No, I Don't Want To Know When

It's been over a week since I spoke to my parents.  And when I say that, I mean literally speak to them.  Since then I have been in contact with them, through text.  I usually do that, and only do that, when there is a letter regarding an issue with one of their properties for which Mother needs some idea of what's going on, and telling her just won't cut it.

But over the past week bills have been sent.  Usually I just get on the phone and tell Mother that, hey, this bill came in and it's for such-and-such an amount.  I also tell her about checks that have come in, but when the latest one came over a week ago ... well, I just texted her that it's here.  And she was fine with it.  Then, a couple bills came and I figured this is something Mother needs to know about, so I texted her to call me, but I didn't hear from her the rest of the evening.  OK, this is unusual.  And I didn't want to wait to call after work the next day, so I texted her the nature and amount of these two bills at work the next day, and she said she would take care of it.  Not going to lie, I am in a texting mood now, so the bills that have come in since I have only told her through text.

Yes, it's easier.  But I have to admit that the real reason I am now texting her is that I don't want to hear her tell me that they're coming home.  They should be coming home by now.  And don't get me wrong.  When I say "should," I don't mean that it's the right thing to do, or it's preferable.  I mean that they've been gone over half a year, and they say they would be coming back, so logic would dictate they would mean what they say and be back.  Now, they usually summer here in Minnesota, and they didn't do that.  Mother later said they'd return in August, and obviously that's not the case.  They have said they want to come back to look at the mail that's accumulated, or to start working on a new roof, or figuring out what to do with the minivan, or to see that the trash is now being picked up.  But they're not here -- at least not yet.

Still, I have had this creeping fear that, as time marches forward, the inevitable end of me having the whole house to myself has to come.  Surely, they would be making a decision now that it's Labor Day ... even though, and I may be pointing this out to myself in order to give myself hope, generally this is the time of the year my parents leave Minnesota.  And hey, maybe they realized they just want to stay out there, and that there is no reason to come back since everything is hunky dory, and it is hunky dory here right now.  But I feel like I'm tied to a conveyor belt with my legs spread open with a laser beam ready to zap my genitals, like that scene in Goldfinger.  If/When they tell me, I have so much shit I need to do -- pack up all my things (and I am visually overwhelmed with all the packing I'll have to do ... my goodness it's a lot), take them to storage, and clean, clean, clean.  I don't have the time to do that, I don't have the energy to do that, and I frankly don't have the will to do that.  So I don't talk to Mother nowadays because being incommunicado with her lets me leave all my stuff out where I want.  And that is a ... don't want to say a fiction, but a situation I've created in order to make me feel good about myself.  As long as she doesn't tell me they're returning, I get to live how I feel.  So I don't talk to her because that way, she can't tell me anything.

You know, this is something I would talk to my psychiatrist about.  God, I could use someone to talk to about my anxiety right now.

What Would I Do?

Maybe I have to face the truth.  Maybe the reason I avoid venturing out during the day, or fear getting stopped by these assholes while driving, or run through my mind what I would do if I see someone getting abducted, is because I am scared of what I would say and do ... or not say or do.

I have proof that I am a citizen.  But it looks like these motherfuckers don't give a solitary fuck about that.  If they don't, and they decide to haul me in, what would I do then?  But there's something way more sinister than that.  It sounds as though these pricks insult you to your face in an effort to get you going.  I have a temper.  Could I be baited into saying something or doing something that'll be justification for getting taken away?  Absolutely.  Now, I have to remember that these pieces of shit have guns and therefore hold all the cards.  It might not matter what I say or do, or don't say or do.  They'll do whatever they want, at that time, just because they fucking want to.  And yet, I wonder if some of it would be "my fault" if I lose it.

And then there's the other side.  What if I get stopped in my car or on the street, and when they ask for proof of citizenship, even though I don't have to (and I have heard conflicting advice on this), I give them that proof?  And let's say they let me go.  Frankly, I would be relieved I wouldn't be kidnapped.  But what I did in order to remain a free man is to knuckle under this fascist régime's orders.  I would be complicit.  I just decided to give them what they want because I didn't want to get my ass kicked.

So what kind of a man, what kind of an American, what kind of a patriot would I truly be if I did what these Republican shitstains tell me to do?  And am I going to look the other way if someone gets spirited away into a plateless SUV to points unknown?  I'm afraid the answer to that last question is yes.  That murder Saturday morning really frightens me.  The first one here a couple weeks ago was bad enough.  But I am a big believer in that once you do something unfathomable and heinous, doing it again is much easier.  I'm afraid I can see a rash of killings by these racist government thugs.  Hey, in for a penny, in for a pound, right?  And it's that backdrop of these goddamn bullies threatening your life if they don't get their way that makes me scared that I will not be courageous when the time comes for me to be brave.

So, who will I be -- or maybe more to the point, what side will I show -- when these sons-of-bitches come for me -- the chickenshit too meek to do anything so he can go home in one piece, or the dead man who had to stand up to someone because it's the right thing to do?  I don't think I want to know.  And that's why I stay home as much as I can.  And that's why I hate myself right now.

Anxiety (Should Be) Rising

Alright, I still don't know if I'm going out to dinner with family Sunday, I don't know if my parents have decided they're going out to dinner with family Sunday, I don't know if the headlight bulbs will be delivered in time to use the minivan for dinner Sunday, I don't know if I should get a rental car to use for dinner on Sunday (and I have to worry whether my parents are not going to freak out about getting a rental car too, but that's another layer of anxiety), and worst of all, I don't know if anybody involved with dinner on Sunday even cares.  I'm afraid this entire damn family is just "playing it by ear" when it comes to dinner on Sunday, and we can't.

Are we doing this or not?  I don't like that I feel as though I need to be the one to initiate conversation.  Yeah, I might be the one who most knows what's going on, and I had to buy the bulbs, and I'm the one going back and forth between my parents and my sister.  But you know, they can talk to each other.  They can make plans.  They can fret over plans, such as dinner on Sunday, and not just me.

So that's what I'm afraid of: Them not caring, me standing my ground and refusing to invest more energy than I already am, and then Sunday rolls around and we can't go because we can't drive the van at night.  So, whose fault is it then?  I'm worried about everything else about them coming; I don't need this, too.

Detente ... Or De-Taunt?

OK, so that guy I know who went psycho on me when I said that the violence Trump incites came back to bite him in that shooting Saturday?  Well, out of an abundance of caution, I went beyond muting to defriending him.  Couldn't take the risk.  However, we are members of a Facebook page, and I haven't and probably won't throw him out of there, even though I can since I'm an administrator.  It's my concession.

I had posted something on that page, something about tickets to a Game.  Yesterday/Tuesday, he posted on it.  Tagged me, too.  And I thanked him, and I tagged him.

Look, I don't want to go around making enemies.  But I said what I said, and I stand by what I said.  I do not condone political violence on anyone.  But someone who spews violence as an answer cannot be surprised when it's done to them.

With that said, I didn't like how I acted when we got into this argument.  However, I didn't like how he was acting, either.  And once he got accusatory -- and he did -- he got real threatening, and real crazy.  That's why I closed myself off to him.  If we ever, ever have a relationship of any kind, we cannot talk about politics, at all.  And I think he needs counseling.  Hey, it's working for me.

So I ... want to welcome his comment as an olive branch.  Does he mean it that way, though?  I can't think how it would be, like, some twisted way of letting my guard down so that, uh, we meet in real life to bury the hatchet and instead he tricks me and beats the shit out of me.  Don't want to think that, but I'm paranoid.  It's possible.  And hey, I'm running into this guy at some point this year, either at the Game, or at a concert, or hell, at a fast food restaurant tonight.  Yeah, I'm kind of scared of this guy.  But I don't want to live my life being scared of this guy, either, especially if he's willing to put what happened on social media behind us.  So, who knows?

Am I Afraid Of The Blower?

So it snowed Sunday night.  A few inches ... well, at least I think it was a few inches.  The storm ended with freezing drizzle, and I think that capped and even melted some of the snow that fell.  Interesting to see the effect of that freezing drizzle.  It gave the snowpack a crusty top, sort of like French onion soup; going to work yesterday morning I saw the light from the houses around me bounce its reflection off the new snow.  The snow had a matte finish to it, which is very interesting.  Also interesting is the way your feet doesn't just fall into the snow but is resisted by it, at least for a nanosecond, by the freezing drizzle up top.  Once you break through, any snow/ice you kick around sounds like broken glass.

Anyway, we got a bit more than three inches Sunday night.  Over the day today another inch or two is going to fall.  (Phew; before Christmas meteorologists thought it could give us three-to-five inches.)  Roads probably will be hell, so I hope to survive getting home in one piece and hope my heart doesn't burst through my chest from all the stress and anxiety.  (I also hope I can drive up my driveway, even if it is just an inch or two of new snow.)  I've shoveled parts of the driveway so it looks a bit, uh, "brokedown" (is that the wrong thing to say?  Is that even a word anybody understands?), but honestly, I just wanted to plow a way for my car's tires to drive down and up.  Everything else can wait.

Well, can't wait any longer.  Besides a chance for flurries Thursday, no big and measurable snowstorms are coming for a while.  I used the relative back-to-back storms as an excuse not to use the snowplow on my driveway, but after this storm clears -- and, also a change from earlier warnings, it will pass in the early evening and not the heart of the evening like originally forecasted -- all the snow that is going to fall will have fallen, and so it's time to clear out the, what, four-to-six inches of snow?

Last night I went to the garage and took a look at the snowplow.  I was going to put gas in, but apparently Father has already filled it.  Now, it's just a matter of remembering how in the hell you're supposed to work it.  Then, some time this evening, I will plow.  Hopefully.  Maybe.

You see, I could have used the snowblower Sunday night, when it looked really bad out there.  But I came up with a bunch of excuses: There will be more falling overnight and so what I'm doing is going to be useless; I'm tired from working the Vikings Game; there will be another snowstorm two days from now and so I can sweep it all up in one fell swoop then; etc.  They're all valid, but I hate to admit that the reason I didn't use the blower Sunday night, and why I'm reluctant to use it tonight, is because I'm afraid it'll break down on me.

It has before.  Now, I've blog posted here on WAF when it does work and how much of a fucking man I feel once the driveway is clear.  But I also have bad memories of it not starting, or not being able to start it once I turned it off.  And it will be the first time I use it this winter.  Will it work?  I don't know if I want to know if it doesn't, because then that would mean I put my faith in a machine that let me down.  And deep down, I think that's the main reason why a part of me is OK with shoveling a part of the driveway and just driving on top of the stuff I don't want to clear: I hate being disappointed.

Well, I guess we'll see if my fears are grounded in truth tonight.  Might as well use the snowblower and see if it conks out and gives me yet another bad memory.

This Is What I Get For Not Opening Up The Mail

Have to update you on this claim I need to make in order to recoup all the money I spent on getting my teeth cleaned.  I felt in the back of my mind that the insurance company was going to get back to me saying it needs more information.  Well, they do; they sent me a letter saying they need a Federal Tax ID, and even though I was told over the phone by a representative of said insurance company that an NPI would be enough, I need to add this information and send it back to them.

I am freaking out over their, um, warning of "timely filing," the policy whereby they can automatically reject a claim if I take too long.  My problem?  The letter was sent last month.  I didn't open it until this afternoon.  I just looked at it and thought, "Nah," and chucked it, thinking I would get around to it.  Well, I did, and I am so scared af that I have passed the period of "timely filing" because of my boneheaded move.  I'm not going to even check because I'm scared to learn that I am too late.

I'm praying to the gods above that it isn't.  But the first thing I need to do is contact the office and get this damn Federal Tax ID.  Contacting them and only getting voicemail (which was not returned) was the main reason I couldn't get the claim sent quickly enough in the first damn place.  And I can't wait any longer.  So, in an advantage of working in The Fourth Department this week, I will get up early and drive down to the University of Minnesota and go to the office myself in order to get this information.  I have to.  And like I said, I hope it's not too late.

When Are They Coming Home?

So, my parents are supposed to be coming home soon.  I have not picked up any of my things like I wanted to in the six months they've been gone.  Fuck that; it just wasn't happening.  What I can only concern myself with now is getting the house clean, and getting as much of my stuff sorted out, when my folks come home.

Here's the problem: I don't know when they're coming home.  At least I don't think.  It was supposed to be early March, but I've been canvassing their e-mails, and it looks as though they will be flying home to the United States, but coming into Las Vegas in early March, not Minnesota.  That might mean they won't be "coming home."  Or, they are coming home and haven't booked a flight from Vegas to here.  I don't know.

By the way, I haven't asked them directly because I'm afraid of what they'll say.  I have tried to ask them indirectly and they don't give me an answer.  Don't judge me.

This gums up my plan of getting the house clean one more time before they come back home.  The ex-stripper who does it, ****e*, was here just a dozen days ago, and because I don't exactly know when, I've been reluctant to give her a day she can come back here.  If it's too early, the house will just get too dirty by the time they come back.  But if it's too late, the house will be dirty and I'll have to cancel with ****e*.

In other words, things just suck right now because everything is so up in the air.  And I don't know exactly what to do.  Yeah, when I have I heard myself say that before?

I Really Didn't Want To Know

I was able to walk into last (Saturday) night's regional final at Maturi without knowing the result of the Gophers match with Oregon.  I know about the marathon second Set they had, and once I saw that the Ducks blew the doors off the U., I turned away from any news source online that I could come across as they were scrolling the score.  Somehow, I remained blissfully unaware of what happened.

That was the plan.  I had a grave feeling they lost.  But if I had learned in the wrong moment concretely they had lost, I would have lost my shit.  So I didn't want to be in a foul mood going into work, let's just say.  No, I would delay knowledge of the result as much as possible -- all the way to going to the game after work.  At that point there would be nothing that would stop me from at least speculating on what happened.  I mean, if there was no traffic around the U., I figured they lost because no Gopher fans would show up to see Oregon play Nebraska.

And you know what?  Even though I parked my car and started walking just before the scheduled 5 p.m. start time, there was no traffic.  They lost, I thought to myself.  And that assumption was affirmed once I got my ticket scanned at Maturi.  I looked up to see that I had missed the first point of the match -- between Nebraska ... and Oregon.

And I muttered to myself, un-fucking-believable.

I'll have more on the U. of M. flailing volleyball squad, but let's just say that since they got upset, I am now very upset.  (Then again, I said the same thing on my last blog post.)

About Work

Hmmm ...

First of all, I was largely left to my own devices today.  Unbeknownst to me, my supervisor, the person I'm most closely working with right now, took the day off.  That meant that nearly every question I would have asked her I have now instead e-mailed to her.  I have assailed her with so many of my dumb queries that I think she just needed to take a break from me.  I really do feel bad that I'm now drowning her with questions that await her Monday morning.

I guess I should be glad I was just doing my own thing today.  But I don't think I made a whole lot of progress.  Having questions meant that I couldn't move forward.  I spent the last hour typing up the e-mail to my supe.  That's not productive to me.  And while I like the independence, many times today it felt like I was just cut off, if not neglected.  The other people were doing their own things, of course.  But especially with two weeks before I'm fired, I feel sort of cut off now.  Maybe there are worse ways to make a paycheck.  I just don't know if the radio silence around me is about me.

Oh, one other thing.  Someone mentioned in our daily meeting that there is a job on the floor I worked at last year available, but she was surprised that no one applied for it.  That's funny, because I know that I applied for that very job.  Is she wrong?  Did my application somehow not go through?  Or has my worst fears been realized ... and that the people running this search thought that, even though I've worked there the past three seasons, my resume is so awful they won't even consider me for an interview?  I really need to know the status of my app, but if they've already rejected me, maybe I don't want to even ask.  Christ, what a bind I am in.

Nightmare. Wow. (Part I)

OK, so this is from a few weeks back, but I remember it so vividly because of the subject matter.  I have a person of authority from the temp job upcoming that I used to work for.  In this nightmare, somehow, I see her come up to me, then drop her pants, then start to pee and/or shit into the toilet right next to me.

Swear to God.

I don't know what that means.  I don't think I want to know.

Why The Fuck Do I Do This To Myself? (Scheduled Post)

The only way -- the only way -- I was going to be able to make any money off of the big bracket pool I'm a part of was for Kentucky to keep winning.  If they lost, either on Sunday or even in Saturday's Final Four, I'm fucked.  But if kept winning, I would be in the money, and potentially a lot of money.

But I still couldn't chance it.  I was at a Buffalo Wild Wings trying to concentrate on the Notre Dame-Massachusetts-Lowell regional final instead of the Wildcats' Elite 8 matchup vs. North Carolina on the big screen next to it.  I really, really wanted to see the hockey game, but goddammit, I couldn't help but be riveted to the opening tipoff of what came to be my make-or-break basketball game.  So around the time I had to go home for dinner, and after the River Hawks scored the go-ahead goal in the Third Period, I left B-Dubs, went home, was lucky to just watch the news alongside my parents for dinner, then went to my bedroom and fell asleep.

(By the way, I didn't catch the conclusion of the hockey game.  But Notre Dame tied the game up a few minutes after Mass-Lowell scored and won in Overtime to advance to the Frozen Four.)

I actually managed to not come across the result of the South Regional Final through Monday morning.  Stayed off of sports websites and Twitter, and I managed to dodge what looked to be status updates from my college basketball friends on my Facebook Feed.  I usually read the sports pages whenever I need to take a brain break from my test scoring place, but Monday I avoided them.  (Ironically, there were, like, two separate copies of both Twin Cities papers on Monday.  Usually when I go there wanting to read the sports section, I can't find one.)

However, I knew at some point I would be spoiled as to the result.  I figured it would be after work at Victory 44, a place that serves a great hamburger but has a TV at the bar I thought would be tuned to ESPN.  And if it's not that, I think that I would have to know about it by Saturday, either through friends telling me I'm still in this thing or, at the very least, doing my Anti-Picks for the Final Four.

I braced myself that I would eventually know, but I decided that, if for no other reason than the administrator for either pool I'm in needs to talk to me about something, I might as well be a man and, if not actively seek out the score, not avoid it when I went through my Twitter and/or Facebook when the news popped up.  Actually I did avoid the first couple of tweets, but I figured it out when, of all things, LG had a sponsored tweet congratulating, sigh, North Carolina on winning by showing a captured GIF of its mascot, Ramses, opening up one of LG's new fridge with see-through doors.

I don't even get one of my Final Four picks right.  I had Duke, West Virginia, Kansas and Kentucky.  The Blue Devils got upset by South Carolina in the second round, the Mountaineers failed to hold off Gonzaga in the Sweet 16, the Jayhawks get their doors blown off by Oregon in the Regional Final, and now the Tar Heels.  Not even one???

I looked at my place in the huge pool.  After Friday, after Wisconsin snatched defeat from the jaws of victory against Florida, I actually rose in the standings.  But that went to shit after the KU upset, and once UK lost, my bracket was completely fucking broken.  I checked the standings after all was revealed; I'm currently in the 90's, and I'm probably going to fall even further.  This year may not turn out to be my best finish ever in that pool after all.

Combine that with my embarrassing 0-fer in my frenemy's pool, where I just have to pick the Final Four teams, and I'm out $25.  Again.  And this is the time of year where I ask myself, again: Why the fuck do I do this to myself?  I always hope that my sports fandom will lead me to some insight that'll bring me riches and satisfaction to my ego, and nearly every single time (I have to admit that I won this Final Four pool about 14 or 15 years ago) I've been proven wrong.  Only this time me nailing Wisconsin's upset of Villanova and Xavier over Florida St. was a tease, a cruel tease to make me believe I was onto something.  I'm not.  I'm just a pathetic loser as I've been every single goddamn time I played this fucking game.

When will I ever goddamn learn to stop fucking playing?

Where Did She Go?

Happy Chinese New Year's, everyone.

---

Sunday I finally had the time to visit Grandmother's best friend in the nursing home close by me.  I don't see her as often as being in close proximity to her would lend one to think I would.  I could say the same thing about my aunt and uncle, and it is Chinese New Year's, where it would be traditional to visit them, but I only plan on calling and texting.  What I'm saying is I'm an asshole.

Anyway, I walk inbetween the double doors, and I was about to turn on the intercom.  You know, it's one of those things where you look at the board to see the room number of the person you're looking for, and you punch it in.  I have seen her maybe three, four times since she was shipped here, so I never remembered her number.  And I look at the board ... and her name isn't there.

The last time I saw her was, maybe, in the fall.  Or was it in the summer?  Crap, I don't remember.  And as of now I am totally filled with regret for not visiting her more often.

She was the one Grandmother took my brother and I to to get our hair cut when we were young.  She was short and energetic, and she had this really high voice.  Her hair was always coiffed, of course, and she always had make-up on, so even though she was not of stature, she conducted herself well.  I was bored spending time waiting around at her hair salon while she did Grandmother's hair and nails.  She tried bringing in a black-and-white TV, but that didn't work.  So, we just spent time waiting around.  That was OK, I guess, until I got older and started getting my hair cut at other places.

I think their friendship changed as they got older.  She still cut Grandmother's hair for a while, but then their relationship centered around gambling.  Later, when her husband died and her townhome got too big for her, she moved to this nursing home.  It was around this time Grandmother was taken out of the house.  After that, they couldn't speak to each other because Grandmother lived in St. Paul and wasn't given a phone.  When Grandmother was shipped to Hong Kong, I tried to keep in touch with her friend by visiting her on occasion, but I wondered if I should have visited her more often.  We didn't have a whole lot we could talk about, but I wasn't really a respectable kid around her when she did my hair, and I wanted to make it up to her.

But, well, I don't know if I did a good job of making it up to her, since it's been maybe months since she apparently was taken from this home.  Or ... has she died?  She didn't seem to be of failing health the last time I saw her, but if that's the case, I don't know why she would leave there, although she did say that her stepchildren had complained it was kind of expensive for her to live there.

What compounds my guilt is that I haven't yet called anyone there to ask her whereabouts.  I don't think I want to know.

Of All The Goddamn Times For The Snowblower Not To Work ...

The final total around these parts ... I don't want to know.  Last I heard on the news it was 7 1/2 inches, and more was falling overnight.  I think it's probable we cleared ten inches.  (By the way, I've seen more than a couple tweets praising meteorologists for what appears to be a late change to the path of this storm, thus bringing up this fucking blizzard further north, thus predicting the worst of the storm was going to not go south but hit us right between the eyes.  Yeah, thanks for accurately saying we're getting fucked over.  You Number One!!)

I try not to use the snowblower because of all the crap that goes into starting it.  But when I got home from an hour-long trek up the Twin Cities through side streets (and thank Buddha for side streets) and I opened the door to see the pile of snow just about reach the footbed of the car door, that's when I knew I had to use it.  But after giving a little prayer and going through all the instructions, again, the thing doesn't work.  It's an absolute beauty when it does, but when it doesn't, it's a worthless piece of shit.  I spent, oh, 15 minutes off and on working on that thing (all the while shoveling because all this snow has to be moved somewhere), but when I push the electric start button, it chugs, but it doesn't start.

Spark plug?  That's my best guess.  Shit, that's my only guess.  I don't know how to fix it.  I was just hoping that Father was right when he said he had it all ready for use.  Oh, I don't think so.  You know, this is why I hate relying on things that don't work.  You have expectations and are thus screwed if they don't work like you assume they would.

I should go to bed now, try and get a nap in.  Have some more shoveling I need to do before I leave for work.  Hope I don't suffer a heart attack from all the shoveling in my sleep.

Is That Supposed To Happen?

This (Tuesday) morning was the last of four, I think, mornings where the air temperature was below zero.  Whenever I started my car, not only have I seen exhaust coming out of the exhaust pipe, of course, but I've also seen smoke coming out from the wells of both front tires, especially the driver's-side one.  And it's billowing out of there, like there's something wrong with the car.

I could look up what's going on, but I'd rather not deal with problems, especially if the minivan still drives, and it does.  But that is really weird.  The only explanation I have is that the smoke could be the result of the dye test, where the mechanic (when I brought the car in for an oil change) had to degrease the engine, and that ... whatever he used to degrease it vaporizes upon starting the engine, and I'd especially see it on cold mornings.  That is normal, and it will burn off over time.  That's what the mechanic told me.  Of course, he told me this when he did the dye test, which was about two months ago.

So what is it now?  Don't know, and frankly, don't want to know.  All I hope is that with the modest rise in temps, I won't see the smoke that I assume should be billowing out of the back of my car instead billowing out the front of my car.  Of course, just because I don't see smoke doesn't mean there's something that's coming out of there that shouldn't.  But you know me; ignorance is bliss.

And Idle Cock Is The Devil's Workshop, Bankruptcy Be Damned

This afternoon, for the second time in as many weeks, I am going to the apartment of a woman who is rapidly becoming my new ATF, ***a*, to get a blowjob.  She's in her forties and may or may not have mental health issues.  But she is nice, she puts out (without a condom, no less) and she gives good value.  She'll suck my dick for $120.  I mean, you can't beat that price!

Of course, that's $240 over the past two weeks.  Throw in the $160 for getting a blowjob from ****e* prior to that, and it still adds up.

You want to know how pathetic it's getting?  Whenever I take money out of the ATM, I have stopped looking at the balance remaining in my checking account.  I make it a point not to look at the total on the screen, and when I get my receipt, I quickly fold it up before my eyes can locate the new total.  I am avoiding looking at how much money I have left because it'll remind me of how much money I'm spending, and I don't want to stop myself from getting sexytime.

For the past several months I have also avoided looking at the amount of charges I've run up on my credit card when I go online to pay my bill.  I know it's huge, I just don't want to see how big of a hole it's going to blow in my kitty.  I just pay it, all of it, on time.  Well, maybe not this month, with the unexpected charges for getting my car fixed.  Nevertheless, I think putting my hand up over the total amount due will be something I will do from now on.  Like I said, pathetic.

I constantly pity myself over taking one step forward and then one step back, money-wise.  Of course I know the reason: Strip clubs, eating out, car repairs.  I would like to get off of the cycle, but I can't break free of these three expenses.  I heap all my anger on the third thing, even though the biggest of the three (although they really are all equal) is the second thing; I should cut down on that.  The first thing?  Man, if people knew about it, they'd yell at me to stop.  But of all the things, no, I will not give up going to strip clubs, or throwing money at strippers, or going to their houses and getting blowjobs.  I'll give up a car and eating out before I give that up, by God.

"I'm Interested In Learning More"

You're interested in learning more?!  What in the hell does that mean?!  Weren't you there at last year's party, where you could tell I was ignored, undermined, and utterly humiliated at an event I ostensibly ran?  What more do you need to learn, besides I need you to just do this for me?

At last year's party, she volunteered to host the next one.  So did the person hosting this party, but, uh, she was first?  I didn't think much of it at the time because it was a year away and frankly, I didn't want to think about it.  But unfortunately time marches on, no matter whether we want it to or not, and it's almost April, so after some weeks of thinking about it, I finally thought I had to reach out to her by now, even if Instant Message via Facebook sort of isn't professional.

And so she comes back with, "I'm interested in learning more."  Well, shit, so am I.  Because after last year's abortion of event planning (though not the event itself), I have no idea what the fuck I'm supposed to do, therefore I don't know what the fuck she's supposed to do.  I was hoping that she had experience doing a party like this; I mean, that's why she volunteered, right?  But if she was doing it only because she just wanted to be a part of something, well, that doesn't help me at all.

That open-ended question has got me so twisted, I haven't yet responded to her.  This may be the most important thing we do each year, and I have left her hanging since Wednesday.  I have to respond, but it's important how I was respond, and I still don't know what to say.  But I have to tell her something, because the weekend's about to be over.  On the other hand, if I say something so unhelpful, she might not want to do it anymore, and I would completely ruin this, and I might be back to square one.

Fuck all this.  I'll just fucking say something that might be useful.

OK, several times since I got my car back, when I've started it, smoke comes billowing out the sides of the my hood.  After a while it stops, so it's unlike the time when the smoke started to come after I had driven it for a while.  But is it something really bad, like a leak onto the intake manifold, or the intake manifold itself?  I'm looking all over the Internet, and it's telling me the worst.

I don't know what to do with the car, again.  Any advice?

Can't Let This Go 'Cause I'm Responsible

This time yesterday morning I checked facebook.  The person I wrote this long and admittedly strangely confessional apology has not replied to me yet.  That would be bad, however fb indicated that she has not seen it either.  So maybe she's busy.  Then again, I'm going through facebook right now (playing Mafia Wars actually) and I don't have the heart yet to see if she's seen it yet.  So there's also possibility that she truly is pissed to the point where she's going to ignore me completely.

If so, let me say this: I thought we had a good vibe together, and if she were upset she would be able to approach me and raise her concerns.  To shut me out and complain about me through third parties, that is ... I wouldn't expect that from her.  And of course this hurts.

Meanwhile, on second thought, I think I'll hold off on apologizing to my predecessor.  Upon further reflection, maybe he wasn't undermining me so much as cleaning up the mess that I essentially made.  Therefore, maybe the last thing he wants to hear after all the crap I did and did not do is me apologizing again.  If he has any angry feelings towards me, maybe (hopefully) it'll have cooled off by, say, next week.

I really can't stop blogging about this event, let alone relax, until everything is done.  And I'm not at that stage yet.

Where I Act Like A Fool In Front Of People

So it was the employees' last day of work, and even though I've been promoted, I decided to go back to stick to a tradition of sorts and give everyone in the room chocolates.  Today was bittersweet.  A few blog posts ago I was bitching about how busy I was, yet I knew that with a snap of my fingers all of this will be gone and I will regret complaining because I would not have any work nor any job prospects for the future.  That happens at the end of this project every year, so I get these chocolates as a celebration/memorial.

Just when I should present them to the room Wednesday, however, became an issue.  First of all I didn't even know if anybody would be around to eat them.  Last week I ordered them to come when I came home from work Tuesday in order to give to the room the next day.  But on Friday I was told that they were on a pace to get done early Wednesday, if not Tuesday.  I know all of us like chocolate, but only seven us eating 70 pieces of chocolate was not going to happen.

Then, on Monday afternoon, the minions wised up and, apparently, decided to slow down, almost to the point where my boss was afraid that not only were we going to work Wednesday, we might not even get done Wednesday.  She was livid, but at least my decision to stick with my guns and not cancel the order was correct.  At least those things were going to get eaten.

So, to Wednesday, the Big Day.  They decided to pick up the pace after a stern talking-to Monday, so even though they may have been here a few hours later than initially expected, we knew fairly early into the day Tuesday that Wednesday would be the last day.  My first thought, then, was that everybody comes back from morning break, they'll settle down and get back to work, and that's when I'll quietly march out onto the snack table with them, and they'll discover them, slowly, and it'd be nice.  I thought I did something like that the previous years, and if it ain't broke, why fix it?

After coming back from break my boss, who sits next to me, asked, "So, did you bring out the chocolates yet?"

"No.  My thought is that I'd wait till about 15 minutes after break, let them settle down, then surreptitiously bring them out."

"Well, I figure that they'll make a commotion once they realize there's chocolates, and that'll be very noisy," she said.  She's been very, uh, upset with how people have been coming back from break late and making more noise than she felt was necessary.  I thought it was a tad overblown, but I can see over these past weeks how she has felt the room has been generally, um, unruly.  Anyway, I took that as a cue that she wanted me to take them out now.

Generally, as a way of calming down the rule and getting them back to work, she makes a quick announcement, usually talking about how far along we are on projects and/or issues that have come up.  The people have gotten, for lack of a better word, trained to dick around until she says something, then they all quiet down after announcements.  I didn't actually know, however, if she was going to do it this time around.  I just got up and took the chocolates out to the table.  In the back of my mind I was afraid they would see them and, instead of getting ready to go back to work, they decide to extend the break and gorge on the chocolates.  That's the noisiness my boss wanted to avoid, which is why I thought not saying anything and taking them out 15 minutes later (when people are concentrating on their work) would have been quieter and ultimately better, but whatever.

My boss, though, followed me out of our desks, and while I was opening up the box and making sure the group message from us to them would be displayed for all of them to see, she started to go into her announcements, ending with, "And Unforgivable Wetness (of course she didn't say that, but I sure as hell am not going to reveal my name) has a special treat for us!"

And that was my cue.  To say ... something.  I was not prepared for that.  Shoot, my original plan did not require me to say anything.  So as I was finishing this display of chocolate I turn around and look at my boss, who looked at me back.

I don't know if this came off as defiant.  I hope it didn't.  I was just, you know, unprepared.  But I know what I said next made me sound like an idiot.  I stammered a little bit, of course, and then I said -- and I think I said this but I think my mind has already tried to blot this out of my memory permanently -- "... uh, maybe this should be self-explanatory?  I think this is self-explanatory?"  The questions marks should be there, by the way.  I was up-talking when I said this.

Guess my boss felt she needed to cover for me.  I don't know, maybe she thought I was undermining her.  But she had her thoughts together; as I got done with this display of chocolate, she chimed back in, "He got us all gourmet chocolates."  And you should have heard the "Oooohhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!" that swept through the room.  It was like a trained studio audience in an infomercial.  They then clapped, to which I took a quick bow, which probably made me look like a self-absorbed jackass, but this just shows how bad I am at thinking on my feet.

Anyway, they came up to grab some chocolates -- well, several.  It wasn't a stampede, but there was some commotion as those that wanted the first piece got it.  (By the way, I took the first piece; while I was making the presentation one of the chocolates stuck to the top of the paper divider.  So I helped myself to it.)  Some thanked me, one (who was on my team) effusively so.  I'll take it.  Hey, I don't know if they respect me as a supervisor, and I guess I proved I'm an inarticulate boob, but I'm A-OK bribing them with chocolate.

Allergies 2014

They said that this year, because of the delayed start of spring due to the polar vortex, allergies will out with a vengeance.  Oh my God, they were right.  They came out in a bad way today.

I felt it this morning, but then as soon as I started working, the coughing, nasal drip and constant blowing of the nose overwhelmed me.  Pretty soon I was feeling tired and hurt.  After work I tried taking a nap at the local shopping mall, and if I didn't wake up ten minutes after I started I probably would have been able to conk off.

Right now, after shutting my body down after dinner, my nose is still quite stuffy, but ever since I took a shower (much needed to deal with the wart on my ass) I feel less stuffy.  That is tied with the inflammation I feel in my joints, especially my knees, for worst problems I feel right now.

Thank Buddha that My Fucking Father isn't here.  He would have invaded my bedroom and opened up my window.  He thinks I need fresh air.  It's not fresh air, it's super-pollinated air that is only going to make me feel worse.  He does this every single fucking time, the stupid asshole.  At least Mother leaves me alone; the window has remained closed, as have the blinds.  I have turned the heat up just now to counteract the chills I feel, but if that brings in outside air, I'll turn it off and just deal.

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Oh, by the way ... first big test for over-the-counter Nasacort.  So far, big fail.  Totally not like Nasonex, at least not as far as I can remember.  That Nasonex plugged up my nose all well and good.  Then again, if this allergy season is once-in-a-lifetime, maybe even Nasonex wouldn't have helped.  Fair point.

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Allergies put me in a very bad mood.  My co-worker who sits next to me is kind of a chatterbox and talks aloud a lot, but with my compromised state I felt myself being shorter and shorter towards him.  Can't do that; I need him for his opinions on things.

I think my attitude translated all day to the people I dealt with.  There was one person who was just unloading on me after I returned papers that further confused him.  Look, he really is a nice guy, and when he says that he likes me (and just not my boss), I think he's sincere.  But I didn't really want to hear this guy bitch, especially when the bitching seemed to be sparked by me bringing papers back on a question is testing me.  At this point, I really think that his issues with my boss are a two-way street, so I was so glad that he stopped his spiel, something I couldn't really answer to.  That unloading seemed unfair to me as well.

But worse than my attitude may be their attitude towards me.  There was a lot of sniffling, sneezing and coughing, but I think I was the worst of all of them.  Doesn't help that I'm so visible.  Could it have been so annoying that they would note that in their evaluation of me when this is all over?  I wouldn't put it past them.  Shit!