myself some grace and be a part of a community that I love, I feel a buzzing on my ass.  Father called again.  I took the call while wandering around an art studio.  I should have known they would have called again demanding that I be more "hospitable."  They asked me to ask my cousin if she needed to borrow my car.  She already told me that she and her son (he'll be studying in town for the next several years) have gotten a rental.  They then fucking asked me to open up the house to them.  I told them my cousin and cousin once removed already got a hotel.  I completely fucking lied; I'm pretty sure they have, but I don't know that.  What I do know is that there is no goddamn way in hell I am going to let them stay here if I can help it.  No offense, but fuck no.

The call ended; I don't think My Fucking Parents heard the combination of rage and fear in my voice at the end of the call.  But I kept thinking about them while I was doing my personal art crawl.  Also, I remember that goddamn time they surprised me by coming home and not telling me.  So goddamn scarring; I'll never forgive them for doing that to me.  I know that they suspect that I don't keep the house clean while they're gone.

So that leads me to one conclusion: They're coming home.  They might not tell me.  They might.  But they're coming home.  They think I am so unable to be a good host for family that they will fucking pay the obscene amount a plane ticket costs these days and come home to see if I have cleaned up the house.  By the way, they insisted that I gave them my cousin's phone number, even though I think they already have it.  I can totally believe that My Fucking Parents insisted, if not demanded, my cousin cancel their hotel and car so we can give them housing and transportation.  Fucking weirdos.

I can imagine them booking plane tickets online right now.  Fuckin' A.  The house is a mess, just like I wanted to.  And I need to clean it up in five fucking days to impress one person I haven't seen in decades and another person I didn't know existed until yesterday?  Fuck that shit.  I'm too tired to clean, and I'm too busy to care.  And that's how My Fucking Parents will screw me again.  All because oh-oh-oh, I need to be good hosts for family!!!  I'll bring shame to them if I don't!!!

Fucking hate my parents.

Tingling/Numbness Now Scaring Me

Just want to put down for the record that there has been tingling and numbness I've been feeling -- mostly in my right hand and wrist and forearm, but really everywhere, for the past ... oh, seven days or so.  It's carpal tunnel, even though I feel a lot of pain on the corner of my wrist just below the pinky, if you're asking me to pinpoint one thing.

I think this is a combination of factors coming home to roost -- having my work mouse too far from my reach, all those times I've had to grip an exacto knife to cut open packages at work, my nasty habit of holding up my cellphone with one of my chargers attached to it, and lying down while looking up at my laptop, which I too hold with my hands and thus with my forearms holding it up.

Keep doing exercises all week, but it's not working out.  I still feel this general numbness that sticks around at times, and in certain gripping positions I feel a sharp pain at the corner of my wrist.  I sleep with a brace on now, and it sometimes works.  I've begun to take pills, too, but I don't know if that will work.

Honestly, as far-fetched as this sounds, I'm just hoping that it's some virus, or some blip that my body is going to take care of, and this will all be gone in a week.  But I've had this pain, although in a slightly less acute and frequent form, for months now.  This might get worse, I'm afraid.

I Continue To Miss Soccer Goals

I've started my day on Apple TV watching the MLS Toronto-Colorado Match while thinking up what I want to blog post about.  And with the Rapids up 2-0 and this being, well, soccer, I let my attention wander, both to my phone and also to this laptop.

I have spoken before about missing Goals because I was looking at my phone.  Well, Toronto scored while I was looking at my lap (specifically theoretical high-speed rail networks in the Midwest), then they tied it up while I was looking at my The Athletic app.  And I'll be goddamned: That is when I finally got the inspiration to blog post, and as I started this blog post, TFC scored again to take a 3-2 lead.

This would have been a sensational Game to pay attention to.  Instead, I saw none of the three Goals of this comeback, and right now, I want to kill myself.

So after work yesterday/Saturday I went to the drug store to pick up something for Mother.  When I got back to my, I noticed my phone was missing.  Damn, I knew I left it at my desk.  So I drove all the way down to grab it from my desk ... until not to see it.  So I made a more thorough search of my car, and sure enough, my cell fell over to the side of my seat.

I need to, at the very last, find a cellphone case I can see coming a while away.  I like the one I have because it's durable, but it's black, and I need a color to stand out.  Hmmm ... maybe I will buy it here!

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.

My Time Is Not My Own (Again)

See, I was so busy this weekend ... that I didn't get around to blog post something about the weekend until the weekend was over.

This past weekend was one where I was, yeah, super busy.  I had a volunteer event down south of here Saturday afternoon, and I had the Loons Match Sunday afternoon.  Both of them were in the afternoon, like I said, but those were things I was planning on doing, so that means I was busy over the weekend.  So much so that I had to set the alarm on my phone for both days, something I usually don't do and usually do dread.  To be completely fair, I woke up on my own on Saturday -- early enough, in fact, to water the plants in the morning.  But the phone woke me up on Sunday, and it felt like I was going to work.  Blech.

Come to think of it, I'm busy this week, too.  I had an alumni watching event last/Monday night and saw my team get their asses kicked.  Tonight/Tuesday night I am planning on seeing my first movie in a while, Ready Or Not 2: Here I Come.  I thought the first one was a kick, so I am looking forward to a sequel I didn't think the box office on the first one would call for.  Tomorrow/Wednesday I might stay in, so there's that.  Thursday I work early, so I might work out for the first time in a long time, or I could see this band in south Minneapolis, or I could take a nap so long that it extends into the evening.  Friday I think I'm going to my first roller derby event in years.  And this weekend I need to use this birthday offer at a bar in south Minneapolis while also hoping to see ****e for a fuck.  I really could use a day to myself, but my libido is forcing me to give up time to things I may regret doing later.  Well, maybe not fucking ****e, but all the other stuff. ...

I am charging my cellphone for the second time today.  Maybe the second time I have ever done that.  I guess that's what I do when I have the day off and decide to spend the Chinese/Lunar New Year doing close to nothing important: I use my phone so much I have to charge it twice in a day.

Still, I am not liking the health of this battery.  It has plagued me since I got it that Easter, and even if I use it a lot, I still don't like it.  Not "get a new phone ASAP" hate it, but, well, kind of.

RIP, Fast Food Points

So once in a while I go through all my fast food apps, for which I have a lot.  I need to check on these from time to time.  Sometimes I do it just to look at any new foods or deals they may have.  Sometimes I do it as a way of climbing out of the rabbit hole I dive into while doomscrolling while not being able to pry my eyes away from my cellphone.  And sometimes I check the number of points I have on each application to make sure I haven't lost them.

A couple weeks ago (I think), I got an offer for free food from Chipotle.  Chipotle sends those offers from time to time.  This time around I got, I think, free guacamole.  I haven't had them in a while, so I ordered online and ate the quesadilla there; I went home to eat the chips and guac.  Later that night, I went to the Chipotle app to check that the points were there.  They were, but all the points I accumulated up to that point were gone.  At that point I had to look through all my other applications because I apparently didn't take that good of a look into them.  And I saw that I lost all my points at Popeyes, another fast food place I like.

Bummed, I am.  But I don't think there's anything I can do about them.  Obviously, if my parents scooted on out of here in the late summer/early fall like they usually do, I would have eaten at Chipotle and Popeyes before whatever six-month period or so that made my points expire, but they stuck around till after the New Year, and that is what probably killed off my points.

I have noted in the past (although I may not have discussed this on Wailing And Failing) that fast food chains have differing policies when it comes to when your points expire.  Some places say that you lose your points six months after you get those points.  Other places say that you lose all your points if there has been no activity (and that includes using points as well as accruing them) after a certain period.  I like the former scenario because if you do lapse, you only lose those points.  However, with the latter scenario, as long as you do something with that restaurant, you can keep points even if you earned them more than six months ago.  Of course, the best thing is for those points to never expire, but I don't think any of the applications I have are that generous.

While the permanent loss of what I spent so much to gain is awful, I have to admit there is a certain bit of ... freedom I feel.  Yes, circumstances forced me to fail, so to speak.  But that also means that I no longer feel obligated to go to Chipotle or Popeyes just to keep the points that I have ... er, had.  In fact, even though I like eating at both places, because I am back to zero with both of them, I don't know if I want to go back because I don't want to start getting points again with either place.  I've been scarred by how bad I feel losing them, you see.  Well, I did get points at Chipotle, but that was after I realized I lost all the points I gained before my order.  I might let those points die on the vine.

Maybe the lesson is, eat at every fast food restaurant you have an app for at least once every six months.