Guess I Could've Done Better

The bad things about my parents leaving today -- not to say that I'm insulting my parents again, I really do want to see them off -- is that I am filling in for somebody, and now my co-worker in that department might be on her own till the end of the day.  Moreover, in retrospect, I could have worked harder.  Maybe I should have worked harder knowing that I would not be putting in a full day and I could have helped her out by, you know, working harder.

So yeah, I guess I could've done better and not screwed her with all the work I left for her -- and I left a lot for her.  But the damn folders kept coming!  But still, I could have worked harder.  I was too intent on listening to the radio.  Hope she forgives me.

I honestly think I could tough it out.  And hopefully, fingers crossed, they won't figure out.  It's just ... I blame my parents.  No, that's just self-serving.  It's all me.

If I do get caught, I hope they forgive me.  And I hope nothing bad happens.

Back To The Suck

Was filling in at The Fourth Department yesterday, just for that one day.  My previous stint was two about two months ago.  Any bad moments have been filtered out; it was largely a pain-free experience, and I remember it now being much easier than it had been on previous occasions.  So, my thinking went, if I could just drop in for this one day and still feel as if I know everything that needs to be done, and if I can get through the day doing everything I need to do without staying late, that's when I know I've learned all I can learn at this position.

Ooh, no, that was so not the case.  I felt I was making good time when I got to the new stuff right around halfway, which is my marker as to how much the old stuff has held me back.  But I heard that my Main Department was swamped with work -- probably a ripple effect of the snowstorm down south that delayed a day's worth of shipments up here -- and more work for them eventually means more work for me.  Add to that several forms which I had no idea how to deal with.  My supervisor told me that needed to be handled differently -- I need to call these people for these, I need to e-mail these people for these, etc.

What resulted was a first, and an all-time worst: I left, I swear, at least a dozen new forms after leaving for the night.  I didn't count, but it's possible I left two dozen.  There was so much new work coming in well into the afternoon that, knowing my main main priority was getting forms tested for the overnight staff after all the information for them was correct and complete, I would not have time for the new stuff or the really complicated stuff.  Even then, with all the forms I was able to start the process of getting tested by our lab, I got out work 75 minutes later than I should have.  I had an important call at 6, but I had to reschedule it because there was just too much work I had to do before I left.

Before he left, my boss checked up on me.  I told him about the work I was about to leave for the guy who usually does this job.  He told me I should start my day back there and finish up.  Finishing up won't happen, especially with these special cases that I think I need to work on.  Man, I hope the guy I filled in for forgives me for the all the crap I'm about to leave him this morning.  He'll be surprised as hell when he comes in and sees me at his chair.

So, after going back to work at this department, I feel worse, not better.  I once again cannot understand how you can do everything you're supposed to do in eight hours.  I don't know how the guy I substituted for does it.  Maybe I'm not cut out for this job, because I can't keep staying after 75 minutes every damn day and feel like I accomplished anything, especially if I'm leaving late and still leaving work.  This is impossible.  This is horrible.

Forgot My Aunt

This is a good time to talk to everyone.  And it's high time that I talk to my aunt -- as in, the one who stayed with us, inexplicably, for two weeks.  She gave me her personal information before she left because she wanted to keep in touch, and even though I didn't think she should have stayed her for two damn weeks, I wanted to be nice to her because I don't think either of my parents were nice to her while she was here.

I swear I threw that information in my desk.  But I haven't found it, and so calling her slipped my mind (although, to be fair, I kind of forgot to speak to her after she left, disappearing info or no).  And although I have had a fleeting thought of, "Hey, you know, maybe I should speak to my aunt!" from time to time, I have yet to speak to her in the, uh, 18 Months since she left.

About a year ago I was at my aunt and uncle's place for dinner, and I told them about calling her, and my aunt said that she will give me her number … but she didn't think it was the right time to give it to me then, and I haven't asked for it since.

Had a thought to call her … well, now.  But I tried looking for her number and it's still lost.  And since my parents don't want me to speak to her, if I do get my aunt's number, I'll have to call her while I'm out of the house, and since I'm only out of the house (at least for now) in the daytime, I'm not sure if I can call her in Hong Kong.  But shoot, I need to call her.  It's beyond time.

I hope she can forgive me.  I hope she can remember me, heck. ...

So Nervous Right Now

It's the day of the club's volunteering event, and even though it's our fifth time there (so nothing is new) and most of the people who are volunteering know what's up and I know we're gonna have a great time, I'm still scared of ... something wrong happening.  Just because, you know?

Yes, the impending snowstorm is scaring the hell out of me, too.  How bad is it?  More importantly, when is it coming?  Because more than a few people might cancel if it looks bad enough.  I totally get it, but it still makes me nervous.

Man, it's so bad that I'm awake right now.  Sure, the event is in the early afternoon, but now I'm scared I'll be too tired for it, even though I begged off work today and it's the only thing I'll have to do ... well, besides shovel.  Oh, and maybe plow, if the garage door would freakin' open.

I'm so nervous that -- ugh, I'll confess: I feel the urge to masturbate.  Just to cut the tension.  I really don't want to the day of an event like this, but ... I'm just ... anxious right now.  Forgive me.

Hello? Does Anyone Want Me?

So I signed up to work the NCAA Baseball Tournament Regional at Siebert.  The guy actually called me up and left a voicemail, which I read on Google Voice.  I was busy with work, so I thought I could wait until later in the afternoon, and when I did, I couldn't get reception, so I waited until after work, when I would try again in the car.  That's where I finally connected with him.  Unfortunately, someone got back to him before I called him back, and that person got the runner job.

Look, I didn't answer the phone because I was unfamiliar with the number; for all I knew, it was a spam, and I'm not going to answer that.  And I waited to call him back after because I was busy with work for people and a company that I respect.  Plus, frankly, I thought I had time; I didn't think this guy was calling people around for people to work for him.  This particular, uh, set-up is new to me, so I want to forgive myself for not knowing how this works.  But dammit, it would have been nice to work this, especially now that (don't tell my parents) I'm out of work.

Meanwhile, the spate of jobs I've applied for last week I apparently sent out into outer space, because I have heard from absolutely no one, and I mean goddamn no one.  I really have no idea how in the fuck this is happening.  I see all these jobs, which means they're going unfulfilled, and I know they aren't great, which means there is still a need for someone to take them.  Shit, I'm overqualified for these jobs -- that's why I applied for them!  So why is no one contacting me?  The only reason I can think of is that people have made up their minds about me, whatever it is, even if they have never spoken to me, and therefore they don't want to even talk to me.  I wonder if it's my resume.  Maybe I shouldn't include my recent work because that leads people to exclude me.  If I use a less recent, or vaguer, resume, maybe I can get those jobs.  Oh, I don't know.

Finally, there's nothing coming from the temp agency I'm hearing from.  I am lined up for a two-week job, which, paycheck aside (and yes, it's important), is useless to me long-term.  On top of that -- and this is fucking weird, so I'll talk about it later -- My Father's cousin is staying with us for a couple weeks.  We may have to take her to Chicago to entertain her, and that might mean I can't take this job.  Again, since it's so short-term it doesn't matter, but ... oh, fuck it, I'm so lost right now.

I need work.  There is work.  I can't find long-term work.  And I can't even find goddamn short-term work.  I don't know what to do.

Fuck These Scalper Ticket Prices!

Alright, I am now absolutely pissed that the tickets for the Frozen Four going up and down and up and down for no reason.  I want to go to Saturday's game, but now, I don't think so.

When I got to the X it became very clear that the $113.50 I paid for the Semifinals was way too expensive.  Not only was I able to find a ticket for those games for almost $40 less, when I said hi to my scalper just outside the arena, he told me he'd be willing to take $30 for any of the tickets he had in his hand.  Fuck.

I am willing to forgive myself for this.  How was I supposed to know the floor was going to give way underneath the market for these games the week of?  All I knew from past experience -- which was the Frozen Four from 2011 -- was that it was going to be expensive.  I didn't know that the inflated prices back then were primarily due to the presence of North Dakota.  I thought that Minnesota-Duluth fans and alums in the Twin Cities would buy up a healthy portion of the tickets.  Michigan and Ohio St. are big schools; Notre Dame is a national school and I thought there would be enough transplants and fans who live here that they would help sell out the arena, too -- and if not, there would be enough fans who would fly in to watch it.  According to my guy, that was far from the case.

I wouldn't say I felt burned, but during the games I resolved to beat the market.  I had panicked and bought too quickly.  And now, knowing that neither Ohio St. nor Michigan will be in the final and that a small (albeit Minnesota) school will face a private (albeit national) school for the title, it is now a buyers' market.  So I will wait.  Well, I'll try and buy a ticket from a fan of a losing team on my way out (that didn't work, like it serendipitously did seven years ago), and then I'll check the scalper sites the next morning (as in this morning), but I'll probably wait until the day of, when the market drops again, and I'll clean up.

Well, fuck me again, because I never thought a ticket for the final would shoot up to $150.  But it did.  Just checked.  I can't fucking believe it.  These were tickets that were going for about, oh, $70 on Wednesday.  And I have to say that even though all-session tickets were going for about the $175 I spent for both semifinals and the final for the 2011 Frozen Four, if I bought tickets for each session separately, I think I could have gotten them for, oh, $130, $150.  But that $150 is now the floor for Saturday?  Between two teams whose fans didn't buy up the price on Thursday?

Maybe demand doesn't spark up until people know for sure their teams are playing in the final.  But I really, really thought that prices would drop this morning.  And I didn't think for a second they would skyrocket.  I still don't believe it.  But I'm really pissed that the prices of these tickets go down and up and down and up with no rhyme or reason.  I ain't falling for this bullshit any longer.

So this is what I pray I will do.  I will check and see if tickets fall in price.  If they do fall to a number I like, I'll buy one over the Intenet.  If they don't, I'll go over to St. Paul and see my scalper and, if I can tolerate them, see the other scalpers.  There has to be tickets available, but I will be goddamned if I am paying more than $175 for both sessions.  And since I spent $113.50 on the semis, that leaves me ... $60 for a single.  That's the number.  That is the most I will pay.

It kills me to know I could have seen a great tournament for about $130-50, but I'm also tired of being jerked around and thinking I will get a bargain when the market jacks up the price like this.  So, if the price of a ticket isn't cheap enough, I'll walk away.  I really don't want to, and I sure as fuck didn't plan on doing so, but watching a great sporting event in my hometown isn't worth parting with more of my money than I should have spent.  And more importantly, going to it isn't worth parting with more of my dignity and self-respect after I have given away so much already in the pursuit of a bargain I still feel entitled to.  I can't, and I won't.

Only He Alone Can Fix It

Not only was picking my parents up from the airport last night painless, it was convivial.  It may have been the result of starting off on the right foot.  Past halfway home, Father asked me about the weather here.  I told him that after the rain we were having during our drive, we would have snow tomorrow, and then cold for the next few days.  "So you came home just in time," I told him, to which he actually laughed.

Father was actually pleasant thereafter.  That meant fixing the problem with the leaky pipes with him a lot more tolerable.  Well, actually, he fixed it -- or, um, "fixed" it.  He put back a clamp with better tubing, and even though the pinhole leak (or leaks) was stopped up, it was still dripping down the pipe into the pail I practically installed underneath that pipe.  And he didn't do anything with either main shutoff valve; he just turned them down so that less what would pour out.  But he at least (that damnable phrase, "at least") thanked me for trying.  Yeah, he told me I didn't listen when he said before he left that I should use a clamp with that better tubing, but ... shoot, my brother wasn't being an asshole when I visited his place Christmas Eve, and we shared so much good feelings between each other since we got home, so I'm going to let that slide.

I've got to be honest: I'm glad they're home, if only because Father can now fix the pipes.  Well, he says that after my parents get done cleaning a house this morning, he's going to get -- what's that called -- a compression fitting (?) that should provide a better temporary solution before he just calls someone to replace all the copper pipes in the house.  (I've heard sounds all over the place, and now I'm afraid there's just water dripping from leaky pipes around the entire house.)  For matters like plumbing, I trust him, almost implicitly.  I have very little knowledge of these things, of course, and I'm not entirely certain he knows.  Plus, I defer to him because it's his house.  But, hate to say it (this makes me sound like a lazy Trump supporter) just letting him take care of it is a burden off my shoulders.  Besides, if anything happens, there will be three people who can take care of it.

Now, am I under any illusion that everything will be hunky-dory by the time I get home for dinner after I get done with this?  Uh, a little.  Which means I have to re-wire my thinking and get real pessimistic real quick.  Hey, at least they're leaving in a week.

Expenses Without Receipts

Doing this now looks strange and even feels inappropriate considering that I learned Grandmother died.  I should talk more about this soon, but I think this is just a coping mechanism, doing this EWR.  Either that or a defense mechanism.  Forgive me.

OK, starting from Tuesday, June 20:

• Well, there are no EWRs until I go back to the 15th, where I finally went to the first party in some time.  I'm making a concerted effort to cut down on them so I can build my nestegg.  But goddammit, I have to rock out with my cock out, and even though I had to finish myself off, it was fun finally cumming all over ***i*'s tits.  I spent way too much money, per usual.  I got two other lappers and I slipped a third $20 because I wanted to get one from her but couldn't because a customer there was about to need CPR (don't ask).  Plus cover is $20 here, and she added on a bedroom fee for my pee-pee touching time with ***i*.  The host was nice, don't get me wrong, but this is too much money, especially when it's not going for my orgasm.  Total: $190.
• Wednesday the 14th -- found a penny head's-up at the East parking ramp at the Mall Of America.  An Infusion of: 1 cent.
• On Tuesday the 13th I went to the library to print out a bunch of things related to a real estate matter in Las Vegas.  Total cost: $1.40.
• Back to Saturday, June 10 ... where I started my night after having family dinner with ice cream.  I wanted to go to Milkjam.  Well, I wanted to walk around and exercise first, then go to Milkjam.  But the exit there was close due to what is becoming intractable construction work.  So after being guided by Waze I saw that Crema was just up the street.  So I parked there and got a sorbet.  With tip: $5.50.
• I then went up the street to Caffetto for the first iced mocha of the summer.  Small.  With tip it amounted to: $4.75.
• And then I went to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Version) because I hadn't been there in a while.  Got two dances even though I didn't want to.  But I kind of promised the second one, Brooklyn, that I'd get one from her if I saw her again.  Whoops.  With coffee and tips the total damage was: $47.75.
• On Thursday the 8th I found a dime at work, I think.  An Infusion of: 10 cents.
• Wednesday, June 6 7: Earlier that week ***e* texted me out of the blue asking if she could borrow $60 for groceries.  She's eight months due with her baby and she can't work; meanwhile her man (and yes, she has a man) is, like, out of town somewhere.  Now I remember waiting more than a year for her to fully pay me back the last time I did this.  I may have blogged about this, but I can't find it.  Anyway, I totally forgot how enraged I got with her over that, so I didn't hesitate to say yes.  Oh my God, I am so stupid.  I gave ***e*: $60.
• On Monday, May 29, aka Memorial Day, I celebrated by going to Hooters.  Got a burger there for the first time ever.  And it was slidy and all the stuff kept falling out of it -- a big pet peeve of mine.  Oh, well.  With tip: $17.50.
• To Sunday the 28th, where I spent my morning with a small mocha at Caffetto.  With tip: $4.
• I then spent the afternoon at the library, composing what would become a complaint letter concerning a bad Vegas real estate deal gone down.  Had to print out a complaint and a copy of e-mail correspondence.  Total cost: 30 cents.
• On Saturday the 27th I got a shave at Moler.  The guy who shaved me this time was real good.  With tip it came out to: $9.
• That evening was the United match, and I finally tried the beer created exclusively for the team, Surly North Rising.  Hoppy, like all Surly beers are.  With a hot dog and tip: $17.50.
• After they won I went to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Division).  There, a weird chick by the name of Arianna was there.  I remember her from way back; she used to dance at the club but then disappeared.  But, she came back.  Stint in jail, I presume.  She isn't as scary-crazy as she was, but she complained that I didn't give her five bucks' tip stageside.  That I remember.  She didn't remember me, though, even though I made up for my parsimony by getting an LD from her.  With tips for the other three strippers and coffee: $31.75.
• Finally I went to My Favorite Late-Night Italian Place to top off the night.  Think it was just a large salad and soup.  Total with tip: $9.50.
• Tuesday, May 23 -- with a surprise furlough that day early enough in the day, I drove all the way up to home to get a discount ticket to watch Guardians Of The Galaxy 2.  Now I heard everyone rave about the first GOTG, but I didn't understand what the fuss was all about.  It was OK, but not earth-shattering.  For GOTG2, besides hearing it was the best-tested movie ever screened, there wasn't that much hype compared to its predecessor.  And I loved this movie.  It had its bells and whistles, but the best thing about it was how damn emotional it was.  This is a serious movie about parents and the consequences of their actions on their children.  Maybe that is why it resonates with me so much.  But it does, and I think it does it incredibly well.  Grade: A.  Ticket, popcorn and pop equal: $9.64.

Why I Am Not An Extra Right Now

So I was talking to this guy whom I know through the local movie-making scene and out of the blue he asks me if I want to help be an extra for a shoot this Saturday afternoon.  He said it was 10 to 3, when I was free.  I haven't done extra work in a while, and I wanted to help this guy out because I feel like I failed him in not picking up programs for him after Vikings games (long story, and so boring that I probably won't talk about it).

But in the end, I didn't do it.  A bunch of reasons:

1. It's be nice if I were paid.  Most extra work doesn't pay, and I have (and plan on still) helping out as an extra for small, no-budget shoots like this one is supposed to be.  But I have had more of an eye on trying to monetize my time whenever possible.  And at least on that column of the ledger, it doesn't succeed.
2. While this is one of the few shoots that is actually in the metro area, it's still pretty far.  I also needed to fill up my car (my first fill-up!  Oh, the car grows up so fast!!) and I didn't think I was going to wake up in time for me to remember to gas up, go to the gas station to gas up, and then get to set on time.  Yeah, I could have just woken up early and do all that, but ... well, see 1.
3. He asked me to pick up a guy from White Bear Lake, which is clear across the other side of town from me as well as from the site of the shoot.  My friend is a movie lifer.  I have no idea if he's even making money doing this, but I even if he isn't he doesn't care, because he loves to make movies.  (He also likes sports, we bond over sports.)  So I assume he has an "all hands on deck" attitude when it comes to making movies.  So if he can help people for a production by arranging a ride for them, he'll do his best to, well, be a producer.  I don't mind that, I really don't.  But going from home to the other side of town, and then back to the other, other side of town?  Naw, I wasn't feeling that today.
4. I think I needed to spend some time cleaning out my old car, and I was afraid I wasn't going to be able to put in enough time to do that and get to the shoot for call.  Turned out I didn't spend that much time cleaning out my car, but still.
5. Finally, this is the killer fact that I was afraid would happen, but it probably would happen: Shoots always go long.  When they say it's going to end at 3, it definitely isn't going to end at 3.  I don't know if I blogged about this, but I was an extra for a movie that actually did get a semi-wide release.  I was supposed to report in the evening and get out around midnight or so.  I was there until daybreak.  Ridiculous, but I've found out moviemaking is quite ridiculous.  I don't remember any time where I was let out when they initially said we were going to be done.  And while I had those five hours free, I bought a special ticket to the Minnesota United game tonight where I get to go on the pitch and everything.  Plus, since I am working 12 hours these days, my parents and I don't have dinner together except on weekends, so I really thought I had to get home by around 4 to eat with them and then go to the game in time.  (Don't forget that it's Mother's Day Weekend.  Maybe I should eat with Mother these two days.)  I'm sure I wouldn't have been able to do the shoot and get home by 4 ... well, unless it was 4 in the morning.

So I got up at around 7, tidied up my room till about 9, got out and cleaned out my car a bit, then realized I had to mail a rebate because Saturday was the last day it could be postmarked.  That took me till 10:30, so by then it was already too late.

Since then I went downtown to watch English Premier League soccer, took a nap in my car, then went to Caribou to type this.  I honestly have not agonized about my decision once this afternoon.  Hope my friend is OK and I hope he forgives me.

Have I Said This Before? I Don't Care, I'll Say It Again

I think it's obvious that That Asshole at work is an asshole, and although he accepted my apology, he never has really forgiven me for barging in on him at lunch, even though he emphasized how important it was to get inventory right to the point where he intimated, strongly, I needed to get him if it's off.  The way he ignores me is deafening, and frankly, it's pissing me off.

And speaking of inventory (even if I don't do it anymore), it's also obvious that he misled me about how much of a shit he gave about it.  I don't see him doing anything about inventory beyond this one thing.  So why did he act like it was all important?  That's why I came to him -- it was important.  But if lunch is more important to him, well, I guess it wasn't so important, now was it?  And in the meantime I haven't seen him even getting close to the room.  So fuck this guy.  He's a liar, a selfish introvert who will do the barest fucking minimum just so his bosses think he's on top of things.  Fucking hypocrite.

And do you know the most fucked-up thing about this all?  A job has opened up with the company, and four people (one of which is the guy who is leaving the job) said I would be good for it.  I would not be answering at all to The Asshole (at least I don't think), but would be working under the boss I am working under right now.  Still, I would be in the same building as him, and the tension he's giving me is unbearable already.  I'm thinking about this piece of shit during the weekend.  Whenever I do something wrong I conjure his fucking face, yelling at me again like he did before.  Do I really want a full-time job at the same place as this motherfucker?

I Don't Want To Be Alone. Not Now.

I have the house all to myself right now.  But surprisingly, I wish I wasn't.  I wish my parents were home.  Not because I want to cuddle with them, I just them around, a familiar face that kind of likes me near my vicinity.  Why?  It's because of Him, at work.

It's ironic: A long holiday should be a great thing.  But if you're obsessed about a problem with a co-worker holidays in fact are the worst thing, because that gives you an extra day to worry about work even though you are at work.  I wish I could have relaxed for this Labor Weekend, but despite me going to the State Fair twice and the horse track yesterday (Monday) afternoon all I could think of was Him.  Fucking goddamn.

---

Have I ever told this story on WAF?  Just before I moved down to El Paso to start my internship (wasn't the night before but the night before that, I think) I was watching a movie with my parents in their bedroom.  I was cuddled up, underneath the sheets, between them in their California King-sized bed.  After the movie was over, I didn't want to leave the bed.  So I, who was 24 years old at the time, asked if I could sleep with them that evening, for old times' sake, just because.  And they said yes, and they didn't really convince me to leave.  In retrospect I am kind of surprised that they were just cool with their grown-ass man sleeping inbetween them.  But maybe they know me, they really know me.

Right now it would really be nice if I could just talk to them, about anything.  Anything that could make me believe that things are normal and that nothing's wrong at work.  Shit, I'd take them lecturing me about going back to school or something, because I'm also used to that, and that would feel like a warm hug after this inexplicable explosion on Friday.

But they are not here.  I am alone in this house, alone with my thoughts, fears, doubts and speculation.  I hear depression wants to get you alone.  Well, here I am.

---

You know what's so fucked up about this?  Most of the time I've been thinking about Him, I've been dreaming about ways we could make up and be friends.  I would go to work and he'd be there, quickly apologizing for his behavior and even smiling.  Or we would have a sit-down and talk about why he said what he said, and then we'd shake hands, or even hug it out.

Goddamn, I am so pathetic.  I want to be liked, I'm afraid I can't help that.  But like my friend said, an apology isn't coming.  So I shouldn't apologize, or at least apologize beyond what I already said.  Giving him this weekend is ceding power to him, and nothing that could make things better the way I want it to in my illusions is in my control.  It's all him, and I have no fucking guarantee he won't rip into me again.  So why pretend things could get better?

Because it'll make me look forward to work again.  Man, I so don't want to go to work today.  I dread it, and I have never dreaded going to work, even in the worst days when I thought I'd be fired for typing so slow and little.  I'm this innocent child who thinks things will get better if you just smile and say "please" and "thank you."  I have to disabuse myself of the notion even though I don't want to.

---

Of course, I can't let Him or anyone else at work see.  And I am trying my damndest to get my courage up so I can show up for work like nothing's wrong despite all my inner turmoil.

And you know, if I don't listen to my heart and listen to my brain instead, that would be easy.  I was sorry; he accepted my apology.  You would thus think that that means that we both have addressed the issue to each other's satisfaction and are now going to move past it -- not forgive necessarily, but move past it.  Thinking logically, I thus would have the right to think that it's over.

Sometimes I get mad at myself for thinking so emotionally.  I don't want to wonder if things are going to be OK between me and Him; I want to presume that they are, because I said sorry and he said OK.  And if not?  Honestly, at this point, that's on him.  I have pushed past it, but if there's any lingering bitterness on what I did (by mistake, by the way) that means that it is he who is holding a grudge and thus putting his personal feelings ahead of getting the project done.

That is what I think.  No -- that is what I know.  I just want to believe it in my heart so I can just fucking get on with work.

---

However, it is possible, very possible, that my heartache could get cleared up very quickly.  My angst and anxiety ultimately springs from uncertainty: Is he going to continue to be nasty with me, or will he lighten up?

I have to ask this guy for things, and it's likely that I'l have something for him first thing in the morning.  I will be as nice as I can, without proactively offering an apology for Friday, that he do this for me.  It would be awesome if he could do it with a smile, even better if he apologizes for his outburst.  But if, I suspect, he is going to be curt with me, says nothing, and/or doesn't even make any eye contact with me as he does this, well, in my mind (and heart) that tells me he's not over it.  Fuck, if I even get the sense that he's going to just be his quiet old self I will be convinced that he's not over it.

Either way, I will have certainty.  If he addressed what went down Friday like an adult, all will be better.  And if he chooses to remain an asshole about it ... well, like my friend said, expect assholes to get mad again about something else, so why bother worrying about it, and Him?  In my mind that would mean that he's not going to forgive me for one mistake I made, and I am no longer going to feel sorry about it, because there won't be a goddamn thing I can do that'll patch things up between us, so fuck Him.

I guess that's something to look forward to when I come into work, in a twisted way.  Of course, knowing my inability to see all the angles of a situation, there will be a third scenario that crops up where at the end of the day I'm saying to myself, "So are cool or does he still think I'm a putz?"

So I just sent out an apology letter to the person whom I believe felt taken advantage of when they were hosting the club.

A part of me still can't understand why she would be so upset.  She never let on that we were treating them like dicks.  So a part of me is hoping, in the best-case scenario, that she would reply to my letter with a, "What in the hell are you talking about?"

But as my mind slowly gravitates towards thinking that is the case, a part of me is still afraid that what I actually heard, stitched together from two conversations and synthesized with my analysis, is exactly what I have concluded: That we took all their food without giving any and I was being a strange asshole talking into the air.  I didn't see that we were acting like juveniles during the games, and I don't think that they dropped any hints.  But as perplexing an about-face would be, I have to make contingency plans if that's the case.

Corollary: I'm afraid she'll look at the letter, go, "What in the hell is this?" and instead of talking to me, she reaches out to other people from whom I had heard she was mad at me.  And even though I think saying sorry is the first thing you should do in order to make things right, spreading this letter to third parties might make the situation worse.  I don't know if either party she might talk to would then start yelling at me for misconstruing what they said ... which leads me back to saying and doing the wrong thing, which got me in trouble in the first place (I think).

Major damage control; it sucks.

Some Friend I Am

Late Tuesday night I got a voicemail from a friend of mine.  Our mutual friend, one I blogged about flipping out on me at The Store more than five years ago, died.  He had a stroke some time ago, he's been in a care home since, he had surgery on Tuesday, and there were complications, and he passed away Sunday.

Upon hearing my friend's VM, I thought about him for a bit, then went back on the Internet.  Jerked off, too.  Today, I thought about him from time to time, but there were periods where I was working or listening to the World Cup game or just dinkin' around the Internet, then I realized I wasn't thinking about him, and feeling bad that I didn't think about him.

Just checked my e-mail records.  The last time he wrote to me was less than two weeks ago, updating me and others about the latest changed date of his surgery.  He was hoping that he could be back living independently next month.  The last time I wrote to him was the day after April Fools' Day, in response to an earlier update.  He wanted to go the racetrack once his health improved.  And the last time I saw him was last year, when we went to a Twins game.  He was toddling around, but he seemed to be OK, and he was in good spirits.

I had been meaning to go see him at the facility he was in, but I never did.  The usual excuses -- too busy, work, this vacation with my family, visiting him slipped my mind -- obviously are bullshit when it comes to death.  And now it's too late.

And yet, as guilty as I feel for not seeing him, I feel even shittier for giving a shit.  Not that I don't care about my friend -- I do.  But if I were a true friend, I would have seen him.  I'm beating myself up for not taking one afternoon, one measly fucking afternoon to see one of the few people in my life with whom I shared a passion for sports and ask how he's doing.  I wonder if anyone saw him.  And I wonder if he was angry with me, or sad that I never dropped by, like true friends are supposed to.

But even as I hate myself for not seeing him before he went, I'm also judging myself.  This woulda-coulda-shoulda is the self-indulgent mental anguish people give themselves when they realize they were too lazy to do the right thing when it counted, and now need to make themselves feel better.  Look, if you'll give me some latitude in making myself feel better -- it's not as if he was on death's door, or at least he didn't make it seem like he was.  Unlike my uncle, there was no warning that his health was taking a turn for the worse.  If there was advance news -- and if someone closer to him than I was in communication with other friends who weren't as tight with him, like me -- of course we would drop everything and run to see him.  But he had surgery that anyone would reasonably assume he would survive ... and he didn't.

But, again, thinking that is useless.  He was not deathly ill, but he was definitely not 100% healthy.  That alone is reason enough to see him.  Friends see friends, right?  End of story.  But I didn't do that.  And so I now am persecuting myself -- rightly so -- both ways on a two-way street.  I'm right in the median of guilt and indecision.  I either should have just seen him while he was alive just in case, or, to be ruthlessly honest with how my actions reflect my beliefs, I should just admit that I didn't consider him as close enough of a friend to spend a day with him and ... forget about him.  I didn't do the former, and I don't want to be the latter, or at least I don't want to admit that the latter is how I actually feel.

So his death reminds me of the usual cliches.  Tell the people you love that you love them before they're gone.  Tomorrow isn't promised to any of us.  One minute we're here, the next minute we could be gone.  And live life to the fullest.  All true, and all impractical to living life.  I regret I'll probably not live by these mottoes as soon as I have to resume my life.

But right now, with his death haunting me, and while I await any news on his funeral -- that I'm visiting him now that he's gone is so morbidly ironic and unfair to him that I shouldn't even have the dignity of mourning him, I'm such a selfish asshole -- I feel I must abide by these cliches.  I have a friend out in Los Angeles who told me that he got engaged.  I owe him a phone call, but I've been putting it off.  But I left him a message tonight, and he texted me back, whew.  This guy I met downtown wanted to show me a presentation related to work.  I think he's trying to sell me something, but I promised him a reply, and I should do that soon.  Hell, I might even do what my parents say and get up early in the morning to water their plants.

What I really want to do, of course, is visit my old friend, at least once.  But he's dead, and I didn't take the time to do so while he was alive, so now I can't.  And right now I don't think I can ever forgive myself for that mistake.

---

In the meantime I am going to go through my own surgery, which will be in the morning.  Finally I'm going to get this anal seton removed, after half a year.  I'm in good health, but with my friend's death I can't help but think that there might be complications -- the surgeon screws up, or I don't wake up from the anesthesia.  It'd be sort of ironic if I died shortly after he did.  But, since I didn't honor my friend by seeing him, maybe an unforeseen passing would be ... deserved.

End Of Job, End Of The Family Business

Supervisor came up to me just before I left work today.  He gave me a status update on else needed to be done.  From what he said, he was trying to stretch out my work, but he's struggling because there isn't a whole bunch left.  It's exactly what I feared: The end date of the 14th is going to be pushed up.

I don't think we're going to make it to next week.  Fuck, our last day may be today.

So then what?  I hope I've done enough to convince my temp agency that I'm good for another job.  But what if I don't?

My main focus now is to avoid my parents' wrath, at least until they leave for Vegas.  The one big thing on my side is they understand that my assignment is temporary, so they won't be too shocked if I lose it anytime soon.  But better to be on the safe side and rope-and-dope them for another week.  Which means one more week of either waking up very early or telling my folks that "my hours have been modified."

Bigger problems loom.  First and foremost, at least in my mind, is The Store.  I knew the day had to come where they would sell it, but now that they actually have, I won't have a whole lot of time with the Old Lady before I can't go in there anymore.

I have never had a day where that building wasn't ours, you know?  And now it won't be.  That doesn't seem to be a big deal to my parents, but it's fucking huge one for me.  Tuesday night, after I decided not to go the University of Minnesota men's basketball game because Nate Wolters, the NBA prospect that's playing for their opponent, South Dakota St., rolled his ankle in practice Monday night and, after trying to warm up on it before the game, the radio announcers (thank you, BTW, I really didn't think they would announce so early) said that he would play very sparingly, if at all.  What I did instead, including going to St. Paul to pick up a ticket to Saturday night's roller derby match and going to a strip club I hadn't been in in a year, is go to the parking lot at The Store and sit.  Well, it was too cold to sit, so I fished around for a gas coupon because I needed to fill up my tank before I went home, but then I sat.

And then, before I left, I went up to the door.  I opened up the screen and touched the solid red door, one I had gone through hundreds, maybe a thousand times over my life.  And I laid my forehead against it and said I was sorry for hating it.  My parents dragged me out to The Store when all I wanted to do was stay home and play.  I didn't understand then what a glorious success The Store was for us, and how important it was to our family's way of life.  I did as I grew up.  Now I know what it means.  And, funny, it now appears that The Store is more important to me than to me parents.

I apologized for not understanding all of this when I was a kid, and I begged The Store for forgiveness and asked that it not hold my bratty defiance against me.  And then I left.

I still think I have a few weeks left before they turn the property over.  Seriously, I might go in and take a look around, one last time.  Maybe I'll spend an afternoon nap there.  Or maybe I'll sleep there over night ... or just lay right in the middle of the aisle and close my eyes.  Because I can't let this thing go.

WHY CAN'T THEY LET ME HAVE THE STORE?!?!?!  WHY CAN'T THEY JUST KEEP IT?!?!?!  FIRST GRANDMOTHER AND THEN THE HOUSE AND THEN THEM RETIRING AND THEN MY CARE AND NOW THIS -- EVERYTHING I HAVE EVER KNOWN IN MY LIFE IS GETTING TAKEN FROM ME!!!  WHY CAN'T YOU JUST KEEP THIS?!?!?!  YOU WANT ME TO TAKE OVER THE STORE, I'LL TAKE IT OVER!!!  LET'S KEEP IT IN THE FAMILY!!!  PLEASE DON'T RIP THIS OUT OF MY LIFE -- THERE'S NO PART OF MY CHILDHOOD LEFT!!!

My Deepest Regrets And Apologies: Only The Second (?) Day I Have Unintentionally Missed Blogging

Earlier in the day today (Tuesday) I thought to myself, Self, did I blog yet today?  Shit, I didn't!  And I vowed that since I was coming home this evening to watch Game 1 of the NBA Finals, I was going to do that then.  (I usually try and blog late at night before I go to bed to make sure I have that day's entry in, but I whipped up my NBA Finals preview column instead.)  I even had a subject all ready in my head: How my work commute is absolutely fucking killing me, and how my missing badge is only adding to my stress.  But after I got home I forgot.  That, unfortunately, is usually the case.

Well, at least I have something else to write about.  But it's too late.  Man, I'm sorry.  I broke a promise to myself to always blog whenever I am not on vacation.  I have missed days because of that, but this is, I think, only the second time I was at home and had both the opportunity and the will to blog something that day and failed to do it because of plain old forgetfulness.  I'm sorry.  Please forgive me, because I will forever be ashamed of myself.  (Trust me, that sounds far-fetched, but I will -- always.)

Almost Caused An Accident

I think I spoke of the time when I was confronted "nicely" by someone who accused me of cutting him off.  I was always scared of a next time; I would not be so "lucky."  Well, it happened -- and even though the person who probably wanted the confrontation is no longer mad at me, I could have caused a very, very bad accident.

The shocks on my car are bad.  I think I realized this, or was convinced to believe it, when I was told during an oil change that they were bad.  So what I thought was my car bouncing over potholes normally now is a dance with the devil, and I catch my breath hoping I'm not breaking my axels and flopping to a complete stop in the middle of the road.

Tonight, I was going to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Version) as part of a night which was to lead me downtown to this new stripclub where a girl who gave me a handjob a couple weeks ago (I'll talk about it some other time) is now working.  Unfortunately, the way there is under construction.  I can drive on it, but a part of it has been peeled off, so when that part ended and the old road started, there's this huge bump that I'm really freaked out over.  So I slow down all the way as I approach it (on a left turn) and slooooooooooowly creep over the bump.

Too bad I totally didn't give a shit about the car behind me.  Or the car behind it.  As soon as I was willing to accelerate, I see the girl behind me start vigorously shaking her head and gesturing with her hand.  Oh, shit, she's mad, isn't she?  Well, I started to get ready for a road rage fight right in the middle of the intersection.  From the looks on my rearview mirror she's still furious at my slow driving.

But then I look at the head.  It looks ... familiar.  It looks pretty also.  And then I realize that it's 9 o'clock, the beginning of the late shift.  Oh, shit.  There is a very good possibility that we're going to the same place ... because the person I pissed off is a stripper at the bar I'm going to.

And sure enough, as soon as I get the green light and enter the parking lot, the car behind me does the same.  Well, fuck me.  I had a choice: Go away and hope they forget, or ... confront the situation myself.  I decide I wanted to see boobs, so I figure I could just go in and apologize to her.

I go in; no one, woman or man, tries to coldcock me.  I go up to a stripper who's holding her bag and looks like she just came in.  "Were you the one who was behind me?" I asked her.

"She was," the guy she was talking to when I barged in, who is the bouncer, said.  She then looked at me before going into the strippers' locker room.  She's usually kind of out of it, so she probably didn't know what I was trying to ask her.

Or, it wasn't her.  There was another girl holding her bag and looking like she just came in, and this one (with whom I'm familiar with, just like the first one) had the shape of her head and hair that looked like the woman who was following me.  But she was talking so much that I decided to wait to talk to her.  Maybe she was venting about the asshole who was going to slow and making her late to work.

She disappeared into the lockerroom.  It took about a half-hour before she re-emerged.  At the juke box I asked her if she was behind me.  "Yes!  And you almost caused an accident!" she replied.  The guy behind her was driving like the car two ahead of him wasn't slowing down because he was afraid, and he almost rear-ended her vehicle.  And I was so, so sorry to almost have caused that.  Fortunately she, like the first stripper I spoke to, isn't totally in the present, either, so she quickly forgave me.  Whew.

I should go faster over bumps, but I'm very scared that I'll bust my car if I do that.  Maybe I need to use an alternate route to get to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Version) for the time being.  Or not go until the fix the road ... which, considering the state's been shut down for over a week now, could be a long ways away.

My Friend Yelled At Me Today

This guy, I used to work with him some time ago. I like him, but, to be honest with you, if we didn't work with each other and share the same passion for sports, we would not be friends. He's a nice guy and all, but circumstances brought us together, and sentiment keeps us together. Guess that's the way things usually work in life.

Anyway, I've known him for years, and he's ... uh, he's kind of slow. I think. It's hard to describe, but from the way he talks and the relatively, um, measured way he does things, you might think he's mentally challenged. And he could be. But the good thing about him is he seems to take things easy. Until today.

I was helping out at my parents' place when he walks in to get some lottery tickets. He always does this; in fact, he may be one of a half-dozen regulars to my parents' store. Well, what happened was is that he wanted to fill out a form because he wanted the same numbers drawn over four consecutive drawings. I told him I knew what he was talking about, so he didn't have to fill out a sheet. But I fucked up. When he saw it -- and I still can't believe this -- he pounded his fists on the counter. Pounded his fists on the counter!!! Not only had I never seen him that angry, I had never seen him angry, period. And was pissed off at me, probably because he thought that he now had to pay money for tickets that weren't in the form that he wanted.

After I told him that I would either cancel or eat the tickets, he calmed down. In fact, he apologized for his ... well, wait a second, he really didn't. He said, "I'm sorry that I ..." and he trailed off before saying something to the effect of, "... yeah, that, whatever." (I'm paraphrasing because he was speaking very quietly.) During his pause, one would usually interject and say, "Nah, don't worry about it." But I wanted to test my friend. I wanted him to apologize like a grown-up, with actual words. But he couldn't. Either he was too ashamed -- or he isn't man enough.

He was very nice to me after his meltdown. Profusely even. But I just can't help but feel that our relationship has been irrevocably altered for the worse. Yes, my friends have the right to their frustration and anger. But I'm a sensitive guy, and I'm not completely exaggerating when I saw I'll be scarred and haunted by this for the rest of my life. Plus, when I can't forget something bad that happened to me, however unintentional, I'm slowly come around to not being able to forgive. How can I think of this man the same way after the events of today?

And fucking up all of this is that although he is a friend, he is an important customer for the store. If I somehow let on that I can't forgive him for what he did to me, he just might get so pissed off he never comes around ever again, and there goes some of our business. If I even act differently from now on, I'm afraid he'll stop taking the bus to the store.

So now I'm fucked. What can I do?