Not A Nightmare, But A Dream!

I just woke up from a really cool fantasy!  I was the fancy man, the guy with whom a girlfriend was cheating on her boyfriend.  I never saw who the woman I was with is, but let's just say that the boyfriend is a pretty famous football player and I'll leave it at that!

I don't understand how I became (and let's be honest) the hero of my own dream, especially these days where the world is about to end for good.  But it's rare that I dream of something real good!

So I'm Kinda Thinkin' About The Lynx

Had dinner with a social group after work last/Friday night, and I ate and drank (and had ice cream at Sebastian Joe's for desert) so much that I got really tired.  Once I got home around 9, I tried to watch Big Ten men's soccer, but my body told me to call it a night.  I made sure to pull the Zynga Poker slot machine once to stay on schedule, then around 9:30 or 10 I turned off the lights, and it was lights out for me.

The Lynx were playing Game 4 last/Friday night.  I avoided even overhearing the score because one more Loss meant they lose the WNBA Championship.  So although I was tired, I turned in mostly to avoid the result of the Game.  I fear the worst, of course, but I had these thoughts that the Lynx won.  And later, I had thoughts that the Lynx lost.  I think I was aware as I thought both opposing thoughts that I was dreaming it (or, in the scenario that they lost, I was having a nightmare), but I still felt euphoria when I thought they had won and resignation when I thought they had lost.

Woke up around 8:30.  At some point I knew I had to come across the result.  I was going to allow Twitter/X to tell me, but I looked at my Facebook first, and at the top of my screen I saw a fellow alum's feed of him at Target Center.  And he wrote a caption: "LYNX WIN!"

Cool.  So they won.  And now I'll be fearing they will lose Game 5 Sunday, and I'll have nightmares tonight about it.

Political Fundraising Is Costing Me My Dream Gigs

This may be a pipe dream, and so holding onto it may be increasingly pathetic, but I still want to be a sportscaster one day.  No, I'm not doing much to turn that dream into a reality.  What I do do is remain on the periphery.  I still get jobs helping around production trucks, mainly for Vikings Games but I have done the Twins, Golden Gopher football, and the Wild.  It makes me think I haven't completely wasted my journalism degree.  And maybe, just maybe, if I hang around and prove my worth, maybe I can latch onto something permanent.  But like I said, I'm not going out there and grabbing the opportunity by the horns.  No, I'm waiting for someone to ask me out of the blue, "Hey -- have you ever thought about doing this full-time?"

As such I am far from full-time now.  I am at-will.  I can be fired for any reason and for no reason.  And I don't have to be hired back, either.  Now, I have been hired for ... golly, I think it'll be two decades this upcoming fall, and I like to think it's because I'm a good person and a hard worker.  But I'm under no illusions that it could all be taken away without a trace.  I would be totally heartbroken.  But that is how the job, or the gig, is right now.

Traditionally, I have been asked if I can work through e-mail.  Some time before the event -- for big ones it'll be months in advance, but other times I've been asked the week of -- I get an e-mail asking if I am available to work a Game, or several days leading up to the Game.  I usually say yes.  In fact, there has been only two times where I have told the production team I cannot work for them ... and now that I think about it, both assignments I had to miss because I was on a big vacation that centered around my sister: I missed a Twins Game many, many years ago (which may have been the last one I was offered until I worked on back in September) to attend my sister's destination wedding in Siena; and I missed the Vikings' epic comeback Win over Indianapolis back in mid-December for a family vacation to Hawai'i centered around my sister's doctorate graduation.

I have, thankfully, been asked back to work.  Not to say I think ill of them, but my paranoid side always thinks that if I reject them once, they may not feel the obligation to reach out to me again.  But they have despite me telling them no.  Would they continue to reach out if I don't say anything to them at all?

---

I've gotten a bit more politically active after Trump and the Republicans cheated their way to winning power in 2016 (and they did, don't lie, they did, shut up).  After that I stepped up my ... well, I really shouldn't say activism, but I put my money where my mouth is by giving cash to Democrats and Minnesota members of the Democrat-Farmer-Labor (DFL) party.  Citizens United should still be banned, but until we can ban it, we have to use it, I'm afraid.

The downside to willingly handing over money to politicians who need money in order to advertise in order to win and gain or hold onto power is that they bombard you, incessantly, with political appeals.  I have gotten so many of these goddamn things, and now, most of them are from campaigns and people I did not give money too.  Once you donate, you get put on a list, and these campaigns sell those lists to other like-minded politicians (I'll never get a missive from a Republican, thank God) because frequently, that's the only way they keep making money.  Then those fucking people bombard me with political appeals.  I get them by the hundreds each day.  Still.  Even though this isn't an election year.  One night, when I was tired, I decided not to check my e-mail.  That stretched to several nights in a row, and when I finally got around to checking my e-mail, I had a thousand unread ones.  And then I got caught up with too much stuff and yadda-yadda-yadda, I now have 40,000+ unread e-mails on my main e-mail account.  I have an older e-mail account that has, oh, God knows how much.  I am now years behind on both, and as much as I try to unsubscribe, I'm sure at least 85% of the e-mails I get nowadays are from politicians trying to hit me up for money.

I should sit down and go through them.  I really should just delete them all.  But most of the time I'm so distracted with other things that I let it metastasize, and when I do confront my inbox, my eyes glaze over.  There's a fucking blizzard of these appeals, and it's gotten hard, pretty fuckin' hard, to find the non-spammy e-mails ... such as the ones from the productions asking me if I want to work for them.

I knew this was going to happen.  But I wasn't diligent enough.  The first time I missed reading an offer to work was for a Wild Game late last year.  This one was offered via text.  Hey, did you know that when you give money to a campaign, not only do you give them permission to e-mail you to kingdom come, you give them permission to text you to kingdom come as well?  They're not as bad as the e-mails; at worst I get about a dozen a day, and many of them seem to come from the same "phone number," so any new messages from that same source is collated together and presented to me as just one long series of texts from the same "people."  But there still are so many that I ignore them.  I did not see a text from a crew person asking me to do this Wild Game.  I found it months later when I was going back through months-old texts from politicians that I couldn't be bothered to deal with (the e-mails, not the politicians, although they're also one and the same) at the time.  I profusely apologized for not getting back to her.  But I haven't been asked to do a Wild Game since.

I have finally gotten around to doing quick searches that will filter through only any e-mails that have the name of the league and "Minnesota" on them, thereby increasing the chances that I will see only offers to work.  And I found one either yesterday or earlier this week.  Unfortunately, it was for a Gopher football Game back in November.  I didn't see it for eight months.  I want to e-mail the person and apologize to her, but that would be so goddamn awkward that I don't want to jeopardize future employment with the network she works for.  

So just now I did those searches again, and I got another one.  It was for the Golden Gopher football team's season opener against Nebraska.  It's on the Thursday just before Labor Day, just like Minnesota's season opener in 2021 vs. Ohio St.  I was able to work the several days leading up to it.  Back-breaking work, but the money was too good to pass up.  And beyond that, I used my paid time off at work to work the Gopher production.  I was double-dipping.  And I have few regrets.

I thought that I could be offered a similar position this year.  I waited and waited, but I hadn't heard anything.  I believe I was asked a month before that Game against the Buckeyes, and so that was the reason I did a search in my inbox just now.  And wouldn't you know it, I saw that e-mail, unread, from Wednesday, received around noon.  I e-mailed the person back -- oh, around 11 p.m. last/Thursday night.  That's a gap of a day and a half.  That previous Gophers football gig from two years ago?  Someone e-mailed me late at night, and I responded overnight, around four hours later.  I have lost jobs to people who responded to the crewer faster than me.  I hate that, and I directly blame my tardiness in finding and responding to those e-mails on the firehose of campaign donation appeals.  If they weren't there, I would have seen that e-mail faster than I did.  Simple as that.

So I e-mailed the person saying yes, I am available and interested in working.  I didn't apologize for essentially ghosting her.  But I would if it ensured me this job.  But this person had a whole day and a half to find someone else.  Pray that I still get to work this gig.  I need to make some fucking money, man.

Wet January

There is a phenomenon called Dry January, in which people who want to make New Year's Resolutions without making any, you know, real New Year's Resolutions compromise by abstaining from alcohol for the first month of the year.  It has become such an (and I hope using this word doesn't have any pejorative connotation, either now or in the near future) endemic that popular New York City bars have gone on to Instagram to post photos of their largely empty places, enticing those who are not "observing" Dry January with dreams of finally being able to get into the spot they always wanted to get into but couldn't because it's so crowded.

I'm not observing Dry January.  It actually has been very, very wet to me.  That's because, as soon as my parents left, I bought all these barware tools (shaker, jigger, juicers for lemons, limes and oranges) and all this liquor and am trying to teach myself some basic cocktails.

I'm learning things, though they probably are mundane compared to other people.  I realized I think club soda has a bitter taste, and tonic water, because of the quinine, actually tastes pretty good.  I realized that the simply syrup I made by heating up sugar in water makes any cocktail better.  But mostly I realized that, like drinking one cocktail I make for myself makes me plenty tipsy, and two -- like tonight -- even more so.  I have drank a steady clip for the past two months, and after almost every drink I invariably have a headache and a fatigue so bad that I think I'll end this blog post now and go to bed.

I Drinks A Bit ... With Little-Bitty Bottles

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I Had No Chance, But I Sure Didn't Need The Visual Aides

So the most gorgeous and beautiful woman at work started after me; I think she's only been there for just over a year.  She works in the department across ours, and in filing away folders, she sometimes literally is working across from me, through the big window that separates her department from mine.  So, as I'm working at my workstation, she walks in, and my day gets a bit brighter.  She is a petite thing, with long, brown hair (it probably would be shorter; she might be waiting to get her hair cut) and, whenever I catch her taking a glimpse through the window at me, I get affixed by her (I think) pale blue eyes.  And this one time, she was wearing an unbuttoned flannel shirt, and I saw that her white undershirt rode up once to reveal her belly.  I'll remember that for some time.

But while I fantasize over her, I know I have no chance.  We have exchanged pleasantries only a few times -- hellos and thank-yous, nothing more.  She seems friendly with her co-workers in her department, but from the way she is described in a flyer denoting that she was one of several employees singled out for awards for her work last year, she is professional, although curt and aloof might also be apt.  If I were the pervert I was 20 Years ago, I might've made an ass of myself in order to get her attention, and I'd be so bent out of shape after she professionally, curtly and aloofly rebuffed my overtures that I would have done something so stupid it would get me fired.  If she were to come on to me, that'd be different.  But she's been on the other side of the window for over a year now, and she hasn't come on to me at all.  There's nothing between us.  Hell, someone as hot as her is probably married to a biker who could beat my ass.  She could have four kids for all I know.

Last week I noticed something.  She again was walking to the table that is set so that she would be arranging these folders while being directly in my line of sight through this big window.  I noticed her from my peripheral vision.  She had not buttoned up her lab coat yet, she was wearing a relatively tight shirt and ... I detected what I believe to be a baby bump.  Wow.  And then, she just so happened to lift her left hand, palm toward her, up to her chest.  In retrospect I have no idea why it didn't occur to me to surreptitiously see if she has a ring on her finger.  Well, she does.  So she is married to a biker who could beat my ass and has four kids.

Like I said, I said to myself there is no chance we could ever have a relationship.  I don't lust after co-workers anymore; I've grown up in the past two decades -- it's a waste of time.  And yet, seeing her baby bump followed by her wedding ring was a 1-2 punch that knocked me onto the canvas for the full 10-count.  I knew not to get my hopes up, but when I got actual confirmation not to get my hopes up -- and not just one sign but two -- I realized that there was a small part of me that thought, "You know, if we ever got to talking for an extended period of time, maybe it could lead to something."  And then karma went HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Have to admit: My dreams are dashed.  This one hurts.

I See Again I Am Not Where I Want To Be

My friend (I called him my frenemy -- I blog posted about how he pissed me off a long time ago by being a passive-aggressive horse's ass [I would find that blog post but, ah, I'd rather not]) texted me out of the blue to call him.  He asked if I could appear on his podcast (he has a podcast??) about George Floyd and how the worldwide wave of protests could affect our alma mater's football team.  Recording of said podcast is tonight.  I said sure.  It has helped me exercise my journalism muscles which have atrophied by making me think about what to say as efficiently as I can.

Also, this episode reunites us with two other guys who we worked with at our college radio station's sports department.  Those were some of the best and, I dare say, most productive times I had at college.  I truly looked forward to reporting, being on the show, being on the radio spouting my opinions for, like, two people to hear, and talking crap with these guys.  We all had dreams of being sportscasters, or at least doing what we were doing in that dirty, decrepit old radio station as a career.  We all knew how difficult it would be, but we had each other, and if we fed off of each other's dreams, well, how could we be unhappy?

Well, one of the four is now doing sports on TV.  Another isn't doing sports, but he has a steady gig doing news on the radio, which is awesome.  And the friend with the podcast may get the odd gig here and there, but he has taken the initiative and asserted he is in sports because he has a podcast, which is totally legitimate these days.  And I ... help out at a lab.

(Aside: The summer after I officially graduated from college, I took this extra journalism class where we went to Europe to see how different media organizations and companies worked.  I was one of four guys, to be sexist.  The other three are currently on TV.  And I ... help out at a lab.)

I am already nervous about trying to perform.  I'm not a great speaker, so I'll feel under the gun not to stumble over my words.  Add to it that the subject matter, race and police brutality, are subjects I do not like to marinate in, and the danger I won't be able to speak my thoughts coherently increases even further.  But what really pains me just happened last night.  In preparing for the podcast, my friend texted me to ask how I want to be introduced, or slated.  And that's where my failure to progress in the sports journalism business wounds me deeply.  I'm not on TV or the radio, and if helping to get water for production trucks is not "being in sports," well, I'm not in that, either.  I'm not even in journalism, which is what I went to school for.  The other three are still pursuing that dream and/or are living it.  They have bona fides they can proud of.  And I ... help out at a lab.

So I told my friend about my fear.  He said he'll finesse it.  He'll introduce me as a friend back from our college days, and he'll say I'm on his show because I live in the Minneapolis area.  Thank God I won't have to lie, and thank Buddha the truth he says instead isn't too embarrassing.  But as much as I love to see the band back together, it also hurts me to realize in reuniting like this how much they were able to progress in what we wanted to do while I haven't ... or, to be more precise, didn't.

Like that old Sesame Street song says, "One of these things is not like the other."  That thing is me, and that makes me both stressed and depressed.

Guess I'm Getting Cancelled; So What ... Right?

Uh, I'll admit it -- I've been in a horny streak on Facebook lately.  So when it comes to the Stories on there, which I still don't quite get, if it's a sexy one from a model, I decided, just last night, to start using this "emoji" thing and reply with an eggplant.  Just want to let them know how I feel.

It's sort of a risk, I get it.  But many of the Facebook friends I have display pictures that are meant to titillate, and arouse.  They should understand that their male friends might react in a perverted way.  Or, they should be ... aware.  You know?  What, they're doing it for the art?  (wanking motion)

Well, I have, as of right now, given the eggplant emoji to six posts.  While I was at Brit's this (Sunday) afternoon to watch the MLS Cup, I saw that one of them blocked me.  She went out of her way to tell me by replying with a hashtag.  I have no fucking clue why.  She is a model.  On top of that, she posts photos of her sexy self all the time.  She was showin' her ass on the picture I replied to with the eggplant emoji, for crissake.  And she's offended?

I was going to just brush it off and say, "Whatever."  But there is one big wrinkle: She lives here.  I think this is a big town, but knowing my bad luck, I will run into her somewhere, and we're going to recognize each other, and shit will get awkward.  Beyond that, I am, suddenly, worried about my reputation.  I realized that, if she wants to, she can talk about me and what I did.  I don't have much of a public profile, but whatever social circles I'm in now, well, she could expose this, and maybe the people I interact with won't like it at all.  And then what?

And now I'm thinking about what I would want to do in the future.  Maybe I want to be more active politically.  Maybe it's time to re-start my sportscasting career.  If I do either, and then this comes out, well, that would end my hopes of succeeding in them, wouldn't it?  I've been thinking about this "cancel culture."  And while I truly think a lot of people (well, men) need to atone for their sins, I do wonder if it can go to far, and whether this wheel can turn on me -- poor, little, innocent old me, all over an emoji.

Yeah, I'm scared that she can damage me and my dreams.  So, in retrospect, maybe it wasn't wise for me to do this emoji to someone who lives in the same city as I.  I was just thinking that these models would be cool with it.  Like I said, they'd have to know what they're doing, right?  Well, let's see if I have to reap the whirlwind.  Meanwhile, I need to monitor the other five (three of whom are models [one nude], seven (five of whom are models [one nude, one a porn star], the other two being bodybuilders) to see how they will react.

But shit, if I see another ass, you goddamn right I'll give her the eggplant.

I gotta be me.  I gotta be me.

Not Making Money Off Of Wailing And Failing? You Don't Say!

I had a dream, once, of making money off of this blog.  Then it turns out that no one blogs anymore.  Also, I'm not good at making money.  And then I was told that I had to turn off my ads because either my content or the ads being generated from Blogger because it makes sense with the content were pornographic.

I didn't remember that they were off until yesterday, when I saw an e-mail from Blogger saying that unless I put ads back into here, WAF, I'm going to lose all my stats and, incidentally, the units that would add up to the money I would receive from these guys.  Now, I actually do like looking at my numbers.  But I stopped caring a long time ago about making money from doing this, because that just ain't gonna happen.

However, after thinking about it, I realized that I did care.  So I followed the link on how to put ads back onto the blog, and for the life of me, I have no friggin' how to do it.  I have clicked on links, cut-and-pasted code, went this way and that ... I'm still not sure if I did this right.  I eventually found the way back to where, I think, I had shut down ad adds and re-opened the ability for Blogger to auto-populate them onto Wailing And Failing.  But I don't know if it'll work or not.  And if it doesn't, beats the heck out of me what I could do next.

I'm The Fantasy Football Man!

It was pretty much over as of Sunday, but after Monday night's game it's official: I have won my semifinal matchup in both of my leagues, and I will play for the title in both this upcoming weekend!

This has never happened before, playing for the title in both of my leagues in the same year.  Guess it's a combination of skill luck in drafting, skill paying attention to the Internet in waiver wire pick-ups, and good fortune against injury.

I am already in the money on both.  In particular, the league I want to win more is the league that I don't commish for, and the one I have yet not even reached the final till now.  You only win money in the final -- $200 if you win, $100 if you lose.  In the other one, the one I do run, there is a complex formula taking in the regular season as well, so I may have only increased my winnings by winning this week.

Regardless of the details, even though I will end up being in the black in both leagues this year, it would be pretty sweet if I was able to win both.  That would be the highlight of my year.

That Bitter Dream Again

I should talk about this more, but I'm tired and have to work in the morning, so I won't.

For some reason -- the weather?  The need to walk everywhere to watch both the Golden Gopher volleyball and men's basketball teams?  My lack of sleep? -- I kept re-thinking all day yesterday (Friday) of a dream (and I really do mean that, even after I describe it to you) I've had for a long time.  Namely, that I was adopted.  Specifically, my parents flying out to Los Angeles (where they left me at a church or something) to find me.  I would be all bitter, and yet they would insist that I fly to Minnesota to see the entire family and to reconnect.  And knowing that all they want to do is parade me around and make themselves feel good about finding me, I lash out, verbally and then, on my last day there, physically.  I never find a family, you see, and I end up being molested throughout my childhood.  And so I blame my folks for ruining my life from Day One, and all I do the entire weekend I'm up in Minnesota is yell at them, throw things at them, and, finally, beat them up.

I should explain more later.  Let's just say that I've felt like an outcast from my family for a long, long time.  What prompted me to ruminate on it?  No clue.

You Know, Maybe I'm Not Cut Out For This Job

Going off on dreaming about what I could do if I just became a temp again, today at work was hell.  There were so many things, especially at the end of my shift, that I had never seen before.  I had to ask people what's going on, and one person volunteered her advice even though she's starting to get a little overbearing about it.  And then, I swear, I came upon something ... and I froze because I didn't know if I needed to do something or not.  And no, still being sick (WHEN THE HELL WILL I STOP COUGHING UNTIL I GAG?!) didn't help.  If something comes back to bite me in the ass, I'll use that as an excuse.

I'm really struggling with getting my job right.  It's been two months now (I think?), and at some point I should just slide in and do the work like it ain't no thing.  But I still doubt myself, still catch myself saying, "Wait, do I do ... this?"  Yes, I think some mastery should be assumed by now.  But I am very, very far from that.  And because of that, I'm starting to really be unhappy at work.  You know, I could throw it back at them and say that my training has been inadequate.  And it has.  But still, I'm in sink-or-swim mode, and too many times, like today, I was sinking.

Man, I don't know.  I should quit because I get the feeling I should be fired.

It's Not How Much You Spend, It's How Much You Save!

Herberger's is just about closing down for all eternity.  There is a huge store in The Mall Closest To Me, and with them advertising that their shit is now 60-80% off (maybe they could have saved some of that money advertising to shore up its bottom line instead), I thought it best to drop by there last evening on my way to Glam Doll.

I was surprised to see so many things still on the shelves.  I know that the announcement that Herberger's was going to liquidate was at least a couple months ago, and seeing that it's selling its stuff for more than half off, I thought the parasitic vultures people seeking a bargain turn into would have picked the place clean.  That is not the case.  Moreover, on a Friday night it was a hell of a lot emptier than I thought it would be.  Contrast that with the St. Paul Macy's closing down several years ago, or better yet, the Macy's in Minneapolis.  It was not too far before they were gone for good, but when I went, both stores already looked abandoned.

I was able to amble around and look at everything that was priced to move.  I then thought about what I needed to buy ... which was nothing.  But dammit, if I have all of this I could buy at prices I won't see for a long time (oh, who am I kidding, stores are dying, I'll be going through another clearance like this again very soon), why not get something?  I mean, who cares if I'm unemployed right now?

You know what I could get?  Another suit.  Unfortunately, suits still seem to be way too expensive for my taste, even though they're 65% off right now.  I also have to see if the suits fit me, and to do that I would need to find my measurements.  Sadly, I thought I had them here in WAF and I can't friggin' find them.  Moreover, even if I can find them or if I could have them determined or if I just bluff my way into so me guesses I then have to piece them together because I did not see any sets together.  In other words, it's complicated.

Besides a suit I guess I could use a dress shirt or two.  Maybe some jeans and/or khakis.  And maybe some nice pants with an easy fly to open so I could flash my dick to strippers.  And see, this is where I drop down the rabbit hole.  I really don't need all these things, but the pull of getting a huge bargain at the expense of a company that's about to destroy itself had already got me dreaming of buying stuff.  Actually I still am dreaming.  I'm dreaming about when I can go back, about whether I can risk holding out to see if Herberger's starts marking prices 90% off or if I should go back sooner and get the stuff I want now before someone else gets them.  I don't generally like shopping and yet, shopping is what I'm thinking about now.

You Know, I Should Blog About This World Cup Game Before The Final

So I'm this World Cup predictor/March Madness-like game (and by the way, why aren't there more companies that did this?  I only saw two places: The one I'm blogging about, and the official one through FIFA.  Man, those guys maintain a tight grip on something that could be much more popular if they only loosened the reins on their rights.).  And I did pretty good.  So good, in fact, that I won free food for Group Stage and, it looks like, free food for the Knockout/Tournament Stage as well.

I had dreams of winning the grand prize, which is free food for a year and a 50" TV.  I got three wrong in the eighthfinals and I had Brazil beating Belgium, but other than that, up to this point, I've been really good.  And so I tracked myself -- well, up to before the semifinals, because I was afraid of getting my hopes up when I looked at the leaderboard.  Last time I checked there were, like, four dozen people I was behind.

But then both France and Croatia won.  And I swore that I would look, just one time, before the final, which is in ... an hour.  I knew I should't've done this, but I had dreams that I was leading.  I knew that could not have been the case ... and when I scrolled down the leaderboard last night while at Glam Doll, that was true.  I'm only four points behind the leader, and if France wins I'll overtake that person.  But I currently sit in a nine-way tie for tenth.  That means that for me to win, 1) none of the guys in front of me have to also have France winning and 2) if there is anyone with whom I am tied after the title match, I would have to beat them in the tie-breaker, which is predicting the total number of goals in this whole World Cup.

Yeah, not gonna happen.  So it doesn't really matter if France or Croatia win.  Pressure's off.  But hey, at least I'll get free food from this!

So once in a while at work we get a copy of how many essays we've read for the day.  We have a quota, although I don't know of any specific consequences if I don't meet that quota.  At least none to my knowledge; I have rarely met the quotas for my projects, yet I am back at this company for the eighth year.

When I got my copy around the halfway point this afternoon and saw that I am really low once again, I thought about what I was thinking about this morning.  And I remembered: My parents potentially telling me they're selling the house; all the times they've disappointed me; my weird dreams that I will be incapacitated if not killed because of their stupid decisions or their neglect, etc.  I space out a lot at work.  A lot.  Usually it's about bad things I fear will happen to me, although in better days I think about sex a lot.

Only now, however, have I realized that these anxieties, my home life, is affecting my work.  You hear all those stories that students with dysfunctional domestic situations do poorly in school?  Well, because of my dysfunctional domestic situation, I am doing poorly at work.  I am no different from some kid with a turbulent home he has to come back to, day after day.

That's all I wanted to say.

And On A Brighter Note, My Parents Are Headed To Vegas Soon

At dinner I finally told them that my dates on my trip to Hong Kong.  In exchange, Mother told me they were going to leave for Las Vegas four days after I come back.  And, magically and nonsensically, my mood has lightened.  I started having visions of getting things done, of being able to wash clothes according to their instructions instead of just going with "whites" and "coloreds" just so my folks wouldn't get pissed I'm not washing full loads of laundry, of walking around the house naked -- of just being able to breathe.

Of course, I won't be doing the "getting things done" thing, especially since my parents are noncommittal about how long they'll be there.  They are there to tend to their real estate properties and they have no idea when they'll get done.  However long or short it will be, I can, for a while at least, relax.

Man, I Don't Even Care

So this job was supposed to last until Labor Day, and then we were told that it was barely going to last two weeks, and then oh, by the way, it ends on Thursday, and also by the way, don't come in on Monday, and remember that we'll probably end early on Thursday.  With the rug being pulled out from under us so utterly like that, why in the fuck am I going back to work?

Seriously, I could just go to Caribou tomorrow morning and listen to Charlie Pierce on Stephanie Miller, then go eat lunch at some fast food joint, then go to the library and burn through my e-mails, then go to the parking ramp and sleep, then work out, and then go home, and I would be as productive as I would be as I would at the test scoring place.  And hey, since it's only going to be three days of work (and more like 21 hours, if that), why not just stay in unemployment?

Oh, well.  I think I'll just masturbate through this Pleasure magazine and then go to sleep.

List Of NFL Teams That Should Play Road Games Because Their Stadia Might Be Hosting College Football Conference Championship Games

I have a dream, but I don't say it out loud because I know people think it's stupid.  I would love to schedule an entire National Football League schedule, just one year.  I don't know why, I just think it'd be cool -- assuming, of course, I could do it.  Apparently four people do it every year, but I don't think it's that hard, is it?

I would imprint my values if I do it; I want to see on NFL schedules what I think should be done.  For example, I'll do as much as I can to alternate home and road games.  Also, I'll have, if possible, franchises that have relocated to play those cities late in the year, and the last game of the year if it's possible.  For example, the Baltimore Ravens would host the Indianapolis Colts, the team that was stolen from Baltimore, in the next-to-last week, and then the Ravens would play at the Cleveland Browns (remember that the Ravens are the first version of the Cleveland Browns; their name was changed as a condition of the franchise being taken from Cleveland) the last week of the regular season.

Another I would do is not tax stadia that is being shared by both NFL and college teams.  For the second and final year, TCF Bank Stadium is the home site for the Minnesota Vikings as well as the main tenant, the University of Minnesota football team.  There have been some weekends last and this year where both teams are playing on the same weekend, so I have to think that it's incredibly difficult on the stadium facility workers to turn around and change the midfield logos and the colors of "MINNESOTA" in both end zones in less than 24 hours.  Obviously they do it.  But wouldn't it be better to coordinate the Gophers' and Vikings' schedule so that there is only one game a week there?  I don't think that's too hard to ask or schedule.

This brings up something that's on my mind now.  The first Saturday in December is the weekend where college football championship games are staged.  That translates to Week 13 in the NFL schedule.  Some college football championship games are scheduled to be played in NFL stadiums.  Some conference champ games are determined by which team has the better record, and therefore the stadium won't be determined until the previous weekend.  In The Real World arrangements seem to be made where the pro game can be played a day after that championship game, but if I were the scheduler, I would make it so that the NFL team of the stadium that will or may host a champ game will be on the road that week.  And just because, I'll try and schedule the road game that takes them the farthest away from home for that week.

Anyway, there are several teams that will be occupied that Friday or Saturday, and so I would think it's a good idea to let the people working at the stadium have as much time as possible to prepare the field for the NFL tenant and not burn the midnight oil trying to turn it over in 24 hours' time.  These are the teams playing on the road the weekend of Sunday, December 6, and the college conference that would force them to play away from home:

• Detroit Lions (Mid-American)
• Atlanta Falcons (Southeastern)
• Tampa Bay Buccaneers (American Athletic)
• Philadelphia Eagles (American Athletic)
• San Diego Chargers (Mountain West)
• Carolina Panthers (Atlantic Coast)
• San Francisco 49ers (Pacific-12)
• Indianapolis Colts (Big Ten)

I know this is weird, but indulge me.

The Most Fun $50 I Ever Earned

So I was at a shoot from 9 until 6:30 yesterday.  Got paid $50 to be an extra, which comes out to about $5.25 per hour, which was the minimum wage twenty years ago.

But you know what?  I loved it.  No stress, no expectations.  Just go where they tell you to, do what they tell you to, follow directions, and when you're done, go sit and eat.  That's what the shoots -- well, all shoots I've done as an extra -- are about: Time to graze and talk with the extras when not "acting."

It was fun, and everyone was cool.  I talked with the other extras the most, and they are really nice and fun people.  We spent a large chunk of the day just talking to each other.  To spend your day talking with other people and getting paid for it (even if it's only peanuts)?  I would actually prefer that job to an actual one.

In fact, I had to stay a little while longer while the other extras were let go because I was in background for a couple more shots.  That's OK, I didn't mind.  And the crew gave me a hand after I wrapped.  For me, just an extra?  Aw!

It would be great being an actor, wouldn't it?  I had ... well, have ... dreams of being one.  But I've never pursued them because, well, I would hate to fail.

---

The temp agency called me this morning.  Probably have a job lined up for me.  Right now, I would rather not work.  For one thing I am on standby for being an extra on another shoot, which would pay a little more.  I also have these experiments that I have lined up for next week.  Finally, to be honest, I love being at home, by myself, doing whatever the fuck I want.

But ... my funds are getting low, and I'll have to get back on the horse soon.  So, maybe this is an offer I can't pass up.  Crap.

Whoopsie! (While Suggestively Biting The Tip Of My Finger)

Oh, I have to tell this story from a stripper party a couple weeks ago. ...

So I was horny, and I liked the talent that was assembled for this party.  I didn't think any of them were going to, you know, play; that would be breaking the host's rules; two of the four dancers that night have obeyed those rules in parties past; one of them was the host herself; and the other one was someone I wasn't familiar with, and so I didn't push the subject with her (didn't matter; she left before I could get a lap dance with her).  But I also didn't think that any of them would tell on the host (or, worse, the bouncer), so I was going to go for it, thinking ... well, I don't know what I thought was going to happen, I just knew there was very little downside.

So one of these girls, one I've known for a long time and have received dances from, was there, and she seemed out of it.  I don't think of her as a bad drinker, and I really thought she was either sick or was having allergies.  Either way, she wasn't her usual on-point self.  That could have been a good thing for my pervertedness; girls like her sometimes have a tendency to let their inhibitions down.  But I have also had experiences where strippers that aren't all there just half-ass their dances to the point where it would've been pointless to whip it out.  At any rate I wanted to give her some business/money, so when I was down there with a different girl and she was finishing up with another person at the couch across from us, I asked her to wait for me.

Luckily, when I got done with that first dance and that dancer went upstairs it was just the two of us.  Time to open up my fly, reeeeeal wiiiiiide!!!  And just like I planned, she was writhing all over my pants, like a good lapdancer would, thereby jostling open the folds of my pants and giving my hard dick the opportunity to stick itself out.  And some point very early it did just that, but it was so imperceptible I wasn't quite sure.

What she did next, however, floored the fuck out of me.  I didn't see it; I took off my glasses, as I usually do, and I think I may have been spacing out and just feeling the sensation of her on my penis and anticipating her "discovering" it.  But then I felt what seemed to be ... OMG! ... bite marks!  And guess what?  I wasn't over the moon by that.  My first thought was, "Huh?"

And, um, that was her first thought, too.  I immediately looked at her, who was looking at my cock, and it looked like it took her a few seconds to realize that she wasn't biting through my pants, but onto the real thing.  Thank God she didn't scream or anything, although that may have been because she was too drunk to say so.  But with a stern voice she said, "You'd better put that shit away."

You may not like how I reacted next.  You may not understand it, especially since I was kind of surprised by her biting me tip.  But that's where I kind of did the old, "Whoopsie!" thing, although I don't think I suggestively bit the tip of my finger.  At any rate, I could hear footsteps coming down the stairs, so I quickly buttoned on of the buttons on my fly, or tried to and failed, I don't remember.

The rest of the dance, however, wasn't that cold.  Maybe she too rebounded from her initial shock, but once I tucked myself back she bit me through my pants.  Hard.  Maybe she was angry that she bit my pee-pee.  Good!  And then, even with a dance going on in full sight, I could feel her shooting her fingers through my pants and rubbing my dick fur back and forth while she was on top of me, kind of like how you'd rub a piece of food that landed on your shirt.  She's never been that frisky before, so maybe she doesn't mind.  And, maybe, that will lead to other things!  A guy can dream!

By the way, I don't think she's pissed.  I've talked to the host and she hasn't brought up my conduct, so I'm guessing she didn't tell her.  She may have been drunk off her ass, so she might not even remember.  We're still Facebook friends, too.  So I might be one step closer to throwing down with her ... or she is very tolerant of me taking it out but is still adamant that I don't do that again.  Like I said, a guy can dream.

Either way, I got a blowjob!  Yay for me!!!