This Weekend, It'll Just Be Me And Him

Mother's going on a girls-only road trip this weekend.  This, I think, is her third one.  I'm glad that this time, she actually told me beforehand.  And I'm also glad, although I was surprised when Father told me she was spending those two weekends away, that she has girlfriends with whom she can go on road trips.

So that leaves Father and me this weekend.  That will be strange as all get out.  I really think that without Mother as a buffer, he will feel free to lecture me around the dinner table about cleaning my room and going back to school.  It's been a while since he hectored me about that, but anticipating the worst this weekend, I might react to it, uh, not well, let's just say.

I wanted to take the heat off leading into this weekend by doing things that make it look as though I am being a productive member of this household.  Namely, I had intentions this week of cleaning up my room.  But instead, I had a movie I wanted to go to Monday (I told my folks I was going to work out), on Tuesday I had to visit my alumni bar downtown, and Wednesday and last/Thursday night I just fell asleep after dinner.  And I had plans on exercising for real at least one of those days.  So, those best laid plans are ruined, and I have invited My Father to call me on the carpet for doing nothing around the house.

And yet, beyond all that, I am now worried about Father's health.  There is nothing telling me he is sick or going to hurt himself.  But I have never worried about him because he is never alone.  Seriously, I cannot remember my parents being apart for more than a weekend, such as this weekend.  But I go to work today, and tomorrow/Saturday I have that Game-watching event, and then I plan on working on my receipts while hanging out at a coffeeshop after that Game.  Meanwhile, he will be all alone, and while I am worried about his old age, I am also kind of scared he'll get bored out of his mind.  Then again, like I alluded to above, I don't know if I can stand being alone with him, either.

Mother comes back Sunday.  I hope it's closer to the morning than the evening.  But she doesn't even know the city the hotel she's staying in is located.  I will hope Father remains in good spirits while she is gone.  I will also hope I don't kill him.

Being A Sugar Daddy Isn't Part Of Our Relationship

So not one but two stripper girlfriends have hit me up for money over the past week.  This is not a case where they ask me, "Hey, sailor, you want me to cum over and give you a good time?"  You see, it's back to school time, and most Minnesota schools start class the day after Labor Day, and so both of my stripper girlfriends have asked if I could do them a huge favor and give them money through an app because they need to buy school supplies for their kids and they're a little short this time of year and blah, blah, blah.

Although I don't explicitly remember, I'm pretty sure this is not the first time I have been asked for money for their kids' school supplies.  In fact, I think it was at least one of these two who asked.  And I gave money to both of them.  And yes, I have huge reservations in doing that.  So why did I do it?  Lending money is something friends, or "friends," do for each other.  I want to remain in their good graces.  And this might be the wrong way to go, but I am grateful to ***e* for jerking me off all these years and to *u**** for fucking me and for sucking my dick the other day.

This time around, though, I said this is not me giving money to them.  This is an advance.  I am paying the money now in exchange for sexual favors I expect them to give me later, and without asking for any money in return.  I think I have asked politely for such an arrangement before, probably with ***e*, but this time around, seeing that as much money appears to be flowing out of my bank as appears to be going in, I felt kind of besieged when first ***e* and then, a few days later, *u**** both hit me up.  It appears as though they talked to each other between the time the former and the latter asked me for money whereby the former went, "Yeah, if you need money, go ask Unforgivable Wetness -- he gave me money, he might give you money, too!"  And as much as I love ***e*, I think that's what happened, and I kind of resent that.  What I can't be is a sugar daddy.

So, as much as I would like to help, I had to signal to them that I won't be a pushover.  I expect that the next time I see them, they'll get me off, and they will know not to expect any money back.  Like I said, the HJ, BJ and/or RJ is paid for.  I think they will honor that.  We're friends with benefits after all, right?  But do I know for sure?  No.  And that both scares and saddens me.

Finally Have Evenings To Myself

Last/Tuesday night was the first time in Buddha knows how long that I had my evenings to myself.  No work that bled into the evening, nothing to go out for (whether I wanted to or not) -- I got home, ate dinner, retreated into my bedroom ... and I had the whole evening to myself.  I could anything I wanted.  Or nothing.

Well, what I did do last/Tuesday night was start on putting away my clean clothes.  (Oh: In a quasi-addendum from my last blog post, Father actually did wash my clothes yesterday.  Bless him.)  I stopped after several, plopped down on the bed and closed my eyes.  If I was going to be awake, I was going to listen to the Wild and, later, the Timberwolves on the radio and, in a welcome return to the days of yore, watch the Twins on over-the-air television.  I turned on the radio and put the volume on quiet enough to listen if I didn't fall asleep.  But I did.  Woke up a bit past 9, in fact.  Saw on my phone that the Wild won and the Wolves were getting their body parts handed to them, and I turned on the TV in time to hear (while scrolling through my phone) Tyler Duffey cough up the tying and winning Runs to Kansas City.  Finished the rest of my clothes and, well, that was my evening.

My Father insists that I could spend my evenings getting educated, even getting another degree.  He is not wrong.  However, I feel great right now, and I know that can't happen unless I got my two-plus hours of sleep.  There is massive long-term gains in furthering your education, and yet the immediate short-term gain in just giving your body a rest feels like something I need more right now.  And I feel that way especially after last week, when I spent most of my evenings finishing up my taxes and getting both a massage and a handjob.  Had to do the former and loved both of the latter, but that takes up my evenings, and so, after a Saturday night at the United Match and another massage Monday night, I am happy to have had last/Tuesday night completely off.  Well, I did have Sunday night "off" too, since it was Easter and everything was closed that evening.  But you know what I mean.

Anyway, there is no rest for the wicked.  I have tonight to myself, but my work schedule shifts so that it ends in the early evening, and so to spare my parents waiting for me to get home before we all eat, I told them I would find something to eat on my own.  That means being ... well, not busy, but active Thursday and Friday evenings.  Hope I have enough energy to get through them.

Still Need To Do My Taxes

Just got around to compiling my numbers -- my "stats," so to speak -- yesterday/Saturday, and I noticed something.  I made more than $40,000 for the first time in my life last year.  Now, it may not be a huge salary for many people, and I certainly don't think someone with a college degree such as I should be making that little money in this stage in my life.  And sure, this is not only because of my "real" job but taking in two other jobs, both of which I love to do.  But I bopped around as a temp for decades and couldn't imagine making that much money.  And frankly, reaching that level motivates me to make even more.  By, uh, going back to college and attaining more skills?  Uh, let's not get ahead of our skis now; I still have my taxes to do.

Called Out For Being Late But Not Tardy ... Or Tardy But Not Late

This is so fucking stupid ... last week, out of the blue, I get an e-mail from my boss scrutinizing when exactly I punch in to work.  You're allowed leeway, like five minutes from when you're supposed to start (although I also was once told ten, but whatever).  Swiping in after that grace period raises a red flag with bosses.  You allowed only so much before you're called in for, uh, "remediation."  If you're really bad and do it frequently enough, that's grounds for getting fired.  But it rolls over every 365 days, so if you've been really bad for, like, a week, after a year it's off your record.  Besides, they have made exceptions for tardiness when there's been, like, a huge snowstorm that makes it difficult for people to get to work.

This bullshit e-mail is different.  My boss noted that I have not been "late" or "tardy" (I don't know which word is the one I'm supposed to use, but the two are not interchangeable), but for the past month he noted the number of "late/tardy" punches, and he deemed it unacceptable, even though I technically have not run afoul of company policy when it comes to getting to work on time.  He said some fuckin' BS about "not being an ideal worker for the company" or some such.  And then he said, and this is the thing that galls me, is that he is going to be tracking how many times I am late but not tardy (or tardy but not late) for ... well, from now on, fuck if I know, and he'll track by how many minutes I am late.  You fuckin' kidding me?!?!?!  I cannot help but think of that as nothing but a threat.

That leads to self-demeaning acts of stupidity and oppression like yesterday.  I wanted to try and be "a good boy" and get to work on time.  And yet, I still wanted to buy coffee and a bite to eat, and then eat that bite to eat in my car, before punching in.  I got up and got out of the house early to ensure that I could do this all.  But goddamn me for not building in enough time (and, maybe, for ordering oatmeal) and then thinking I could do all this before 10 a.m.  It got down to the brass tacks whereby I ate the rest, tried to gather up my bag, my gloves, and my mocha, and then march through the front door.  I looked down at my watch just after I closed the door to my car and saw it was 10 on the dot.  I didn't feel like running to the door; that would be demeaning, and besides, I didn't know if I wanted to jump through these hoops for my boss, especially since he usually doesn't come in on Sundays.  And yet, when I punched in, it was 10:01, and all I could think of was GODDAMN HIM, HE'S GOING TO FUCKING CALL ME OUT ON THIS!!!  I AM ONLY ONE MINUTE LATE, FOR FUCKING GOD'S SAKE!!!

There is a part of me that thinks he's only doing this because he has to.  The words he used in that e-mail were boilerplate, as if he was following a template of an e-mail he has to send out to prove to his bosses he is keeping his employees in line by making sure they swipe in when the company wants us to.  And I still think ... well, want to think that he's a good guy.  But I harken back to my co-worker getting pissed off over an e-mail my boss sent to her.  And I'll just reveal it now: She told our supervisor, probably venting but there is always a patina of intention when someone says this, that he wanted to rip my boss' head off.  I'm not there -- yet.  Let's just fucking see if I actually want to get to work on time, and if I don't, what the fuck is going to happen to me.  And in the meantime it might behoove me to polish my resume, reach back out to my temp agencies, and think about going back to school again.

I Can't Do It. I Just Can't Do It.

I knew that this boot camp was coming in soon.  The person trying to recruit me said mid-December.  Well, the technical mid-December is coming up next week.  I thought it would start Tuesday.  At any rate, it was coming soon, and if I was going to do it, I would have to make a decision and tell the recruiter soon -- like, yesterday/Friday.

I had the day off, so I was walking around and eatin' stuff (it was Hazel's Northeast, which was celebrating being in business ten years by selling its famous Swedish Meatballs for ten bucks; Patisserie 46 for its famous chocolate cake and a hot chocolate; and Dunkin' Donuts, for a free donut on its Free Donut Fridays along with yet another hot cocoa) and thinkin' about it.  I have thought a lot about going back to school for this Data Analysis bootcamp, and yesterday there were so many things that coalesced around doing it starting next week.  They're doing Zoom meetings exclusively because of the pandemic, and that would be perfect because I can't really go out and do anything right now.  The course is six months, and there is talk that things will open up mid-2021, just as I will get done and go back to doing things like normal.

The big hangup -- well, besides wanting to go back -- was money.  I really did not want to plop down $11,000 on my own.  But the other alternative was asking my parents for it.  I think I knew this all along, but yesterday I finally came to peace with it -- that I didn't feel comfortable at all asking them for money to pay for this.  I decided I would have to pay for it on my own, and even though I would have seek a payment plan that covers the tuition over two years, that would be the best choice.

So yesterday afternoon, after walking around Lakewood again, I called the recruiter for the first time in over a month and asked for a payment application for this 24-month plan.  He told me classes actually begin Monday -- egad, or perfect timing, depending on how you want to look at it -- but if I could rush this funding application back to him by end of business yesterday, he'll send it up to his boss in the hopes of getting me starting on Monday.

That was cutting it way too close for me, so I asked when's the next bootcamp.  He said March.  That'll take me through the summer, and although the pandemic could stretch to Labor Day, I think that if vaccinations come quicker than that my eyes will be wandering in the hot months as people take off their masks and congregate in close quarters again.  Plus, I wanted to visit my storage unit because I had some things I wanted to take care of over there (and to make up for not realizing I had my damn keys in pants all along).  Once I came back, I'll take care of the application, and if I can zip it back to them before end of business day (whenever that is), I will.

So I do get home, a bit past 4.  I open up my e-mail and see the link to the application, which is from a company based in the United Kingdom called Ed App.  The first thing they ask me is my social security number, which ... well, I kind of expected that, but sending something so personal gave me pause, even if there was a lock on the webpage.  And then, to the left, they're asking me to upload copies of my identification and address?  What the hell?  Really?  I got scared off at what I consider to be red flags.  So I logged off.  I thought about going back, but after eating dinner it was after business hours, and then I doomscrolled, and then I fell asleep.

After I woke up I Googled something to the effect of "is Ed Aid/Trilogy (the company using the University of Minnesota's name for authenticity) a scam/ripoff" and, naturally, I got replies basically saying yeah, it is.  The complaints are legion but familiar if you're pessimistic -- it costs too much money for what you get, the teachers and teaching assistants suck, I didn't get a job in programming after I got done, etc.  All of this scares the hell out of me, so I am just going to call my recruiter on Monday and make up a lie -- I have to work in the evenings through the end of the year, when the Zooms are, and I will miss enough classes whereby I will not be able to take the courses.

But I have to be honest: The reviews about these bootcamps, and bootcamps in general, are not unanimously negative.  Some of them are measured about bootcamps' limitations, but for their place, those reviewers understood the value of them anyway.  Some people praised the TAs, or the professors themselves.  And more than a few liked the education they got.

I can't say I'm torn between doing this and not.  I've just been looking up ways to learn programming for free, and if I have the initiative, I can learn what I can without spending 11 grand.  But there's something more existential about my flip-flopping that I don't like.  While the majority of reviews say that Trilogy and Ed Aid are ripoffs and that people can do better, I have to be honest that I have been finding reasons not to do this, to not go back to school.  And I found them.  However, there are big, fundamental reasons I want to learn new things, and eventually go back to school.  I want more money.  I want a better job.  I want to learn skills that will keep me employable as the world gets more automated.  And I want to do this while I still have some means to finagle money and still have some time to spare.

It seems to me, at least according to racist chatboard Reddit, that a majority of people who have taken these coding/data analyst bootcamps felt cheated and would do something different if they knew better.  But there are also a lot of people who were well aware of the limitations -- about these bootcamps and about themselves -- and have found a way to use what they learned anyway.  They're making lemonade out of lemons ... and isn't that what life is about?  I won't go through this life perfectly.  There may be times I get screwed, maybe royally.  But are those good enough reasons not to go out and get what you want if, eventually, it'll lead you to a better place, and self?  Am I just shortchanging myself if I reject learning anything out of hand if I feel there is a chance I will feel I wasted ... something from it?  Is there some level of getting ripped off inevitable?

See, a part of me is now thinking that I should bite the bullet and do this anyway, if only because not doing it will instead lead me to doing nothing at all, and that should be unacceptable.  But ... dammit, I go back to feeling as though I will get ripped off, and so my decision to back out of this, again, has already been made.  So I pull back, comfortable in feeling I have protected myself by not venturing out, and doing nothing.

Da Paying For College Crossroads

So Friday afternoon, at ****e's driveway before I went in and fucked her (I moved up the time so as not have that test weigh heavily on my mind, even though it turns out it didn't matter, for reasons I shall explain later), I actually did well -- 90%.  There was one algebra question I really hope I nailed, and it is kind of bothering me that I don't know for sure if I got that right.

I soft-shoed my performance, saying that I was glad I could look up the answers and that there were some questions I would not have even been able to begin to understand.  What's an "operational software," anyway?

Well, the recruiter said that because I passed the quiz, I was accepted.  And so, the next step is paying for the six-month program.  I don't know if I said it before, but it's $11,000 for the whole thing.  I can pay that over six months or two years.  I can also get a grand knocked off if I pay the other ten grand immediately.  I told him to give me the weekend, and he can call me ... and I still may not know.  I told him that "I am doing my best to wrangle the funding -- and I still might not know by Monday."

And this is the crossroads, isn't it?  The maxim that is swirling in my head right now is, "There is never the perfect time to do what you want to do."  I wish there were signs that would utterly point me down this path -- suddenly unemployment, for example, or a huge jackpot where I could pay for the whole program.  Not to mention that I am in no mood to spend 30 hours a week trying to understand computer programming and statistics.  But the alternative is ... this.  I have a steady job, and then I go home, eat, take a nap, go fart around on the Internet, maybe masturbate, then say goodnight.  That sounds like just existing, and not living at all.  And then I fall into that routine and it feels oh-so right.  Smh.

It is not the pressing issue as it was before, thank goodness.  But paying for it is probably the big obstacle facing me right now.  (This "do I want to" question is an existential one, and I don't know if I'll be able to answer it even after I start the program -- if I start the program.)  If I talk about it with my folks, and if they agree to pay for it, or at least backstop it, maybe I'll take the plunge.  Or, maybe it'll be something I dream about doing and not do.  Huh.

For The First Time In Decades, I Had Homework

So I got an e-mail from the University of Minnesota -- I keep in touch with their Continuing Studies program, just in case I finally get the balls to go back to school.  It's this thing the college refers to as something like Big Data Boot Camp.  And I became instantly intrigued.

Big Data, aka data analytics aka data science, etc., is a big field, a burgeoning field, and a field that may be inoculated against automation.  It is a field I have thought about entering in an abstract, how-do-I-look-if-I-try-this-on kind of way.  One of the main uses I can get from this boot camp, which I think teaches you programming and data mining, is the flexibility with which what you learn can be applied to great, forward-looking jobs.  In particular (and kudos to the marketing department for thinking of this), doing this six-month intensive program is a part of being a data journalist.  And golly, I could go back to making my degree worth something.

I am very, very content with my work situation now, screwing up on the job notwithstanding.  I like my job partly because I don't (and actually can't) take work home with me, but I don't know if I can just stay there the rest of my life.  Plus, I would like to make more money.  Finally, the marketing e-mail just said that if I were interested, contact this recruiter for more information.  That does not seem like a commitment, so I first filled out a webpage and, after getting a few e-mails back, finally scheduled an appointment for a call with this recruiter.

So I took this call after work yesterday, out in the park, in the middle of a howling wind, while eating two items (the Mexican Pizza and a Shredded Chicken Quesadilla Melt) Taco Bell will be removing from their menu permanently in three weeks.  It was part interview -- "Why are you interested in our program?" -- and part passive-aggressive interrogation, by which I mean the recruiter (and by no means I am fooled into thinking this guy, or this program, has much to do with the U.; I did some quick research just now and the U. is mostly a cover for this company to make money, from which the U. probably gets a cut in exchange for this company to slap the U.'s name on the certificate each person gets after completing this program) asked me basic questions for the Boot Camp.  One question I could definitely answer affirmatively: "Do you have a laptop?"  One question, "Can you devote 30 hours a week for this program, in both online classes and homework?" I answered yes to but, deep down, gives me pause.  And one other question -- "Can you pay 11 grand?" -- I think I answered with, "Sure!"  Sure is not yes, and I hope he knows what I meant by that.

But I answered the way he wanted me to answer, so the phone call, which was supposed to go 30 minutes, was about to wrap in less than 20.  However, he confirmed my e-mail address because he was going to send me a link to a test that I had to do.  A test???  You mean, like, homework?  And then he is going to follow up with the results of the test the next day, meaning today.  Fuck, man, I have the day off.  And speaking of fuck, I planned on spending the day fucking ****e's brains out.  And now I have to spend my Thursday evening worrying about getting 30 questions right (and in 30 minutes -- it was timed, and the recruiter probably said that over the phone, but I didn't hear it because the wind ruined the reception of the call) in order to even be accepted to this program?

Well, maybe I overreacted.  First of all, I took a dirt nap between 7 and 10 this evening, so I was all woken up.  I took a shower and took this test naked with wet hair.  And, oh, the recruiter did say that this quiz was open-book.  In fact, the instructions before I took the test encouraged me to open up another browser window to look up answers.  After looking up the first question I needed to look up, I could see by the automated fill-in suggestions on Google that I definitely was not the first person to apply for Big Data Boot Camp.

So, to be honest, it was a lot less harder than I thought.  I got through the 30 questions in 13 minutes.  The recruiter said I needed 70% to pass, and even though I probably wasn't perfect, my Google skills are on point, so I think I cleared that threshold.  (Shit, man, they'd probably accept me if I didn't reach 70% because the company he works for needs as much tuition money they can get.)  I just found it a tad annoying I had to take a friggin' quiz when my weekend has already started.  Oh, and I still have a "visit from a professor" tomorrow, and I don't know if the time I gave him is a good time.  I mean, I could still be fucking ****e's brains out when he calls.

Maybe I Should Quit

First real bad day at work in a long time.  And it all has to do with the coronavirus.

First thing happened near the top of the day.  You know how more and more states are issuing these "shelter in place" orders in order to keep people distant from each so that the virus doesn't spread?  Now, "essential" services are exceptions to this, of course -- health care workers, civil servants, and grocery store workers (something I have never thought was ever "essential," but, you know, they are).  Surprise, however; my boss gave both of us a letter stating that our job is also "essential."

How?  Truck drivers need to pass drug tests, and apparently there are still truck drivers in this crisis.  Those samples need to be tested.  We don't test them.  We just put in the information into our records.  That's how we're essential.  We are tangential to the actual work that needs to be done, and if he were honest, my boss would admit that.  This letter essentially is a doctor's note telling our gym teacher we don't have to change clothes, basically.  But, if Minnesota gets a "shelter in place" order, allowing the cops to stop people and ask where they're going (and there was potential for Governor Tim Walz to give that executive order this afternoon but didn't), I'm supposed to show that police officer this note and I should be on my way.  That feels so elementary school.

We both asked our boss about the note, specifically how seriously we are supposed to take it.  Because, and I think we implied this enough to him that he understood, if the situation in our state escalates to this, maybe it's best if we just comply and shelter in place.  To which our boss says that if we wanted, we could call in sick.  That'll get impractical after a while; we can't call in sick for the next six months.

So that was bad.  What was worse was my boss e-mailing me, out of the blue, that I cannot use gloves anymore.  I am paranoid that the virus would be living on one of the papers I work on.  There are plenty, and I mean plenty.  But for some goddamn reason, my job, according to him, is not allowed to use gloves.

Frankly, I'm pissed off.  I am trying to protect myself from this mysterious, insidious evil.  I live with parents who are at-risk.  And,like I said, there are plenty of gloves around.  I do not understand it, and I resent how little he seems to care about the protective measures I'm taking so that I don't bring this virus into my home.

But I don't know what to do.  Well, maybe I do.  I may have alluded to this before: When mentioning that I still have to appear on-site at work, one friend says I should call in sick and the other said what my workplace is doing is disrespectful.

You know, inbetween the giving of this letter and the e-mail warning me not to use gloves, I was actually defending this job.  With so many people getting laid off, is my company really treating me worse for telling me to come in than other companies that have just let go of their people for, if they ever do get their jobs back, an indeterminate amount of time?  (Both of my friends now work from home, and maybe I should find a job where I can do just that ... or go back to school to get enough education to find a job that'll let me work from home.)  But then my boss gives me this unreasonable, ridiculous request, and I think I need to quit my job because my job is going to endanger my parents.  Why am I boxed into a situation like this?

Who's The On-Call Blowjob Whore?

Still blown (tee-hee!) away by the findings of the independent investigation into Les Moonves's long and vast history of sexual misconduct.  As a result, CBS has found cause not to pay him a severance of -- holy shit -- $120 million.

There is one finding by CBS investigators that, frankly, arouses me.  It is also unclear to me; as I have seen article after article breaking down the lengthy report, there may be multiple women, they may all have been promised acting roles or jobs with CBS, and they may all have felt coerced by Moonves.  I wish that the facts were much clearer on this.

However, one of the salacious takeaways these articles, um, take away from the report is the allegation, backed up and confirmed by several people interviewed for the investigation, that Moonves hired a subordinate whose main, or sole, job it was to suck his dick at his office whenever he wanted.  Now again, the articles I've read are not entirely clear whether she did this against her will, whether she felt pressured to do this in order to break into the business, or even if she is the only person who served under Moonves in such a situation.

But I can't help thinking this in a perverted way.  She is hired, and just so she has something to do, she, like, files during the day.  However, from time to time Moonves calls her and says, "I need you up in my office."  And everybody in the office knows he's actually saying, "I need you up in my office to suck my dick."  And she's totally cool with it.  Like, he actually interviewed her, and he said, "I'll be honest with you -- your main duty with this job is to suck my cock whenever I want you to."  And she said, "Sure, I'll do it!"

I'll be honest: If that's the case -- if there absolutely was no transactional relationship besides, "You are hired to blow me" -- then ... I want my own on-call blowjob whore!  I mean, that sounds fucking awesome!

And yes, I need to know who the hell this on-call blowjob whore is.  I want to know why she did, and why, if this is the case, she was cool with it.  And then I would want to know what her price is to suck my own dick.  And then I might actually go back to school in order to get a job powerful enough where I could get my own on-call blowjob whore!

Should say that with everything that I've been busy with over the past week -- State Fair, my dick pain, my potential pink eye, the mix-up with watching our alma mater's game, working the Vikes game over the weekend, recuperating from working the Vikes game over the weekend, and using my free Hooters coupon -- I sort-of realized all throughout the week that this was the opening week at the U.  If I wanted to go back to school, in all likelihood I would have needed to enroll these past five days ... ending yesterday/Monday.

I did not.  Now, I have looked and there are some, like, online classes that may start whenever.  But if I were serious about going back to school, I would have done something by now.  And I did not do anything, therefore. ...

Thoughts On My Relative

OK, so she is My Father's uncle's daughter, which makes those two cousins, which means she is my first cousin once removed.  She is nice, for the most part.  She has this weird tic where her right eye is closed most of the time, and she laughs at inappropriate moments, like all old Chinese people do.  But she has never asked me about going back to school and she only has asked if I have a girlfriend only one time.  Whether it's obliviousness or a respect for boundaries, I appreciate the non-prying.

I also have to say that she has not been as big a pain in the ass as I initially feared.  I have felt I need to engage with her, ask her questions and even invite her to things out of the house.  That kind of sucks seeing as she came just as the World Cup started.  But it's been good, at least from my perspective; instead of needing to see if she wants to go somewhere in town, I have been able to go downtown to watch the soccer matches yesterday/Saturday, for example.  That's because, surprisingly, my aunt and uncle have been ferrying her around time for the past few days.  They've gone to the Megamall, the Sculpture Garden, and, get this, the bingo hall five minutes away from me that I have never heard of till last night's dinner.  I have no idea how my aunt and uncle know her.  But they have been doing all the sightseeing/escorting work I was afraid I would have to do.

Nevertheless, it's still kind of weird to have a fourth person living in the house.  I have taken my bath towel and put it in my room as long as my first cousin once removed is here.  I have to admit I still hold my nose whenever I take a shower after she does.  And it's weird to see her undergarments just hanging on the towel rack.  Oh, and I feel the urge to masturbate but I can't, because she's is in the room right next door.

I will still have to deal with this for a whole week.  A whole week!  But it's manageable.  I dare say that I will miss her when she leaves.

This Last Day Feels Different

Thought about this going to bed last night.

This is the time of year of The Last Day Of School.  I don't know when it usually is where you live, but for most of my life here, it ends around early June.  I remember The Last Day Of School as the most joyous day of the year for me.  There was no homework, no need to get up in the morning, no obligations after that day.  So every time I heard that bell for the last time on The Last Day Of School, I tore out of class like I was escaping prison.  Because I was.  I was free -- free to do what I want (or not), whenever I wanted -- well, until the fall, of course.  Summer still means something special to me.  I complain about how hot it is, but back then, it was my time to complain, or to enjoy at my leisure, free from the behest of anyone.

But, of course, that was my childhood.  Today is The Last Day Of Work for me.  And it breaks an impressive string for me.  Before this job was the one the floor above.  Before that I worked for Wells Fargo for a couple weeks, then before that was testing season and I latched onto job after job there.  then before that I was back at the health insurance company.

If I get the chronology right, and excepting that have been a couple weeks' furlough here and there, I have been continuously working since, oh, the late summer of 2016.  I have had enough work that I have not needed to go on unemployment since then, at least.  As I've said before, this is something I am proud of.  In fact, I consider it to be progress.

But unless lightning strikes, that ends after today.  Right now, I have no jobs lined up.  Health insurance company doesn't want me anymore.  Testing season is over; I have asked if there is work over the summer, and they have not gotten back to me.  And I should blog post about this soon, but nothing I've applied for over the Internet has gotten back to me either.

So, um, I'm out on my own.  And I am stuck as fuck.  I can't go back on the dole because then my parents will find out I am unemployed, and the shit I will take for that will break me.  All signs point to me going back to school, but ... ugh.  I may have no choice, but how ironic is it that the main joy of my childhood was not going to school in the summer, and now, as an adult, going to school in the summer may serve as my salvation?

---

I am not motivated to go to work, to be honest.  There are two tasks I could do, and then, well, I don't know what else there is to do.  I swear there is enough work for me to stick around, but they say there isn't.  They treat me real well there, this department, and I know they like me.  But I've got to admit I feel really bitter about this.  I want to find a place where I can stick.  I want to find a place that needs me, and wants me.  For three seasons I have been hoping that it's been this place, but, well, it's not.  And frankly, after I walk out that door at the end of work today, I don't know if they'll invite me back.

I am lost and scared, y'all.  I really, really am.  Being let loose for the summer -- this summer -- goddamn frightens me.  How fucking ironic is that?

You Know What? I'm Scared.

My string of not needing to get onto unemployment is about to end -- if I can't find work for after Friday (or when I come back from vacation) and if I won't be able to not save what meager money I have.  I keep calling and searching, and even though I know it's Memorial Weekend, that I haven't found anything scares me.

Meanwhile, you know what I did yesterday morning?  Looking to go back to school.  Seriously!  But this actuarial track only has classes in the afternoon.  So to go back to school I'm going to have to not make money or eat?  That is very, very depressing, so I stopped looking.  I still have time.  I guess.

I don't know what to do.  I really don't know what to do.  I can just ride it out, act as if I'm going to work and then just have coffee and go to the library and exercise all day, but ...

Can I Call It, Or Can I Fucking Call It?!?!?!

Yep, just like I thought!  Yesterday my boss came back from vacation, we had our daily meeting, and after that meeting, I open up my e-mail and she says that I'm done as of the 1st.  Man, I tell ya, I should start gambling money with the way I can predict the future.  Of course, I won't have any money to gamble because I'm back on the fucking street, but still!

Look, I'm not upset.  Well, I'm not too upset.  I was swamped with stuff to do yesterday, and I think that'll be the same case today at work, and probably through the end of the week.  I don't feel as though I'm running out of work.  But my boss knows, so she's probably right.  Or, she doesn't have either the budget or the mandate to keep me past the 1st.

Regardless of the reason, it fucking blows.  Beyond the commute, I really felt safe, productive, and respected at this company.  I totally could see myself working there full-time, and for years.  But, well, reality set in, and now I'm mentally racing off in a million different directions trying to snag the next place that'll give me a paycheck.

In the meantime I immediately battened down the financial hatches.  There is a slew of stripper parties coming up, but damned if I can afford to go to any of them.  I'm doing my best to avoid the cafeteria for the next fortnight.  And I have to worry about how to occupy my free time while saving money.  The only bright spot for me is that I'll save trips going down to the south metro.  Not only will I be saving gas, I will need to suffer only two weeks of the 35W-to-94W ramp that will be closing starting this weekend.  The traffic might make this change OK.

But it still is a change.  I've been going to this job for the past four months, and the health insurance company since October.  It'll be a horrible wake-up call not to need to go there.  And I highly doubt that the guy who hired me for the past three open enrollment seasons will ever need to call me back in again.  Once I walk out that door on the 1st, I might never go back in again.  (By the way, I just checked the status of the job that I applied for.  They haven't closed it nor made a decision.  But if I haven't heard anything back by now, and it's been more than three weeks, I don't think they are even considering me, right?)

So, where do I go now?  Fuck if I know.  Tomorrow I'll be calling the test scoring places to beg for projects.  It's a good thing I didn't desubscribe to those dozens of want ads that come into my inbox every day, because I knew the day would come where I would have to apply like goddamn crazy.  I do have some vacations lined up, but how can I take a fuckin' vacation if I don't have the money to spend during it, or if I don't have a job whose wages will pay for it afterward?

This temp shit is getting old.  Why don't I just fucking start over with going back to school?  Maybe then I'll find something that won't force me to look for work every six goddamn months.

Usher Stole My Identity!

Talked about going to the U. softball game last week, but I didn't tell you guys about this.

For sporting events besides football, basketball and men's hockey, you can get in for free if you have a student ID.  I've blogged about the pitfalls of re-using my extremely old University of Minnesota student ID before.  Nevertheless I still use it because it saves me the cost of admission.

What I may not have told you guys (even though I'm pretty sure I did, I just can't find it) is that it has my social security number on it.  That means that whenever I flash that card, I'm showing an usher or ticket seller the prime identifier to everything that makes me an American.  I was reminded of that very risky risk when I handed my ID to the usher at the gate leading into Cowles Stadium.  He looked at the front, containing my SSN, flipped it to the back, which had my photo, then looked up at me ... while smirking.  He gave me my ID and said, "OK."

Oh, sure, he could be admiring how old my ID is.  Or he could be memorizing my social security number in order to steal my identity.  Shit, my identity may already be stolen for all I know.

Why do I keep doing this to myself?  I'll do it again today, as I plan on going to Siebert Field to catch the home regular season finale of the Golden Gopher baseball team.

If I'm a victim of identity theft, I know how my Suspect #1 is.  Remember his face and everything.  Hell, that usher might be there this afternoon, too!

And by the way, this is as good a time as any to go back to school, if only to get a new damn identification card.

All It Takes Is A Gift?

This happened last week, a few days after both parental units waylaid into me for no good reason.

I was finishing up dinner with my folks.  Mother spoke to me about stuff, but Father did not, a sign that he was mad at me.  (My psychotherapist accurately said that the problem I have with my parents is that I don't know when and how they come at me.  It's like I have PTSD or something.)  But as I was cleaning up after eating, My Father points somewhere and says, "That's for you."

"What?  Where is it?" I replied, and I saw what he was pointing at: A Hard Rock Cafe bag.

I don't know if I've said this yet on Wailing And Failing, but I collect Hard Rock Cafe memorabilia.  It's a really dorky hobby to have.  When I had my first big trip, which was to Europe after my senior year in high school, I wanted to have some souvenirs.  And at the time, seeing all these t-shirts with the venerable HRC logo and the city underneath it sounded like the perfect way to signal where in the world you've been.  I decided early on that I would get two things whenever I hit a cafe in a city for the first time: A white tee with the original logo and the city under it, and a specialty pin, one that has local significance.

My HRC collecting continued to expand while I had the means to travel to Asia, then back to Europe again after graduating from college, and then on my trips around the U.S.  But life takes over, you know.  There are many cities I haven't gotten to, and so my sister and brother-in-law, who have dedicated a big portion of their lives to globetrotting, stepped in and bought me t-shirts and pins for the places they vacationed at.

I never got the feeling that my parents approved of my hobby.  Mother kept her mouth shut about it while Father had said on occasion that it's a waste of money.  So I was shocked, absolutely gobsmacked that they took time out of their two-month cruise to head to the cities in South America that had Hard Rock Cafes and buy stuff there for me.  They indulged in my hobby, and it's the first time they showed any interest, genuine or otherwise, about something I like to do.

I don't know what prompted it, although last year I bought both of them hats with my alma mater on them.  I just didn't think that with my parents' nonplussed attitude towards my collecting, and then them laying into me just a few days prior, that they would think about me and do this.  When I told my shrink about it, his first thought was that they did it because they cared about me.  Really???

After I took the bag with those goodies to my room, do you know what my first thought was?  I should go back to school.  Yep, either I felt so guilty that they would do such a nice thing for me or I operate on a callous, transactional, quid pro quo way of thinking that it was not only right but fair that I go back to school.  That feeling has subsided ... and yet, just writing this paragraph makes me think that I'm obligated to go back to school.  Maybe all it does take to go back is a gift.

Don't tell my folks, but however they thought of it, or even if only one of them thought about doing it, I think it's a really nice gesture.  I was barely able to stammer out a thank-you to My Father, but I meant it.  And even though I have yet to look through the contents of the bag (it's just sitting on the floor right next to my bed), it is still really thoughtful of them.

Being Useful For My Parents

So I get the news that my folks are leaving for their trip not Saturday morning, not Sunday morning, but Monday morning.  Which means that I have a full weekend with these guys before they leave.

That ain't the worst thing, I guess.  Father, somehow, fixed the leaks enough whereby I think it's safe to leave open.  (Seriously, Father, just a clamp?)  But one thing that struck me about them still being here even though they're not going to be here, if you know what I mean.

After Father showed me what parts of the pipes not to touch and asking for directions in Florida (they're spending a few days there), Mother asked me, again, an inane question about one of the bills I paid for her while they were away.  She then said that she'll give me a ledger with which to write down all those transactions.

My God.  My fucking God.  This is a woman who, when I pay one of their bills, has me write down the date of the payment, the total of the payment, and the confirmation number of the payment on the statement.  I have to write down the total even though the goddamn total's on the statement itself.  And all three of these things will show up on the monthly statement that's sent to the house, not to mention would immediately be available if one pulls up the statement online.

This just feels like more goddamn unnecessary paperwork.  Why am I writing this down?  Why?  It's not like Mother's fucking gonna see it.  But because I'm living under their roof, I have to do this.

And I have this extremely bad feeling that I'll be spending a fucking hour each night updating this shit ledger.  And I thought after Mother said this incredibly stupid thing, "How am I going to have time to do this?  If I were back in school, I would have no time to study because I have to write all this shit down every fucking day?!"  And then I thought ... "Wait -- maybe she's thinking that since I in fact am not in school, I indeed would have time to write all this stupid shit down every fucking day."

Could that be Mother's thinking?  That since I have ostensibly nothing else to do, she thinks I have time to do this?  I sure as hell don't want to be my parents' accountant, but it may be that she wants this done and she sees that I have the time to do it, so like two puzzle pieces that fit, it would be perfect for me to do this.  Which is fucking ridiculous, and yet would make sense (if you go down the rabbit hole) at the same time.

So if I go back to school, does this mean I don't have to do this ledger?  'Cause right now, if that's the implicit deal, I'd so take it.

On Being The Errand Boy

So we have a daily meeting every morning at work.  These people are ... to be honest, I have no idea what they do.  I think they develop software or something.  I can't be more specific because whenever each of these people talk about what they've done and what they're in the middle of, nearly all of the lingo goes over my head, without fail.

It's absolutely nuts how I stick out for my borderline incompetence and obvious uselessness in these meetings.  Everyone knows it.  And I believe the other guys there have made another judgement about me.  You see, I attended meetings like this last year.  Some but not all of them were in these same meetings last year.  And, just like this year, I glazed over whatever the heck they were talking about.

They all know that I work for my boss and I'm coming up at the behest of my boss.  Sometimes he's there, sometimes he's too busy to attend.  On those days, I feel as though I'm an emissary, there to bring any important news from the meeting to him.  But within that partial aspect of my job, I get the feeling that the others feel that I am not just an emissary.  No, I'm an errand boy.

You see where I'm getting at?  He hired me.  Even though I know nothing about what they're talking about and can't contribute to the meeting at all, he sent me up there just in case.  I am completely unequipped, even bumfuzzled, as to what is going on.  And at the end of the meeting, if he's at the meeting, I follow him down to our floor.  That's the skill set of an errand boy.

My God, I am 41 damn years old and I'm following some dude like Lassie follows Timmy.  You know, if I just buckled down and went back to school, I could get a job where I don't follow someone around like my life depended on it.  Sheesh.

Addendum To: Addendum To: Oh, I'm So Fucked

Through six days, my parents (particularly My Father) have not yet commented on house bad the house looked when they came home.  Probably because he could not, in good conscience, complain that the house is dirty.  Things can always change in a heartbeat -- he can be a dick like that -- but thank God ***e* came over that evening.

Of course, My Fucking Father could talk about me going back to school or some other dumb shit like that, but I have to admit that he's been civil, even nice, to me.  If he keeps this up, me whisking them away on vacation in a couple days will be a breeze.  And that'll mean I'll have ten tension-free days with my parents back home.  Can't beat that.