Fucking Sister's Fucking Mad At Me

So on Tuesday I was downtown at our college Game-watching bar watching the Match for the final World Cup spot between Iraq and Bolivia (the Iraqis won) when I got a text from WhatsApp.  My sister texted me a picture of a piece of mail she got ... and it was in my name.  I don't live where she lives -- how in the hell is my name on a piece of mail sent to my sister's place?

So I texted her, not really upset as she was, I soon realized.  I was hanging out by myself watching some important soccer, so I texted back something innocuous but showing that I am empathizing with her.  That conversation petered out, though, so after I got home and then when I woke up Wednesday morning I thought I would check up on her.  "Do you need me to do anything?" I basically asked, to which she replied, "No, just stop talking about it."  Now I know she's mad about this, and I have to now understand whether she is mad at me.  So I ask her, and she says, "Yes, but stop talking about it."

Well, fuckin' A.  She obviously is upset that my name appears on a piece of mail (junk mail she said -- she threw it away) that has my name on it.  I don't know why or how that happened.  But it's dawned on me that she blames me for this. I texted her, both Tuesday night and Wednesday, how she wants me to help solve this.  But telling me to stop talking about it isn't solving a goddamn thing.  She just shut me down, and not only is that not productive, but it's pretty damn hurtful, too.  She won't let me fix this, so the only thing I can think of as to why she is acting like this is because she's mad at me and she wants to stay mad at me.

I thought for a long, long time to just end the conversation by giving her the middle finger emoji.  Shit, I'm still thinking about giving her that.  But I have to look to the long term, stop needing to have the last word, and not do anything that could really, really piss her off, even though by what she said she's already plenty pissed.

We have very occasional blow-ups.  I don't remember the last time she was this upset with me.  But whenever we do, it's a damn knock-down drag-out.  She can be extremely petty and unreasonable, and in turn, I decide I need to be defensive.  So, instead of giving her the finger, I didn't come back on her at all.  In fact, I muted her on WhatsApp.  And I would mute her on Facebook too if I knew how to do that without blocking her entirely.

I hate how she's making me feel.  Out of all the family members, I'm the closest to her.  She's the only one I think I can be honest and even a bit vulnerable with.  I think she understands me more than the others.  But I don't understand her right now, and I have spent a long, long time since this "exchange" thinking about what she thinks of me right now and when all of this is going to be over.  I'm trying to help, but her silent treatment is making me angry because I don't deserve that.  And I really, really don't know how in the fuck my name got on a piece of junk mail sent to her place.

This fucking sucks.  I feel like the black sheep of this family, but moreso now that I'm fighting with the only family member I am on good terms with.

Ah, Men Who Aren't

So Saturday night, after working the Gopher football Game, I was hanging out with a couple dudes downtown who saw our alma mater's football Game.  They left, but I wanted to hang out a little while longer.

I was standing up scrolling through my phone.  I was the only one of this table that had three chairs; although it was busy, there were other tables around me.  One that was occupied was occupied by a lot of people.  I didn't notice that another person joined them.  He apparently wanted a chair.  He saw the one that was next to me.  And he just took it, and used it to sit down with his friends.

No, he didn't ask me.  And he should've.  Sure, I wasn't using it.  But it was obvious that it was a chair that was at a table I was at, so a quick, "Hey, you using this?" would have sufficed.  That was too much to ask of this guy, who sat his incel ass down and, I think, began scrolling through his phone.

---

It was a bear to drive down the Megamall Black Friday.  The on-ramp to the first highway I hit was backed up, the drive into The Lowry Tunnel was backed up, and my God, the traffic to park at MOA was backed up for half a mile.

I finally parked.  I'm walking in, and I hear these clomping footsteps behind me.  There's this tall White dude who has this IDGAF attitude coming up behind me.  I fling the first door open for him; he keeps it open while not saying thanks.  At this point he's about to clip my heel with his toe, so I open the second door for him.  He doesn't say thanks; he just keeps striding, almost leaving what looks to be his kids in his dust.  I sarcastically give him the thumb's up; it's only comeback I can think of to let him know what I feel about his fast, intrusive walking.

---

There has been a school of thought that video games cause violence.  That idea has been debunked by researched a long time ago, even though I think a lot of people still cling to the notion.  But there has been very small evidence that video games cause aggression.  There are some studies that note a correlation, especially in the short term.

I'm going to be so bold as to believe that video games do cause aggression, and not just in the short term.  I think that the advent of video games coincide with societal coarseness.  I believe that more people have become dicks since video games became popular.  I will go out on a limb that these two arrested development motherfuckers play them, and as a result have no manners and go about life thinking everything's about them, they don't have to wait their turn, and they do whatever they want, fuck everybody else.  A lot of people are like that now, in this country and around the world.  And that's also partially why Trump's in office -- well, that and Russian interference (which Trump asked for, which is illegal) and Musk and social media (also illegal).  And while aggression isn't the same as violence, the former can easily bleed into and beget the latter.  That would be a correlation, wouldn't it?

People scoff at calls to ban or limit video games from the youth until their brains are more fully developed.  Those calls have been proposed to curb violence.  I'm going to say it: Maybe video games should be limited as a way to curb aggression, and then that curb on aggression can lead to a curb in violence.  All things are connected to each other, and in a world that is going mad and is hellbent on screwing the little guy, maybe we need to think about doing that.  Then, maybe these supposedly "frustrated" boys will actually grow the fuck up.

Passive-Aggressive Confrontation At The Ice Cream Place

OK, so a few weeks ago I was enjoying a final Sunday before my folks came home, and I decided to go to this ice cream parlor kind of close to me -- not for ice cream (I think I've gotten more lactose intolerant, if that's possible), but for their burger, which is consistently lauded around town.  I think they're good, but I have had a few in the area that have blown me away.

Anyway, I was going to sit down to eat my burger and fries.  There is an outside deck and it was fairly crowded, but there were a couple seats available.  So I promptly lay on the counter my food right above a seat that was next to this couple.  And the male of the couple says, "Aup -- my son's sitting here," and he quickly jerked the stool right next to him.

I did the polite Minnesota thing.  No, I only did a blend of the polite Minnesota thing.  See, my old age has given me repeated instances of honing my passive-aggressiveness -- come to think of it, that's a Minnesota thing too -- to the point where I am getting better at shooting off comebacks that are nice on the surface but is delivered with a side of bile and bite.  Maybe it's not good in a polite society to be so on-edge that you have such a witticism at the ready, but we are no longer in a polite society.  So, as I picked up my food to move down to another open seat, I said, "Ope, sorry about that," and I know I had an unmistakable tone I said that with.  Heh-heh.

It's not as if the old guy was lying; his son came out from the bathroom and starting eating with his parents.  I could've just left it there ... but that's not me.  From that point onward, I was thinking of one more shot, one more dig whereby I could taunt or bait him, maybe even pick a fight with him if he is as prone to anger as I am.  Hell, my parents were coming home -- why not fight?

(Aside: This place is great if car-cruising was a thing.  The place is fronted by a three-lane road, with one lane in the middle for cars taking lefts.  It's speed-controlled, too, which is a good thing for pedestrians.  It's also good for drive-bys.  All guys who are strapped need to do is roll by at 15 miles per hours and light up the place, and me.  Glad I didn't have any enemies out to get me then -- well, besides this dude.  Anyway, back to my story:)

I finally decided I would look at him, and I mean stare at him until I got his attention, then say goodbye to him.  Not say anything, but acknowledge his leaving in a way that would make him notice.  That would assume a few things.  For one, he would have to leave before I do.  For another, he would have to walk my way in order for me to flag his attention.  And, for finally, he would have to see me.  But if all those conditions were met, bam!  I got his ass!

So he and his family got done before me.  Then, they walked on the sidewalk in front of me.  See, this is my chance.  They were walking slow, so I just stopped eating and looked at him, intently.  He glanced at me -- and I just gave him a wink, a "See ya around, pal!" type of thing.  And he ... gave me a smile.

Uh, what was that?  He didn't seem triggered or put off.  In fact, he didn't seem, uh, mad at all.  Now, he could've been cursing me up and down by the time those three got into their car -- "What the hell was that?" type of thing.  Or -- um, he just honestly said that stool was for his son, and that's all he meant by it.  Which means I overreacted to something that just happens.  And there's nothing more to it than that.

Shit, was that all that it was?

Maybe I Will Get Fired, Maybe I Won't ... ?

So after thinking about it for almost 48 hours, I fired off a reply to my boss' e-mail where he did not like me speaking out about the workload I had kept to myself.  While I initially wanted my response to be fiery and even maybe a little bit defensive, I toned down the comebacks and invited guidance as to why I need to get done before I leave for the day and what I can push off till the next day.

Well, I haven't been fired.  Nor did my boss snap back at me when he replied Wednesday morning.  I get the feeling, however, he doesn't think I completely understood what he was complaining about.  His response was all about asking for help the next time I'm swamped.  I already know that, I was hoping he could tell me which specific tasks must be done and which can wait.  I didn't get that answer, so maybe we're talking at each other and not to each other.

With that being said, my boss hasn't raised that issue since he e-mailed me back.  Maybe I was right to stop and think instead of react viscerally because, like many things that seemed insurmountable at the time, it washes over by the next day.  Maybe he doesn't really think it's that big of a deal.  Maybe he had to e-mail because he was told to.  So, maybe this is nothing, and I can continue to work overtime to stay on top of the work, however slow my boss thinks I am being.

He Was On His Bullshit, So I Acted A Fool

So I went into the lab today, my weekly "once more unto the breach."  More piss to touch, goddammit.  But who was I replacing at the table?  The asshole who thought it was funny to remind me not to cut myself.  And fuckin' A, he said it again.

I know most other people would take that shot good-naturedly.  I am not most other people.  I know that there is an undercurrent of ridicule coming from that insult.  I have thought about what I would say to that prick if he thought it'd be funny to replay the hits, so to speak.  And once he reminded me not to cut myself, I got triggered, and I let him have it.

"You're still on that, huh?"

"No, I'm just reminding you not to cut yours--"

"Wow, I don't need a reminder from you, OK?"  Honestly, I don't know if I said this.  But I said something, and I hope that it was witty.  And I hope I got the idea across to him that I didn't think what he said was funny.  Maybe I don't care, because I just want him to shut his fucking mouth about it.  I think he left me alone.  He'd better fucking drop this shit from now on.

There's another lab worker who was still at the table, and by the way, she is an asshole the one who reminded this asshole that I cut my finger.  And she didn't really shut up about it, and I had to deal with her shit because she was sitting next to me.  I need to find a way to piss her off to the point where she leaves me alone, too, and if I have to act a fool, I'll do it.

I Can Do Better Than This (Four Assholes At Work)

So I move around departments I'm trained in.  I consider only four of them.  But there are a bunch of other departments that I see.  Most of them I don't know.  And after yesterday/Wednesday, thank God I fucking don't.

I don't know what the fuck happened, but these other dopes who work in other parts of the building were just a bunch of revolting cocksuckers.  There was the chump who was lined up to get coffee, got out of line and then, after the person ahead of him got his or her coffee, fucking cut in front of me to get his coffee.  There was the asshole who thought he was funny when he said, "Don't cut yourself," like it was his fucking business that I stupidly cut my finger last week.  This shit-fuck think he's funny?  The person who processes is always an ass, and this one's no different, invading my space to get the opened packages because she thought I was too slow.  And then there was this moppy-headed incel at the end of my day, hitting his ass on the chair and then angrily moving it around to get into the best position to eat his ramen.  He sounded like he wanted to watch the TV even though I was watching the end of the Euros and holding the remote.  So, like an adult, I offered him the remote, and without looking at me -- nice passive-aggressive touch, boy! -- he sternly shook his head like a scared and hungry child.

So there's that saying in the TV show Justified: "If you run into an asshole in the morning, you run into an asshole in the morning.  If you run into assholes all day, you're the asshole."  No.  Nuh-uh.  I ran into assholes all day.  Don't fucking know why, but I was surrounding by a bunch of dead-end, basic bitches who took out their frustrations and limitations on me for some goddamn reason.  To hell with these dumbasses.  The only reason I'm not filled with anger and anxiety (although my body hurts because my heart's beating a mile a minute) is that they're not really my co-workers.  One of the places I have to see these pricks I go to only once a week.  Otherwise I hope to God I don't see them in the hallway or the breakroom.  This is not like having run-ins with my boss like I've had in the past, or my true co-workers, most of whom I can deal with.  I see and have to work with those people every day, so if I got a problem with them, that affects my work environment and thus my work.

These shitheels?  Dirt off my shoulder.  Well, I'm trying to wipe them off.  But it's not defeat to leave this situation, you know?.  I mean, do I really "win" if I stick around and start talking back to these rude no-hopers?  Maybe there are higher classes of people at a different workplace.  And maybe it would behoove me to look somewhere else.  Maybe I can do better than this, and maybe bad days like yesterday are the impetus for me to finally find out if the grass is really greener on the other side.

This Is Why I Am Only Intimate With Strippers

Blow-ups with my parents are few nowadays, thank Buddha.  All-out fights between them and me?  Can't remember the last time we had one.  But I do get annoyed from time to time.  Just take last night.

I was awakened by my now-typical post-dinner nap by them after they took their now-typical post-dinner walk around the block.  After putting on my clothes, I went out to see Father at the dining room table and Mother standing up next to the kitchen counter.  I was still groggy because they interrupted my sleep, which was obvious.

And then Mother said, "Why are you taking a nap?  How are you going to bed tonight if you are taking a nap now?"  And I know she has asked something akin to that before, but I had no answer.  And because of that, in my mind, my only comeback I could think of was, "Shut up."  Instead, I think I stammered out a "Don't you mind," or something like that.

I thought Father said through my bedroom door that he needed help picking something up, like a heavy bag of rice.  No; there was a document and a UPS package laid out.  It's something that has to do with their investments, I think.  They wanted to know if it was filled out correctly, which I think it was.  Then, they needed to find a UPS dropbox.  I don't know -- why would I ever need to use them? -- so I needed to use their cellphone to look up the nearest UPS dropbox from home.  And I was still freakin' damn tired -- I hate getting woken up -- but I went on the UPS website and it brought up a bunch of locations that didn't seem to be very close.  The closest one had an address of 111th St., and we live nowhere near a 111th St.

Right then, Mother said, "Why aren't you using Google Maps?" and I was just about trying of her crap, so I snapped at her, "If you know so much about finding a dropbox, why don't you look it up yourself?"  But I did, and even though I didn't feel as though I could trust those results either, I think the closest one is just below 694.  Mother thanked me in a sarcastic way, and I went to back into my room to try and fall asleep again and fail to do so.

I have taken to heart the adage that in relationships, you ultimately revert back to what you know.  What I know, or remember, are drag-out (and only very occasional knock-down) fights between my parents.  I knew that is what I would probably do if I ever deign to have a girlfriend.  But I realized I am broken in a different way after reflecting on my reactions to what Mother said.  Her comments are triggers, things that have pissed me off for as long as I can remember her saying stuff like that, and I have been rubbed raw, to the bone, as I feel I have had to deal with it all my life.  In particular, I hate hectoring questions from her about stuff I don't know, and also her telling me I'm doing something wrong and I should be doing it another way instead.  If I ever get into a relationship, and she asks me a question about something I don't know or tells me I'm doing something wrong and I should be doing something else instead ... well, I think I probably will snap at her.  And, if I'm being completely honest with myself, I could do worse.

It's what I know and what I've learned.  And I think I've known that in the back of my mind because I have never had an intimate partner.  Well, not an emotionally intimate partner.  I can line up physically intimate partners if I want to spend the cash.  And I have.  And once they're done jacking me off, I usually leave, because I don't ever want to get into a situation where I am abusive.  Or violent.

Bad Driver: JMW 486

This Mediocre White Dude in a silver Toyota sedan wouldn't move his ass in the parking lot of the Chipotle close to me.  I was going to around him to drive off when he started driving.  I honked my horn because he was annoying the shit out of me.  And he stuck his hand out the window and gave me the finger lol.  I gave him the finger back out of reflex; I shouldn't have done that because that comeback bullshit is weak.  But to make sure I wasn't stuck behind some asshole with a gun, I waited until he turned right and I turned left to lean on my horn again.

Prick, if you don't want to get honked, move your ass!  And don't flick me off, you slow motherfucker. ...

I just went through a whole slew of things I need to do around the house in order to tidy up for my parents, and yet the one thing, the one very thing I've been thinking about all night is how to answer this asshole on Twitter.  Obsession is a two-way street, especially with a guy who really needs to get his ass kicked, but I have to respond.  I hope I can do it perfectly, and then go on about my night.

And My Limit With My Family Ended On Day ... 2 Or 3

The stress over planning my sister's graduation, along with my parents bringing up, "So when are you going to get a girlfriend?" followed up by "So when are you going back to school?" did it for me.  Probably didn't help my cause that my sister was running around all day doing chores including picking up My Asshole Brother and his family; not a great time to ask her to pick her up from the beach.

But upon further reflection, it's My Fucking Mother.  She turned on the batshit crazy late.  After dinner, and after I sent her an edited video of one of my sister's graduation ceremonies, she was complaining that I sent her the same, unedited and raw video that included the person before her (a friend of my sister's) getting lauded.  I told her to look at the next video down from the raw one.  It was right on her fucking phone screen.  Then, later, she told me to pick up a duffel bag and a backpack, both of which were gifts from my sister and both packaged in these super-small plastic bags, off of the Murphy bed she and Father are sleeping on now, and for no good goddamn reason, she blurts out, "Why are you taking two bags?"  And honestly, I think I muttered, oh so silently, "Shut up."  (Oh, and another thing: My brother-in-law was about to sit down when he hesitated at the dining room table, and without anyone asking her, she goes, "Sit down -- are you stupid?")

A dozen more days of this bullshit.  And I haven't even laid eyes on that waste of space called my brother.  I continue to insist there's a non-zero percent chance somebody from this party is going to die.

---

Oh, BTW, I know that this is Saturday, and therefore I should have a Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey up and running.  But who am I kidding: I'm too busy dealing with the stress of family on vacation to do one.  It ain't happening.  And I doubt I'll have one for next Week either.  Sorry -- it is what it is!

I've Got A Bad Feeling About Work Today

Go back to The Fourth Department today and tomorrow.  Hadn't been there in a week.  Don't miss it.

My fear was prompted by a conversation I overheard when I was typing in my Main Department between two of my co-workers.  One of them has the same position as me; the other is a lifer who's been in this particular department, I think, for over a decade now.  This lifer started making small talk to the other about how work is back there.  Then she asked if she got any guff.  "No," she said, "Not yet.  Well, I mean, there have been a couple dodgy calls (I'm paraphrasing), but nothing bad, really."

I believe in bad omens, and therefore, I think something bad's going to happen.  And maybe I'm manifesting this into existence, but I'm ready for any crap I have to take on the phone from some anxious client or some person in the other building cajoling me into giving her information I have been forbidden to give her.  I think I'm going to bow up, steel my spine, and talk back to anyone who wants to cross me today.  Because you have to give even better than you get in this position.  And by the force of Buddha, I hope to have the courage to defend myself.  Wish me luck.  Well, better yet to wish that I don't have to deal with any stupid people today.

2022 March Madness Anti-Picks, Final

Record, Round 6: 0-1

Overall Record: 18-27-1

Total Outlay, Round 6: $800.00

Total Intake, Round 6: $0.00

Total Loss, Round 6: $800.00

Final Overall Winnings: $5.13

I did not see the start of the championship Game because I was protesting such a monumental sporting event being relegated to cable.  (I don't care that it got record-high ratings ... for cable.  It should be on broadcast television, and I continue to insist that the NCAA's latest TV deal with CBS and Turner has been an utter goddamn mistake.)  And then I saw Kansas, my pick to win it all, getting their dicks blown off by upstart North Carolina at Halftime, so I had no incentive to go on Sling and watch the Second Half, so I entertained myself on my phone.

But holy shit!  The Jayhawks made a comeback for the ages!  I totally forgot that Kansas came back from way down at the half to Miami (Fla.) in the Regional Final.  They were capable of coming back, but they were capable of an ugly First Half, and the title Game against the Tar Heels was history repeating itself a Week later.  But damn, I hear that the comeback was awesome!

And it totally blew my pick of Kansas -4 out of the water!  Well, it turned out to be a three-Point Game, and a hell of a Game at that (which is another prediction I totally got wrong; I thought this was going to be a boring rout); Carolina had a chance to tie it at the buzzer, in fact.  But they didn't, and even though Kansas won, they didn't cover.

It's been at least a decade since I picked the champion correct.  That makes me feel good.  But I noticed in the final standings of the big pool I'm in, most of the, oh, top 30 or so finishers, including the champion, did not pick Kansas to win it all.  It helps to pick the champ, but at least in my pool, it is far from necessary.  I finished in the top 100, which is still pretty good (I finished better only once, last year, which means I think I'm in the middle of a good run right now), but I didn't really need Kansas winning it all instead of, like, not picking Virginia Tech to make it to the Final Four.

Meanwhile, I staked all but a nominal profit on the 'Hawks, so even though my big final bet didn't come through, I still finished ahead.  And that's really the point.

Man, I have to fill in in Filing today.  All day, too.  So I have to work next to That Asshole, plus I might have to worry about dealing with that bitch in the other room, too.  I know that my temper is up to me to control, but goddamn man, all it takes is one of them saying the wrong thing to me today in the wrong way and I will be fucking triggered like shit, man.

Hey, maybe That Asshole is already triggered.  I was being passive-aggressive toward him last week; maybe if he's as much of a devious motherfucker as I am, he will mean to be mean to be me as soon as I step into the room, and well, let the goddamn fireworks begin.

Fuckin' Christ ... I know some bullshit's gonna happen today where I'm not going to take their bullshit lying down and I'll say something back to them and then, well ... let the fuckin' chips fall where they may, me boy. ...

So, How Do I React To This?

Apparently I fucked up at work again!  It was The Third Department this time.  My supervisor left me an e-mail for me to read first thing my work week yesterday morning.  According to her, I left something that I could have done before I left work on Friday.  But, and this is the key here, she explained, in condescending terms that I take umbrage with because there is no way you can tell tone through e-mail, why it was such a bad thing to leave that out there.  "By doing that, you delay the release of the test sample for another 12 hours ..." (wanking motion).

Me screwing up, I can deal with.  I've done it before, and by God, I'll do it again.  But it's the explanation that set me off.  Like I don't fucking know what happens when something is left ... there.  Like she hasn't told me that before.  And when I read that, all I could think of was ... my parents.  That pedantic condescension whereby she told me bullshit I already know but thought I needed to be reminded of ... well, I get triggered because that bullshit is what I have suffered from all my life.

And so my first thought was to fire back at her with a message that she'll see and get pissed off over first thing this morning -- something to the effect of, "What call?  What the hell are you talking about?!  I didn't see no call, and it's not right that you're accusing me of not doing my job!"  But, well, it might be a sign of maturity that I didn't do that.  I have learned that when I get triggered, don't act rash, just take a step back, and if I still feel strongly about it, then say so, just not in so many words.

So I waited, and I thought.  I swear I checked and didn't see anything ... but maybe I didn't.  And I am still far from perfect in this job.  Also, firing an insult as a comeback probably isn't the best thing to do at my supervisor who, to be fair, has treated me well.  And maybe she didn't mean to strike such a hectoring tone.  And hey, maybe I had good reason not to do it ... assuming I did check and that I could have done it and I didn't.

I waited until the end of my day to fire off a letter.  My initial fury had boiled down to a simmer, and I decided I would ask that we discuss what she said I didn't do the next day.  Finally, however, I felt as though I didn't do anything wrong and had to put that somewhere in my e-mail.  Just a little pushback as a way of defending myself.  So I typed that I swore I checked, and in the morning I would really like to see if I really did overlook this and/or did not check.  I don't think I sound confrontational in the e-mail, yet I had to show I was not willing to be totally conciliatory.  And, as I type this, I can see me going up to her first thing in the morning, demanding her to show me where she thinks I went wrong, and explaining away why I either didn't check or why I had good reason not to do it.  Or, I will see I totally screwed it up and that I totally was at fault.

Right now I am still imagining a scenario where things could blow up wherein I have decided that I wanted things to blow up.  But I didn't go DEFCON 1 yesterday morning when I would have years ago.  I decided to stop and think.  Maybe that's growing up, and maybe I'm reacting correctly to this.

Mothered Triggered Me, Maybe

Yeah, so for dinner today we were eating steak.  Mother brought out some avocados she cut.  I was going to eat some of them, I swear.  But when she set that cup of avocados in front of me and said, "You not gonna eat the avocados?" I banged the fork and knife on the table and shot back at her, "You want me to eat the avocados?"  And I was silent for the rest of dinner -- although, in her quiet conversation with Father, she might have been bitching about me in front of her.

All my life she has been putting food in front of me and asking me, "You not gonna eat the (food she put in front of me)?"  Shit, she did that this morning, when we were eating banh mi and she asked me, "You not gonna drink tea?"  I just said, "Nope."  And that was it ... except that it wasn't, when she asked the same obnoxious goddamn thing again.

Did she say what she said tonight because of what I said this morning?  Maybe.  But it may be more a case of how I perceive what she said.  I couldn't tell if she was talking shit about me in front of me because she was speaking Chinese.  I suspect that she's been talking about me in front of me all my fucking life because I have never understood Chinese.  But maybe that language barrier ... well, makes me think she said, and says, something she didn't/doesn't say.  By that I mean I wonder if she's really saying, "You not gonna eat/drink (item to be consumed)?"  I am annoyed that she has told me to eat and drink everything put in front of me all my life.  But I am also triggered when she says, or at least I perceive her saying, "You gonna eat/drink that?"  Those words sound like taunting to me, and I'm sick of it, but maybe, just maybe, she doesn't mean it that way.  Maybe she's asking me, "We have (food/drink) available.  Would you like some?"  Or, at the very least, she isn't taunting me.

(sigh)

I think I've made her mad, and I feel bad about that.  And yet, I feel that now she's going to hold that against me, and that one day soon she's just going to blow up on me for something that is no big deal.  And I can probably trace that meltdown back to what I said today.

I'm going to find something in the fridge she made and eat it in a vain, circuitous attempt to make peace with her.

Now I Have A REAL Problem At Work

OK, so there was this co-worker who's now my supervisor, the one I thought was a bitch, then wasn't, then (maybe) was again and then (maybe) was not again?  Well, after how she treated me yesterday, she's a complete bitch -- a cunt even -- and she can't come back from that.

She has a penchant of, uh, jokingly complaining about someone.  She frequently says something to the effect of, "(insert name here) broke the computer again!"  She actually said it in the morning.  But a bit after that, after talking to the co-worker next to me, she muttered my name, and for what, I don't remember.  And I thought she was joking, like usual, so I said something not worth remembering back to her.  But she shot back: "I need to see if you're going to pull your weight."

Uh, excuse me?  I don't know what the hell she's talking about.  But I got blindsided that she came back at me with an insult like that.  That means that she isn't joking.  All I could do was stammer out something to the effect of, "We'll see about that," after the window for clever comebacks closed, if you know what I mean.

OK, so I'm already thinking that I need to raise this with my boss.  But she destroyed any chance we could have a workable relationship at the end of the day ... and it was my fault, even though I still don't really know what happened.  What I know is that there was a folder and there were applications that were missing, but ever since our hours were cut, I have seen that many times.  Now, I don't quite remember what happens in those cases, but I do know that I didn't want to speak to her, and usually when I do raise something to her, she says it's nothing.  So I thought it was nothing.  So I passed it through.

Ah, yeah, that was a big mistake.  On her way out, she was pissed at me.  Paraphrasing: "You know that folder you sent through?  There were, like, dozens of forms missing.  Why did you pass it through?  Why didn't you tell me?!"

So, what do you say to someone after you fucked up big time, but who passive-aggressively made an unfair accusation to your face a few hours before and now was walking away from you after shooting a look of disgust beneath her surgical mask?  You scream, "Sorry!  Have a nice weekend!" at her back with as much sarcasm as you can.  And I didn't have to wait a beat to think it up.  Now that's what you call a comeback!!!

Maybe I should have done better with that folder, to put it mildly.  But when her feelings for me aren't that great to begin with, and she told me as much, and her reasons for it are bullshit, I really don't have too many fucks to give ... even though I've been thinking about her behavior toward me ever since I got home.  Man, this water off a duck's back mindset I just cannot do. ...

So yeah, I really need to talk about this to my boss now.  He needs to know that if my supe wants to start a passive-aggressive war of insults, she'll fucking get one.  I have a right to stand up for myself.

Yeah, But ... Is It Virus-Free?

So I am trying to step back from my anger.  Give it a night's (shortened) rest.  Maybe in the morning I'll have cooled off and thought this isn't a war worth fighting.  Or, I could wake up as spittin' mad as ever, and I would decide that I need to take some action, or talk back.

Either way, something could totally derail things.  See, on Sunday, I took up the mantle of disinfecting all the common areas in my area -- door handles and keypads.  While I was walking around work yesterday (a day in which I did not sanitize), I saw that all the dark spots I sprayed this disinfectant on had these white splotches on them.  It's ugly, to be sure.  So, it's, uh, possible I used too much?  But in the days of COVID-19, can anything really be too much?

So I can totally see coming in tomorrow and being confronted by my supervisor or boss with, "Did you spray all these door handles and keypads with the cleaner?  You used way too much!" and getting called on the carpet for it.  To which I would reply, and not like a smartass, "Yes, but ... is it virus-free?"

And I could then be fired on the spot, which would make any thoughts I have about quitting moot.

Under Her Thumb, Again

My Fucking Mother has yelled at me before, but for some goddamn reason her yelling at me Monday has gotten under my skin.  It's been a day and I still feel like it's hard to talk about, and I don't know why.

So she called me from Vegas and she wanted to talk about some things she wanted me to bring to my brother and sister-in-law when I drop by for Christmas; they are going to visit my parents out in Las Vegas, and having them bring these things over saves all of us from the onerous amount of postage.  I don't exactly remember when she snapped -- it probably is a defense mechanism -- but I got triggered when I tried to explain ... shit, I don't fuckin' remember, but it might be a situation where she was expecting her and Father's Medicare cards and I told her they haven't come yet.  She then told me to bring some letters too.

In the midst of all this, she wondered how these items haven't come yet.  My Fucking Mother was already wound up I told her that I would go check.  And maybe she finally flew off the handle when I gave her the silent treatment.  I really was just looking for these letters and cards that may have already come.  I'll admit I was kind of being a dick, but she was already being a bitch to me, and when I gave her radio silence while I was shuffling through letter after letter, she turned 100% cunt.  She was yelling at me for ghosting her, and for walking away from the phone when all I did was set aside these insurance cards that did come.

I had to tell her about some violation on a piece of property in town that my folks still own, and when My Fucking Mother accused me of not telling her not just the day but the minute I opened up that letter, that's when I ... well, I started yelling back, but I can't shake the feeling that as I did, I showed that I let her get to me.  "I OPENED UP THIS LETTER JUST NOW, OK?!?!?!" I screamed at her.  (Confession: I opened up this letter Saturday.  Don't care -- again, My Fucking Mother was being a cunt.)  And I basically kept screaming at her, even after she got done with lecturing me about writing down the things I need to bring over to Carver County on Christmas on some fucking list and making a left turn into asking me if I ate yet.  The best comeback my non-agile brain could think of was, and I was screaming still, "I DON'T KNOW.  I HAVE THINGS TO DO, INCLUDING YOUR SHI ... STUFF, MAYBE I WILL EAT, MAYBE I WON'T EAT!  OK?"  And then My Fucking Mother said, "I am done," and in what probably was my clearest and most in-control way to tell her I was pissed at her, I hung up without saying goodbye.

She called back twice later, the first about five minutes after I hung up on her, the second a couple hours later and after I went to a coffeeshop to clear my head.  Man, I wanted to work on some chores at home -- do the laundry or the dishes, or really start cleaning up my stuff that I should put out for recycling.  But I couldn't do it because I had to emotionally process and get over the fucking tongue-lashing My Fucking Mother gave me.  Sure, she was actually sane in the subsequent two calls.  And when I had to talk to her last/Tuesday night about a bunch of mail that came (just between you and me, it came Monday, but I didn't open it when I got bitched out by her), and she was pleasant to talk to, believe it or not, I actually felt a calmness followed by a rise in energy that helped me tackle the pile of dishes in the sink and, after going to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Edition), clearing the snow from the old car.  But that's what I hate about her, and of myself: I cannot go on with my day because I'm affected by this/her.  And my ability to not only do productive things but also to be happy still is dependent on whether or not My Fucking Mother mistreats me or not.  And she is able to do this while she's in another state.  She just reached out and grabbed me by the throat, and she still hasn't really let go of me.

They say that you should never let other people ruin your day.  Easier said than done.

That fucking woman has permanently damaged my life.  No wonder why I need therapy.

I'm Too Late

Yes, this was my worst nightmare.  Even Mother was afraid of this.

She was scared that if I didn't pounce on getting her miles in time, it'll be too late.

And a couple nights ago I saw her online statement.  The flights I had just requested were there, but the miles were not.  And I saw the code: Request came too late.

No, I was afraid of this.  But I was afraid that Mother would suddenly freak out about this months after she initially asked about it, like she cared, stopped caring, then starting caring again.  If she was on this from the get-go and didn't stop, things could be much different.

But, no ... I feel so damn guilty.  Maybe I should have been on the ball a lot more.  There were requests that the airline did not take up, and maybe that was the point where I should have replied back, pushed back, fought back.  Then I would've gotten the miles for Mother, and I would not have to worry about some cutoff deadline.

However, how's this: Why couldn't she just have saved all the boarding passes for all the flights my parents took on vacation?  Mother gave me those passes and told me to ask for mileage for them.  She also told me -- I swear -- that if there are no pass, don't worry about getting miles for that flight.  That is what happened.  That is why she didn't get miles for those flights, and suddenly she's losing her shit over it.

Then again ... I just realized that I could have asked for miles for her without a boarding pass.  My Father and Mother obviously took all those flights together.  So, obviously, what flight segments he took are ones she took.  Moreover, the ticket number will probably be consecutive because they bought the tickets together -- and, and this is important, Mother's ticket number would be one more than Father's because, when ordering the tickets online, I'm certain that because they're "traditional," they would list Father's name before Mother's.  I could have just put in the flight number, flight points and ticket number and she would've been in, lickety split.

And yet ... I didn't take these trips.  I don't know where they went.  And these are not my miles.  Once again I am stepping into a situation for which I had contributed little to nothing, and Mother essentially gives me responsibility so that if I fuck up, she can blame me.  No -- I will not feel guilty about doing as much as I want to in order to appease her.  What's done is done.

One more twist ... I was at Glam Doll, chillaxing at my computer.  Just because I wanted to, I logged into Mother's statement, and I noticed small details that might add up.  The cutoff for which Mother apparently lost miles on is nine months.  The airline has the date of flights all correct, or at least I think so.  Then there are "posted" dates, dates the airline says they were informed of a request for miles by the flyer (in this case Mother).  I noticed that two flights both flew and posted on the online statement at roughly the same time ... one year apart, which I thought was well past the cutoff date to request miles.

Moreover, Mother received miles for one of those flights, but not for the other choreographed flight, even though she flew with Father, even though these flight segments were part of a whole journey and, by the way, is all paid for by one man with one credit card.  What the hell's the difference?  For all my self-hate over not staying on top of this, that discrepancy is so conspicuous that I am starting to think that it might not be my fault after all.  At any rate, I'm waiting on the airline.  Again.

---

I'm so freakin' tired right now I don't know if what I wrote above just now makes any sense.  I'm going to bed.

More Of Mother's Blaming Bullshit

All I wanted to do was ask because I was concerned.

OK, so in the blog post I posted, like, two hours ago I said that Mother wanted my help printing some things at the library.  Just before leaving today (I am at Diamonds right now on the way to the Vikings game) I asked Mother if everything went well.

To which she replied, and I paraphrase: "You did not tell me about the other bills!  They were in the big envelope!  You were supposed to put them together!  I find them but I got so confused!  I paid the bills before I put them together!  You're supposed to put them together!"

Normal, well-adjusted mothers would say something to the effect of, "Those other bills came in.  They were in the big envelope.  I don't know why they all didn't come in that one envelope.  But it's all good."  But I don't have a normal, well-adjusted mother.  I have a bitch.

What I did was ask her if she was able to pay everything, which was the point of all this.  And then I turned around, gave her the finger, and said under my breath, "That's what I get for asking.".  But honestly, I am roiling inside.  Angry at her, and angry at myself for walking into her trap.  That fucker does this shit all the time -- blaming me for things that happen to her and, on top of that, communicating that in a way that is nothing more than finger-pointing.  I guess I missed that the bills were shipped in a different envelope.  But it ain't such a huge goddamn deal when you had all of them together, and it doesn't really matter if you were able to pay all the bills you need to pay, does it?

I can't let this stand.  My Fucking Mother has to know this bullshit she pulls is not OK.  But I don't want to go on and on about this because this will affect my frame of mind.  It already is; I kind of got into it with a couple of cars on the streets on my way here to Diamonds.  And I have to go to work and I know I'll have to deal with other stressors there which, once they trigger me, will pull me back to what this cunt did to me just now and it'll take my damndest to not spiral into an argument.

My "comeback," such as it is: Just before I left the house I took the Sharpie out of my bag, went back upstairs and, with My Fucking Mother right there in the kitchen, crossed out a date on the calendar indicating I am not coming home for dinner that day.  It's not satisfying because it's passive-aggressive, but I don't think I'm smart enough to do something more direct.  I'll refuse her food when I am eating dinner tomorrow, or something.

Process through, and try to let go.