Ah, Men Who Aren't

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Caulking And Not Doing Things For Myself

The last fucking thing I need is to do house maintenance.  I was taking a faux bath to appease My Fucking Father when the entire shower assembly tore away from the wall.  It's not like I destroyed it, but it needs to be re-caulked.  Motherfucker.

I just looked up how to do it.  They say it's easy.  Bullshit.  I need to remove the old caulk, then I need to disinfect it and let it dry.  And then I have to re-caulk it and smooth it over.  And then I have to wait, sometimes (according to the videos I saw) up to two days.  And that's after I need to find all the damn tools to do this, which I probably don't have.

I'm tempted to tell My Fucking Father this, but I know he'll go ballistic.  He will also probably yell at me: "Why are you telling me to do this?  Do this yourself!  You're a grown man!"  Funny, his hypocrisy.  Back in the spring I was putting tabs on my license plates.  I remember a long time ago him telling me, "You should learn how to put the tabs on the licenses yourself!  This is your car, and you're old enough to know how!"  He abandoned me, I learned on my own, and I finally got to learning how to do it, no fucking thanks to him.  But as I was doing it and being very careful about it, not just putting the tabs on the licenses but unscrewing the frames and cleaning all the surfaces of the frame, the license and the car, My Fucking Mother pestered My Fucking Father into helping me.  I didn't ask for this shit, but while I was letting the frames and plates dry, My Fucking Father just took them into the garage.

I was doing this a bit before dinnertime.  I thought I had time because, you know, it isn't that long of a task, and I know how to do it now.  But as I was eating, My Fucking Father went back outside and screwed the licenses and frames back on my car.  And I will tell you that he did a half-ass job; the tabs should line up on top of each other, and he just slapped those stickers on.

I admit I am thinking of ways to get angry at My Fucking Parents, but My Fucking Parents do so much that it's almost an obligation to point it out.  And I will point out that My Fucking Father says I should learn how to do things only for him to do things for me.  Which is it?  Which will it be when I have to tell My Fucking Father the bathroom fixtures need re-caulking?  Is he going to make me do it, or is he going to do it himself, probably do a bad job ... and then blame me for not knowing how to do it?

The Can Of Worms I Opened Up Is Making Me Fearful

All I asked were things about my parents' condo in Vegas when I'm using it for a few days -- how do you want me to deal with the trash, where are the bath towels, etc.  I need to know, of course.

But, like fucking always, my parents, in this case Mother, used that to ask other questions that are pressing to them but bring existential crises to me.  After she got done answering my innocent questions, she asked me if I want to buy the house.  Where the hell did this come from?  And how in the hell did you go from "Do you have soap in the guest bathroom?" to "How about I sell you the house through contract for deed?"

Now, to be fair, we have talked about this before.  They are getting up there in age, so they need to discuss the house at some point.  Also, my folks want to strip as much evidence of their Minnesota identity as they can.  This isn't a total blindside.  However, this Very Important Discussion reminds me of another step in growing up, and that's the last goddamn thing I want to do.  I don't want to stress over how to keep up with the house, so I keep it out of my mind as much as possible, even though that's exactly what you're not supposed to do.  That type of preparation scares me, and I don't need to be scared more than I have to be.

Going Through The Frozen Leftovers At A Breakneck Pace

Got my car back.  Yeah, it runs fine -- I guess.  It idled funny at a red light on my way home in a way that scared the bejeezus out of me.  Also, it never feels good to write out a check for four figures.  I won't get used to it until I become an actual adult and have mortgages and shit.  But I am not that grown up yet, so although I am glad to have this fucking ordeal behind me (assuming the mechanics know what they're doing and haven't fucked up my car for good), I am going to allow myself to be frightened and depressed over what I have had to fork over.

And yet, in a concession to being a grown-up, I should cut back on my spending as a way to make up for the money I dropped for my major engine overhaul.  Combine that with the over-the-air TV networks finally getting new programming up on their schedules, and there are no several days where I in fact look forward to going straight from home to work, change clothes, eat the leftovers my parents made and froze for me, and watch TV.  In particular I plan on doing just that on Thursdays because the Law & Order/Dick Wolf Television Universe has just started its new season(s).  I might make no-cash days out of Tuesdays and Wednesdays so long as there are no episodes of, respectively, Night Court and The Conners.

However, my plan of eating through my folks' stash for me while watching TV might be coming to a quick end.  I remember complaining not too long ago that there was so much food that was still frozen that I was scared my parents would come back a couple months from now and there still would be food left over.  Well, that ain't happening.  I don't exactly know how I did it, but I think I made a concerted effort to, on several days, eat two things from the freezer.  See, I categorize what my parents made for me into two groups, big things (pasta sauce, ribs, pork and chicken), and small things, basically sandwiches and buns Mother taught herself how to make.  A few days of eating one big thing and one small thing, and the stash in the freezer has gotten mighty meager.  There's now a lot of space in there because there are, like, half a dozen tubs of leftover food left.  I will run out of food waiting for me well before my folks come home.

That's all for the best.  But that means I will now have to go out and, well, buy things to eat.  Shopping for groceries is a lot less expensive than eating out.  But when there is little to no food at home, I am conditioned to go out to eat, and that costs a lot of coin.  No wonder, then, I am looking up hot dish recipes online.

Back To The Freakin' Grind

I have always been kind of sad at the end of Labor Night.  It's The Unofficial Death Of Summer.  I've been conditioned to dread that night because The First Day Of School usually was the next day, and that meant nine months of captivity.

It sort of gets easier when you're an adult, but not really in some other ways.  For some reason, this past Labor Night hit me hard.  As arduous working as a gopher for the Gopher football Game was, it was a break from my main job.  It was like taking a weeklong vacation, except you were making money.  The end of that gig led into the long weekend (after I took Friday off), and so I enjoyed four days of freedom and bliss after another four days of not needing to go to work.  Seeing that that's all over and I would have to go back to work after such a long period made me sad, to be honest.

Compounding that misery was what I had been through before my gig at the U. and what I had to look forward to once I came back.  Training for this brand new department, apparently the fourth and final department I'll be working in, has been both a bear and a bore.  It's tons of work I don't understand, and try as she might, what she says is mostly going over my head.  I think the part of this department I will hate the most is that the work that comes in, and it'll come in sporadically through the day, has to get done that day.  I can see myself staying late by an hour, or two.  If I dread the work, such a day will be hellish for me.

That's the saving grace of having the kind of Monday I usually have.  Mondays bring in a skeleton crew; the forms we received were filled out on Sundays, and obviously there aren't many businesses open on Sundays, so not only is there less work and more time to go through it, but fewer people that make me feel boxed in.  Yesterday was even better because it was a Tuesday after a holiday.  Usually Tuesdays are our busiest day of the week -- work comes in from all the stuff businesses wanted to get through on Monday -- but not this Tuesday because the work came in from Monday, which was Labor Day.  Also, the workweek was a day shorter, and that's always nice.  Moreover, there were these other forms that had been backlogged from previous days, but that made yesterday even more better.  That meant that I could come in and bury my nose in, for the most part, only one job: Entering the data for all these forms that needed to be done days ago.  You give me one simple task that I know how to do, you give me my space, and I can work and I can breathe.  That doesn't always happen, but if it does, it happens on the first day of my workweek.  And that sets me on a glide path to deal with the more hectic four (three for this week) days the rest of the week.

Unfortunately, I have training the rest of the week.  It is back to a tedious yet difficult grind whose processes I need to remember after taking a whole week to forget them.  And I will be thrown into the deep end, ready or not; I am off on my own in this new department starting next week.

I did nothing on Labor Day but sit in my bedroom and think if I really wanted to brave all those anti-maskers on the way to and from the State Fair.  I was torn in my decision to stay in bed, but right now, I would rather face that agony than march in in the morning to more training of this stultifying crap.

RIP, Major League Baseball On Satellite Radio (Well, At Least On My Subscription Package)

I got the news about a couple months ago (or sooner) that Major League Baseball Games were going from the Select tier on SiriusXM to All-Access, the highest.  Problem is, I am on Select, not All-Access.

I was initially intrigued by satellite radio when, I think, saw I this commercial as a trailer before a movie:

 

I don't know what at the time frustrated me about terrestrial radio.  Was it the interference I got whenever I wanted to hear a station?  Was it listening to the same songs over and over again on the local Top 40 station?  Or were my tastes changing, and I wanted to hear jazz, and more alternative, and more obscure classic rock than the stations in Minneapolis-St. Paul were willing to spin?

My interest was piqued, but I didn't think about satellite radio (in this case XM Radio, which was in competition with Sirius Satellite Radio; they merged in 2008) until I got a, I will admit, junk mail offer from, of all entities, the St. Louis Cardinals.  I had started going down to the Loo regularly, and I must have bought a ticket through the team instead of getting one on the street from a scalper, because they sent me an introductory package for XM -- featuring Cardinals Games, of course -- at a newcomer's price.  I wanted to try XM, and I love the Cardinals, so I took this piece of mail as a sign I should sign up.  But I lost the letter and the offer.  At which point I was so desperate to get it that I called the Cardinals switchboard for help; I think the receptionist on the other end asked me for my mailing address so she could send another offer through the mail.

I think how I set up satellite radio is a good story, and one I can tell in a separate blog post (mostly because I'm tired now).  But suffice it to say I loved XM.  Not only could I listen to baseball Games from teams besides the Twins (and the Cardinals), I could listen to stations solely dedicated to jazz, reggae, blues, folk, old alternative, the grungier side of alternative, the janglier side of alternative, etc. -- many of them commercial-free.  It was exactly what I wanted.  And it still is; one cannot be the breadth and variety of music and, now that I'm older, talk channels that you can listen to.

I've had my ups and downs with satellite radio since.  I actually started off on the lower Select tier.  At some point, though I didn't realize it when it happened, I got bumped up to All-Access, which meant I had to pay more.  Also, the merger between XM and Sirius, creating what is now known as SiriusXM, severely jacked up the price of subscription, which I have usually paid at the annual rate.  More content was added to keep me happy at the All-Access tier for a little while, namely NFL Games and then sports channels dedicated to the five BcS college conferences.  But satellite radio was still really, really expensive, and frankly, I decided that I didn't need to listen (or, to be more accurate, have access to listen) to Games for NFL teams besides the Vikings, or radio communications between drivers and crew chiefs for NASCAR teams (NASCAR was on Select, but then was moved to All-Access at some point), and it would save me $60 a year.  So about two Years ago I busted myself down a tier.

I was fine.  Getting many more sports and music channels is good, and I might miss some of the ones I had tuned in to from time to time, but I still immensely enjoy SiriusXM, and I saved myself some money.  But then the news that MLB is going up to All-Access came down.  Moreover, I thought the first e-mail I got about this (or was it an actual postcard through the mail?) told me that I would lose access to baseball Games starting on Thursday.  Well, after seeing an e-mail last/Tuesday evening and then logging into the online SiriusXM app on my phone and then the player on the Internet, apparently it has already jumped, a day sooner than I thought it would.

Whether it happens today or tomorrow doesn't matter in the long run, I guess.  This still won't convince me to upgrade my package back up to everything, even if I do have a steady job.  I just don't know the reasons or the reasoning behind this move.  Since when did MLB and/or SiriusXM decide it was going to be exclusive like this?  I don't think I'll miss it.  But baseball is the heartbeat of summer, and sometimes I'm really bored on a Sunday afternoon, and I have turned on my satellite radio and spun to the MLB channels just to take in a random Game between, like, the Pirates and the Mariners, and it's great to listen to because you get to hear different announcers and teams you don't usually follow and don't care about because they're not your team.  I really hope I don't miss baseball then.  But who knows?

A Forty-Fifth Trip Around The Sun!

Shit, man, 45.  I didn't think I'd make it.  Well, I'm not saying I thought I would die before reaching 45.  But as obsessed as I am with old age and death now, I was really cognizant of birthdays when I was a kid, and when I was a kid, 45 seemed so far away.  And now it's here.

But here's the thing: I still feel like a kid.  I probably feel that way because I still live in my childhood home and under my parents', uh, oversight.  And, you know ... this might sound weird, but maybe I want to still live like I am a kid because I still want to see myself as a kid.  Does that make sense?  I don't want to grow up.  It's scary as fuck growing up.

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I really, really wanted to stay up last night.  I gave myself the day off from work; there should be a law against working on your birthday.  But probably because I went to the library to print out some March Madness stuff and some tax forms, then treated myself to a massage from ******a (I saw her boobie), I had no evening nap, but fought through and finally succumbed to my fatigue around midnight.  I really wanted to last until 4 in the morning to watch World News Now.  And I can't do that now because I work tomorrow.

I am getting old.

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I also owed myself a birthday wank-off.  Thought I would do that late last night, if I stayed up.  But I woke up a bit past 7, like a 45-year-old, and I decided it was a quiet time to rub one out to the Hooters calendar for February.  And I stroked myself and stroked myself ... and then I pudded out so meekly all my cum landing on my finger.  I laid out my cum towel, and I don't think any of my semen hit it.

Maybe I need my body to wake up more.  Or, maybe I am getting old.

I'm A Porn Addict, Again

This week has been a bit rough.  Not as bad as I feared when it began (it helps when your supervisor calls in sick and thus isn't there to point out your mistakes or re-train you in things you think you already know), but it has been long, although much of it being long has to do with waking up early both Tuesday (at 3:30!!!) and yesterday (4:45!!) morning to come in to work and take advantage of overtime.  That has stirred in me a bit of ... uh, tension, let's just say.  Add to it my nearly year-long withdrawal from going to strip clubs (though, to be fair, it has not been a year of not of seeing strippers in other ways), and, well, this evening I felt the need to ... release that tension.

Have you heard of OnlyFans?  I might be rehashing stuff I've already blog posted here, but anyway: OnlyFans is basically membership porn.  You sign up for a monthly subscription to this person, the vast majority of which are women who will pose nude and do sexual things for you in exchange.  I first heard about it in my nom de porn Twitter account when I saw a tweet from a porn star who tweeted basically the same message over and over: "'x' more people just subscribed to my OnlyFans account!"  I then saw that a few hot babes who I patronized on Patreon to see their smutty stuff (which I migrated to after they advertised on Facebook, on which I became friends just by taking advantage of Facebook's suggestion algorithm) had to leave that site because it tightened its restrictions on content.  They went, seemingly at once, onto OnlyFans, or OF.  And has been documented, the economic lockdown due to the pandemic -- basically one year old today -- cost a lot of people jobs, and many hot, young women resorted to OF just to make some money.

As with all things on the Internet, and all things porn, I went down a rabbit hole -- one look just wasn't enough.  I patronized one person, then OnlyFans' suggestions convinced me that I should take a gander at this hot babe.  Some of them hold sales on their memberships, and so I take advantage of them to see their goods.  And some have free sites as well as paid sites.  I follow their free site, but then get bombarded by messages on my OF Inbox account where they ask for money to "unlock" pictures and videos they sent you.

I had resisted for a long, long time.  Then a couple months ago (I think) I saw this message from this hot woman with a bangin' body who said she had a juicy video and the cost to unlock it was very, very reasonable.  So I bit; I charged the credit card I have on file with OnlyFans to unlock it.  And what I saw was this woman, whose big breasts I could now see, sucking the dick of what I guess is her boyfriend for three minutes until he came.  It was worth it.  And that's how I got sucked in.

I have given myself a monetary maximum, although it has lifted from ten bucks to 15.  Anything more I will not pay.  Anything less ... I sometimes give it a shot.  Frankly, it has been more miss than hit.  I have seen a lot of teaser shots and videos, mostly girls showing off their fine asses in thongs, or not wearing anything up top but pressing their arms against their breasts so hard I wonder how their breasts don't turn purple.  To be frank, if I charging to my credit card, I expect to see nudity, and I have been burned by many bad decisions in the past, so much so that, and this may be kind of weak, I have de-followed a couple of women for being nothing more than teases.

But still I pay.  It's more horniness than optimism, to be fair.  But last night was a tipping point.  I woke up early for work, missed a phone call I was supposed to field right after work, it was raining and raw, and even though I was tired, my nap really didn't refresh me.  Usually at a time like this, I would want to do one of the things I had compiled in my mental checklist -- e-mail this person, go through my receipts or my envelopes, clean up my room.  But usually that doesn't happen.  Usually I hit the porn.  And I did this time.

Only this time I went back to OF, which I had not visited in a couple days.  Every single time I now go to that site I buy something.  I now coordinate my days when I go on OnlyFans; if I use the credit card on file during the day to get, like, coffee or something, I permit myself to go to OF and buy stuff.  That's what happened last night, but last night I bought more pictures and videos than I had ever done there before.  I felt the need to rub one out after such a long day and week, but I had a passing thought that I am spending my OT money on buying pic after vid after pic after vid, so I'll come out even in the end.  Uh, I don't think so; after I shook myself out of my porn obsession, I went back and totaled up everything I unlocked, and it came close to $60.  I may have spent a third of that when I've been on OnlyFans, but not $60 at a time.  And in more than half the stuff the girls weren't showing anything anyway, stupid me.

Despite being duped, and even though I am in a good place financially right now, I can totally see myself losing all control and spending way more than $60 on OnlyFans.  That would put me, I think, in a similar position to The Before Times, where I was making money but continually shelling it out because I went to strip clubs or parties where I would pay a shit ton of money to get my fuck on with strippers.  I wondered if the pandemic and ensuing lockdown would either make me grow up or get tired of pornography.  Frankly, me spending so much money on porn last night makes me think I haven't, and I won't.  Ever.

Life In The Pandemic Now

I think I should take my temperature, figuratively, about how I'm feeling right now about living under pandemic rules, just over a year since the first cases of COVID-19 reached the United States.

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I have to admit that I still have an urge to go out and do things in the evening, even though that ebbs and flows.  The main thing I want to do is go to the gym and work out, because damn, I am fat.  It also would get me out of this rut of taking naps in the evening, which I should blog post about in the future.  Having said that, and having said what I'm about to say before on WAF (at least I think), staying home has meant that I am saving money at a rate I have never done before and in fact could not even imagine before the pandemic hit.  Normally I would be hemorrhaging money hand over fist going to coffeeshops and stripper parties.  That is not happening, and although I am bored as hell, I am very, very happy at the money I am saving.

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The plans seem half-ass, and following through on them looks to very difficult right now.  But a couple weeks ago, the state finally rolled out a plan to start vaccinating old people regardless of co-morbidities -- a cohort that includes my parents.  Last Tuesday they were told by the Minnesota Department of Health to sign up for a vaccination online (or over the phone) starting at noon -- first-come, first-served.  And of course the damn website crashed.  I came home from work and Mother ushered me to her laptop, where the MDH website told her she was in a virtual waiting room and that she should send information about what my parents want (uh ... a shot?) in an e-mail.  I sent photos of their identification and insurance (even though insurance is not necessary) after some trouble (my fault, not of that of the website) and the department e-mailed them saying they've been waitlisted.

As fair as that may theoretically sound, the shitstorm in the wake of hundreds of thousands seeing that same webpage forced MDH to change their system to a lottery one, whereby everyone who signs up between 5 a.m. yesterday (Tuesday) and 5 a.m. today (Wednesday) will be eligible to get a shot which will be determined and then announced to the winners later today -- and, unlike last week, at a location of their choosing.  (There was one story where a person who lived just outstate but came to stay with relatives in my town in anticipation of trying to get a vaccine receiving a slot way up north.  She and a relative drove up there to get it.)  MDH said that is people were waitlisted last week, like my parents, they were already entered into this pool.  I think they signed up anyway.  Good choice, because you never know if that is really true.  Wish them luck!

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My folks getting the vaccine is the light at the end of the tunnel.  I have heard that even if we all get the shots, things cannot markedly change.  We should still wear masks and stay away from each other, etc.  But I'll be honest: If I get the shot, and everyone I love get a shot, and after that there are strangers around me who refuse to get a shot, what the fuck do I care?  I'm as immune as can be!  If they refuse to get something that will prevent them from possibly succumbing to this disease, why should I care about their well-being?  I'm ready to rip off my mask, cough in front of people and, in fact, frot total strangers a week after my second shot.  Because things will be back to normal!  And if I pass along the virus to another person and they get sick ... shit, it's their fault!  That's truly how I feel.

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Even though vaccines might not be coming along as quickly as we all hope, there are some supplies that seem to be fine now.  I remember back in the early days of the pandemic where everybody was freaking out because everybody bought antibacterial wipes, hand sanitizer and toilet paper.  The first two I get; toilet paper, to this day, is a thing I don't understand why people felt the need to hoard.  I once was told by my parents to get a bag of toilet paper from a Menards because it was on sale, even though we had plenty because they bogarted a whole shipment months prior.

The supply chains for those three items seem to have righted themselves in the past several months.  I see as much toilet paper as we need since the fall.  And since some time in the winter it seems as though there are now plenty of hand sanitizer and wipes.  For a while, I had been making semi-regular trips to Target to see if I could find both items, and I couldn't.  But then, I began seeing sanitizer more regularly, and then some weeks later, the shelves for wipes have been completely and consistently stocked.  I used to worry, in particular, that I wouldn't have enough wipes for work.  Now, I have several cans of them in my closet, and if I need to buy more, I think I can just swing by Target to get them whenever I want.  There are no shortages of those items, and really anything, anymore.

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I have swung back to being an ascetic when it comes to screwing around, partly because I feel as though I can hold out a little longer while my parents are close to beginning their shot regimens, partly because these new variants, which they say may be more contagious, is scaring the shit out of me.

I haven't been with someone in a couple weeks, when I got that impromptu massage from ******a when I got cut early from work.  And I haven't had full-blown sexual activity in at least a couple months.  I have gotten used to it.  My libido isn't as raring as it used to be.  I figured that I would be, well, itching to rock out with my cock out after not doing it in so long.  But while I rub one off from time to time, I really think that not seeing naked women do shit to me has dampened my sex drive to the point where I can't mentally and physically get it up.  Again, I think that's a good thing to prevent me from catching the virus.  But I think that once this is all over, I assumed I could just resume my fucking around, and the way it looks and feels now, I'm not sure that I need it anymore.  Is that growing up, or growing old?

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Back when all this began, experts said we would be in this at least a year, and most likely 18 months.  Experts now are pushing that timeline to the fall, if not the end of the year.  But I want to hope that the Biden administration is going to hammer a coherent, competent national vaccine plan together.

For that reason, I am going to remain somewhat optimistic that things will (largely) get back to normal in that 18-month prognostication.  In fact, I'll make a prediction.  For the symbolism itself, I will say that the United States will largely get out of this pandemic by the Fourth of July.  And if you want a stretch goal, why not shoot for Memorial Weekend?  Maybe I'm being too rosy, but could the vast majority of adults get their shots in the spring?  I really can't see why not -- if we want that to happen.

So, How Do I React To This?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Another Deceptively Bad Day At Work, Part 3 (AKA I Get To Watch Home Vikings Games This Season ... From Home!)

Unless I recollect something else that happened to work, I'll close with the worst thing that happened at work on Friday, which has nothing to do with work, just that it happened while I was at work.

So I blog posted before about not working as many Vikings Games this season as before because of the coronavirus, even though there was an outside chance I could have worked them all but I didn't because I was too late in replying to the crewer's e-mail.  I was upset that I would not be able to work all of them, but I got over it by forgetting that I felt that way.

In the afternoon (and this was after my boss' boss surprised me by coming into our department while I was not working) work actually did taper off, and so I took the time to go through my personal e-mail -- you know, just in case something cropped up.  I am still getting inundated with political fundraising appeals which I had time at work to clean out.  And there was another e-mail that had to do with this ongoing issue I and others have with the college and the alumni association that I replied to.  But there was an important e-mail dropped into my inbox -- someone from the network e-mailed me about Vikings Games ... specifically this Sunday's Game against Green Bay.  "Something came up in the last minute and I need someone to run for the Game.  Can you do it?  Reply to me ASAP!!!"  It was dated 12:54.

I had to have seen it at 1 o'clock because I replied, "Yes, I can!" and sent it with a timestamp of 1:01.  Serendipity brought me face-to-face with that e-mail so soon after she sent it.  And I learned my lesson back in the summer (even though there was no lesson to learn), so I pounced on that chance.

And she replied that same minute, 1:01, with, "Oops, just filled it!  I'll keep you in the loop for Games later in the season if I need you!"  To which I replied back with, "OK."  Like a cuck.

By the way, I instinctively checked my phone to see if she also texted her request for someone to work the Game, like she did before.  She did text -- at 12:53, a minute before she e-mailed me.  So I guess it took me eight minutes to reply to her.  And apparently when she reached out to me, she reached out to everybody because she was desperate.  And although I tried replying to her ASAP (after I e-mailed her back I texted her back, and in turn she got back to me via both e-mail and text), the wide net she cast reeled in someone damn quick, quicker than yours truly.  And I was stewing in my own fucking juices the rest of the damn day.

Please, don't give me the "early bird gets the worm" bullshit.  First of all, it took me only seven or eight minutes this time around to reply to a last-minute request to fill a job.  More importantly, I don't see this rejection as a failure (or worse, a, ick, "life lesson") to jump on an opportunity to work.  Her spewing this cry for help to everyone, then making a game of it by only rewarding the quickest to reply to her, is instead something more like tossing a piece of cheese onto the floor and getting off on seeing all the rats chase that piece and push each other around just so they can get a nibble of it.

Or, try on this analogy from my life.  Back when I returned from college, when I was just starting to realize I now needed to work to make a living, I decided I didn't know what I wanted to do but I wanted to keep my options open, so I began working as a temp.  Well, I didn't have a cellphone when I started to strike out in The Real World, so I would call in from time to time to ask if they have a lead on a job.  And then I would go out, leaving Grandmother to take any messages any temp agencies might leave for me.  When she told me that someone from this number called, I would call back -- sometimes at home but sometimes I would, get this, find a payphone when I would be out and about.

Around this time I spent a lot of time at the University of Minnesota.  Around the turn of the century there was a computer lab open to students in one of the halls, and I figured out that my student ID from when I took classes at the U. over the summers I was at college still got me in.  That lab was in the basement, and there was a payphone on that same ground floor.  So whenever I didn't feel the urgent need to call back the agency to jump at a job, I would go on Netscape, be on the Internet for a couple hours, and once I was done I would go up to the payphone, put in 50 cents and talk to the temp agency.  And more often than not, when I ask about the job for which they left a massage, they would say, "Whoops, sorry -- already filled it."  And I would be like, "Shoot!" and then I'd be like, "Whatever."  Because I was young and didn't have a care in the world.

That was me in my early twenties.  I am in my mid-forties now.  Although age should not be the sole factor when it comes to deserving things, I am too old to dance like a monkey whenever someone has a need and doesn't offer it to me exclusively.  I no longer want to participate in any type of Death Race where I have to worry whether I'm first to reply to a job.  What I would prefer is if she would know about my seniority with the network and say to me, via e-mail or text or both, "Hey, someone dropped out of Sunday's Game.  We need someone to fill in.  I know you've worked with us for a long time.  Can you do it?  Please let me know as soon as you can; otherwise, I'll have to start asking other people from your area."  That, honestly, would make me feel good.  And it would make me feel appreciated that my tenure spent with this network is understood and not devalued.  She may not know this, and she may not need to know it.  But I have to be selfish here: I felt a bit disrespected by the way all this went down, which happened almost a month after I got burned over the same game of telephone tag.  And, of course, I got bitter that I missed my chance, again, to work Vikings Games like I usually do.  That's what made my bad day bad.

It has been a long time since I haven't been hired on to do all available Vikes homes Games for the two networks that do the bulk of their telecasts.  I grew quickly to resent any date that I for some reason did not work.  I haven't had to feel that way for at least half a decade.  But the pandemic, shifting position needs and the ability or inability to respond to requests instantly has me sidelined for the opening Game of the season -- a season which, I still insist, won't go on as planned, which I think would save me a lot of agita that I'm feeling right now.

But today's Game will be played.  And I will not be at the stadium.  I actually don't think I'll be seeing much of the Game.  I promised my parents I would mow the lawn at one of their properties.  After that, I plan on eating some State Fair food on the far side of town that I've been meaning to eat all summer.  Then, I think I'll try a Target or two to find some disinfecting wipes.  Then I'll come home and probably catch the tail end of what I predict will be a Vikes loss.  Probably for the best.  'Cause I still have my feelings of resentment and bitterness.  So the less time I watch the Game on TV, the less time I'll be reminded that I should be there, and not on the other side of the television.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Addendum To: Have A Coke And A Frown

And I thought downing the Pizza Hut with Coke would be awesome ... but it wasn't.  I mean, I had six slices of pizza, and I was happy, and it felt ... uh, right to chase it with Coke (even though I had to run back to the bedroom a couple times to take a few swigs -- Father would be on my ass if I drank it out in the dining room like I didn't have a care in the world).  But it wasn't the thirst-quencher I thought it would be in my dreams.

In fact, I put what was left of it, about a quarter, in the fridge post-dinner while I took a nap for an hour.  Right next to it I put the strawberry smoothie Mother made for me just after we got done with pizza, a post-pizza drink she was nice enough to make, but one that was overwhelming because 1) smoothies and pizza don't go together and 2) I had one liquid I was trying to finish and I didn't need two.

Well, I only thought I didn't need two.  I hadn't even started on my smoothie when I stashed it in the refrigerator.  But later, after I took them both out (hopefully neither parent opened up the fridge post-dinner and saw them), I sort of had a struggle finishing the Coke.  It tasted ... fine.  But after the first taste of the strawberry smoothie, man, I couldn't get enough.  I was gulping it down like it was no one's business.  And this is a measuring cup Mother usually uses to drink.  It was a lot, but it was no trouble for me to consume, or enjoy.  Which is weird when yesterday morning I was jonesing for a Coke.

Am I growing up?  Am I growing old?  Or is there something wrong with me?

RIP, Hot Babe

Just about a day and 40 Minutes ago, the daughter of a stripper I know died.  She was only 27.  She died of an overdose due to opioids.  She leaves behind her mom and a couple kids.

Didn't know her.  But I have seen her naked.  She was a stripper.  Well, maybe not a stripper, but I've been to a few stripper parties where she danced and, uh, partied with me.  And when I say partied, I meant that we went into bedroom and got naked.  I made her squeeze my dick once.

It is sad that a life so young has been taken.  And I will admit to favoring aesthetics when I say that it is a sin that a woman so beautiful has been taken, too.  Seriously, she was gorgeous.  But like her mother said, the hold of drugs, especially pharmaceutical ones that are made with the express purpose of numbing feeling and killing pain, has such a hold on so many people that no one can predict whether or when he or she can become addicted.

I am worried about the kids.  They are so young.  They, however, have not been in the custody of their mother for some time.  Instead, they are now in the custody of her mom/their biological grandmother.  Yes, the stripper I know -- that's her.  I know her very well.  She's given me handjobs.  She's sucked my dick.  We have even fucked.  (She was the also the one who didn't "pay me back" when I got her a knockoff bag when I was in Hong Kong, but this is no time to bring up petty shit like that.)  In fact, it was in her apartment where I attended parties that included her daughter.  Yes, a mother/daughter stripping duo.  The mom never liked it, but the daughter insisted about getting into the business, so the mother thought it was better to at least show her the ropes.

There is no connection between stripping and drugs.  Nor is there any any proof that somehow her mom got her daughter hooked.  The mom told me -- before we went up to her bedroom and she gave me a blowjob -- that she got into opioids and it got to the point where she needed to take her kids away from her.  She was hoping her daughter would turn things around.

This is a very tricky situation.  I want to support her, but I have to know my place in her circle of friends.  No way am I communicating to her now.  I'll wait until there is an obituary and notification of any service -- if she is going to announce or it or let me know.  If I am invited, I'll go, give her my well wishes, tell her if she needs anything, and leave.  I need to be a grown-up about this, and to do that I have to give her some space.

And still, even though we only met a few times, I'll miss her.  She was a part of my life, only briefly, and so I am touched by her death.

Addendum To: Opportunity ... Wasted

Remember when I said I had a weird day coming at work today.  Well … I overslept.

I remember waking up to what I usually wake up to: The alarm is set to play Nirvana's "About A Girl," the rendition from their Unplugged In New York classic.  If you know that album, you know that the beginning, the very first thing you hear, is the crowd cheering as the band steps onto the stage.  I have heard that so much, when either hearing my alarm or plugging my smartphone into my car and having the car automatically start playing my music (you know what I'm talking about, right?), that I've come to dread it.  And I think that I dreaded it so much today that I inadvertently hit the "stop" button on my smart instead of the "snooze."  Or, I unconsciously was so tired that I just wanted to sleep.

At any rate, I woke up, thought I should be going to work, looked at the phone that I took out of the plug attached to the wall and put onto my bed in my half-awake state, and saw that it was past 8 -- two hours after I wanted to get up and an hour after I should have been at work.  Fuck me.

Look, I'm not going to kill myself or anything.  But I was, and am, very ashamed that I was late, let alone this late, to work.  The last time I was this egregiously late was back in my twenties working at as a temp.  I was so tired that I slept through the afternoon.  I woke up, called my boss and apologized for not only being late but waking up at around 1, with most of the workday over.  I grew out of it (I think that is partly due to my body) and learned that a working man has to wake up when he has to -- well, at least until today.

I profusely apologized to everyone once I got to the office, but at least no one made a huge deal out of it.  And I'm not going to really lose any money this week; I got to work 90 minutes late, but I did two hours of overtime yesterday after work, which will not turn into, you know, regular work.  Plus, I squeezed in an extra half-hour because my boss wants people to help with filing.  So I will still be working more than 40 for this week -- just not as much as I planned, and with an unexcused absence to go with it.

Let's hope I don't go through this bullshit again tomorrow morning.  But maybe I can blame the cooling weather for what I did.

I'm Coming Home Because Mother Said So

All I wanted to do was check in with my folks the day before I come home from my road trip.  But instead of a quick hello, me telling her I might be coming home late prompted a huge warning from her.  "No!" she said, as if I was a child.

You know, shit like this, when she tells me that she does not want me coming in this late, is why I'm emotionally stunted.  I'm serious.

So she tells me either to come home early or just stay at a hotel overnight.  I got so pissed with her that I hung on her.  My parents do that to me all the time.

But after cooling off I realize that I don't really have much of a choice if I still want to stay at their house.  Besides, I have to go away from Minnesota this (Friday) afternoon to see (and fuck) this chick one last time before I go.  So my plan on going to the casino near the Iowa border and then the strip club about 15 minutes away are out.  (I'll make it up by using their minivan to go down there one night.)  I'm going to come home early, because I have to return the car Saturday morning and I want to be home to make sure I don't get hit with late fees.

Look, she makes one good point.  The drive down here, especially the part through the open country of Iowa, killed me.  I got here in one piece, but the tedium of the road made things dicey at some points.  And, don't tell Mama, but it got worse at night.

I don't like acceding to her wishes.  And I'm damn sure I could make it home at midnight, or even 2 o'clock, which was my original plan.  But growing up I am learning not to pick so many fights.  This one, I'm afraid, I lay down my arms for.

So It Is True, Mother

The housing market has been hot for the past couple of years.  I've seen it in the news, and I can't help but look around me and see several properties on my street with "For Sale" signs up on the front yard, followed extremely quickly by "SOLD" signs.  So it wasn't too much of a leap of faith to know that, deep down inside, my parents want to sell this house, too.

It's obvious why.  If this house gets on the market, chances are it'll sell within the day.  I guarantee it.  Plus they'll get a fortune, especially compared to how much they paid for it back 40 some-odd years ago.  They have no more ties to the area.  They sold The Store, and even though there are relatives very close by, my folks never talk to them.  They are in the process of selling all the rental properties they acquired in the area; they say that the bureaucracy with the city of Minneapolis got to be too much for them.  They do, however, still have their real estate in Las Vegas, and they are quite intent on being there a lot more throughout the year, if not full-time.

They are empty nesters, but unlike some, they don't seem to be heart-broken that my brother, sister and Grandmother have moved out.  It's just me.  I am the sole impediment to their plan.  Yet I am the impediment that is blocking the plan.  Even though my parents bought this house and thus were cognizant that it was under the ownership of someone else before them, for all I know, this house has always been ours.  And goddammit, it'll remain so as long as I have any say in it.  I can't bear seeing myself living somewhere else besides the only place I've ever known.  I certainly can't afford to live out on my own.  Not like I want to, either.  It's like The Store; if there ever comes a time that I will have to leave this place, it'll be like a piece of my died.  And frankly, I can't take any more change or stress if I have to move.  And my God, the moving!!!

Still, if they can sell The Store and evict Grandmother, giving away the house would have to be next on their to-do list.  I just assumed that, and was OK keeping that sentiment unspoken.  But it kind of erupted yesterday (Sunday) morning.

This weekend I was a participant in a research study at the U.  I had to wake up and get to the tube at 8 both weekend days.  However I did not tell my parents that.  There truly was a possibility that a person from the alumni group needed my help moving out of her place this weekend.  It did not come to be; she decided to hire movers instead.  But considering the blow-up My Fucking Father had on me, I decided to tell them that the reason I was busy this weekend (and the reason I had to wake up so early Saturday and Sunday) was to help her move.  I was going to help her Friday and Saturday evenings, too; that way I could sneak out to parties on the former night and head downtown to watch the Frozen Four Final the latter.

Sunday morning I am leaving.  Both parental units are in the dining room.  They ask me what time I'll be home for dinner: "Six?  So late?" Mother said.  "Well, we're not done moving yet," I replied.

And then Mother scooted to the top of the stairs and dropped the bomb on me.  "Hey, ask her if she's selling the house.  I want to buy it, sell this house and move you there.  How's about that?"

So it is true, Mother.  You want me out of the house so you can sell it.  That was the point -- yesterday morning -- when I know for absolute certain that I was blocking their dreams of getting rid of their past.  My past, my childhood, just so they can make a buck.  And while I understand it, by Buddha, I was totally unprepared for the psychosomatic punch to the gut I felt.  I didn't even hide it; I was nearly crying when I stammered out, "But I like living here!" before I staggered my way out to the car.

(I will say this.  There is a chance this is a sentiment prompted by Mother.  Saturday a new family moved into the house to the left of us.  And ... ah, shit, my parents are racist: They're a black family [possibly West Indian] and they think that means the neighborhood's going to shit.  Maybe that's why she said she wanted to move.  But I still think they've wanted to move in order to cash in for a long time.)

Honestly, I was as close to suffering a heart attack all day as I ever have in my life.  I parked in Rosedale just so I could recuperate and think of a story about what to tell her, and to just ... deal with the fact that they want to move out and want me to move out too.  It's not fun knowing that I am the loser/asshole son standing in the way of their dreams and plans.  But ... fuck, I CAN'T MOVE OUT!!!  I CAN'T LIVE OUT THERE IN THE REAL WORLD BY MYSELF!!!  MOTHER SAID THAT SHE'D HELP WITH THE DOWN PAYMENT ON ANY NEW HOUSE, BUT WHAT ABOUT THE MORTGAGE PAYMENTS???  I CAN'T PAY THAT ON JUST MY TEMP SCORING JOB!!!  AND WHAT HAPPENS IF I LOSE THAT, TOO?!?!?!

I'm 41 years old and I still haven't moved out.  And while I really don't want to move out, it's time like yesterday morning where I'm acutely aware that I am not like other people.  I know that people my age have established jobs and are raising families.  That's not me, and I know it's way too late to start.  And so I know that I have become such a burden on my parents that they no longer know what to do with me.  They probably think they failed raising me.  And ... well, they have, it's times like these where I examine what is wrong with me.  All I know, and all I have ever expected out of life, is to go to sleep in a safe place and wake up in a safe place and just ... be, you know?  I get mad a lot, but so long as I have this place to call home, I think I'm doing OK.  So without it, regardless of financial situation or want to do something more or live somewhere else, is a huge and indelible part of my life.  And it's a hallmark symptom of my abandonment issues that I can't just move on and do something else and leave here because I don't know where I'd be.

---

My heart was palpitating to the point of bursting all day.  I finally had to face the music -- and get my lie straight -- and come home.  And I told Mother that I asked "my friend" about the house and she said that her ex-husband got it in the divorce proceedings and that's why she's moving.  And ... that seemed to be the end of it with her.

And so my heart is beating a little more normal now, and my parents and I are back where we were -- in a standoff, them being weighed down by me until I get my shit together.  Except that I know that I will forever be unable to get my shit together, because I am a disappointing son.

Yeah, I Think It's Time To Change My Wi-Fi Service

After a surprisingly long stretch of reliable wi-fi, I've run into trouble with it the past couple nights -- timing out, slow loads, "Internet not connected," shit like that.  It's really frustrating to go online with a ten-year-old computer with a bad processor; the last thing I need is the connection to be faulty as well.  But here we are.

Mother last night said that it's been totally bad all day Thursday, and in the past both of my parents have complained about spotty wi-fi.  I haven't been in the house all day so I can't vouch for that contention with my own experience.  Plus, my parents bitch about the Internet a lot, so much so that I have tuned that out.  But with this latest annoyance, it's becoming more and more apparent that something has to change.

I had been resistant to switching Internet providers.  Right now we have it through our phone company, and although I wouldn't consider it to have been 100% reliable, I have thought it enough for all my needs, so much so that I signed up for a five-year price lock-in.  I did that when it was decided that I needed to "grow up" and take care of more of the house.  Responsibility to Internet access fell to me; I decided that we were going through the phone company instead of some faster but much more expensive access through, say Comcast, and since I was the one paying, I get to decide.

That was fine for my parents at first.  But Father has gotten increasingly irritated over its slowness and dropping.  Lately he's gotten to switching modems, and that has fucked me up because the modems have different passwords, and the old modem he switched to has a password I can't recall.  Luckily for me, all the devices I use have saved the old passwords, but I don't know about my folks.  Meanwhile, Mother has decided she wants to spend the rest of her life looking at Chinese videos off of the Internet and from the gifts my brother gives her, including Apple TV a couple years ago.  With the advent of new technology comes, at least in my mind, a need for faster Internet, and right now what Mother demands from her devices the phone company simply can't provide.

When they've complained in the past, I've brushed it off.  Like I said, I'm paying for it, I decide what we'll have.  However, they have complained once too often.  I am giving up.  Plus, it's gotten incredibly frustrating for me too, even if the last time I complained about it on WAF was 18 months ago.  It indeed might be time for us to upgrade to faster speeds, even at the cost of, uh, higher cost.  Finally, this five-year lock-in expires this year -- around Independence Day, in fact.  I should keep track that at some point in the late spring I need to know the process by which I end Internet service.  Hopefully by then I'll figure out a speed for ... well, probably Comcast at which I can afford to buy, and then I'll try and coordinate a time where I can go off of one provider and jump onto another without missing a beat.  And then I hope Comcast will give us fast Internet without any drops, and then I'll hope to Buddha that their customer service won't be so legendarily terrible.

But that's in the summer.  Right now I pray that I can publish this without any trouble.

Flipping Bananas

So yesterday (Tuesday) morning I was woken up at 4 o'clock, I think, because My Father was tooling around the kitchen doing ... something.  Maybe his eyes were hurting again, or he was obsessively cleaning like Grandmother was doing when she was in the throes of pill-induced dementia.  (I'll add that I went to sleep at 10:30 Monday night; if I were really tired, it'd be possible I would have slept through the clamor he was kicking up just outside my bedroom door.)  I then was woken up just before my 7 o'clock wake-up because My Mother was dinking around the kitchen.  I did not appreciate having my sleep interrupted.  I felt like I had to go to work early so I could sleep there.  So, as I was leaving, Mother, out of the blue, asked "Don't you want to bring a banana with you?" I, immediately and with a tone of voice I admit could be construed as defiant and/or angry and/or bitter and/or bitchy, said, "No."

I have not eaten at home the past two days.  It was Halloween Monday and so I usually go to a strip club and then Hooters to avoid trick-or-treaters.  (Parents do that too; they don't give out candy, and they haven't in decades.)  Yesterday was the Minnesota United open house, so I had to go to TCF Bank Stadium and, possibly, pick up out my seat for next season, the franchise's first in Major League Soccer.  So I've basically been a shadow the past 48 hours, wispy and avoiding.  And therefore, my Mother's latest impression of me is shooting down her suggestion I take a banana, bananas she bought, en masse, because they were on sale, even though none of us asked for them.

I'm afraid I know where this will go once I come home tonight, for dinner.  Mother, a vindictive person who doesn't let go a grudge (I get that from her, even though, well, Father is that way too), will probably go in on me on something as payback for this perceived (well, kind of perceived) slight I gave her on my way out the door yesterday morning.  And then she'll drop the bombshell: She'll bring back up her thought that I should pay the property taxes for the house from now on.  She's probably thinking that anyway, but tonight, after she thinks I showed her up yesterday, is the perfect time and way to get back at me.

Oh, Father too.  Apparently his cleaning jag in the kitchen started in my bedroom Monday night.  So he'll give me shit about not cleaning up my room and/or not washing the clothes that are piling up in my hamper.  Great -- I get to look forward to both parental units questioning why I'm not "growing up the right way."

And all over fucking bananas.  Christ.

To Be The Black Sheep Of The Family (Scheduled Post)

You know, Friday wasn't a bad day.  There wasn't anything I had to do.  I certainly didn't have to go to work.  I went to Caffetto in the morning, and my computer worked there.  And then, later in the day, I went to the State Fair to hang out with my sister and brother-in-law.  I really have nothing to complain about.

But yet I have everything I can complain about, and I am.  My weight gain is still out of control; goddamn, I love the State Fair, but I'm packing on an extra 12 pounds for the 12 days of The Great Minnesota Get-Together.  While at the Fair my sister informed me that my brother and sister-in-law are coming over, for dinner, with our niece.  I still have to route our trip to Niagara Falls.  And I'm still stressing over hosting the game tomorrow.  And by the way, I have lost the keys to the alumni club lockbox.

Seeing the whole family at dinner tonight and seeing that everyone is paired up except me (and my niece, but she's only 2 1/2, so she doesn't count), it's obvious that there are many adult things everybody else in family has gotten and accepted and is, for lack of a better word, dealing with that I cannot even fathom.  Being an adult doesn't sit well with me.  And the fact that I felt so overwhelmed when, if I take a step back and take a deep breath, there might not be that much going on, could be a reason why.  What I mean by that is is that I feel so overwhelmed by setbacks that roll off the backs of the other members of my family, and I think most people.

I felt so overwhelmed that, after dinner, I left for Glam Doll, just for some me time -- even though I had a lot of me time in the morning, and even though I left at half past nine at night.  I made up an excuse that the bar where we're watching the game e-mailed me about something that I didn't like, and I had to go over there to make sure we could watch the game.  Pure bullshit, but as I type this right now I feel so free because I'm away from my family.

I'll need it, because for a whole week I'll have nothing but my family.  I'll be alienated every second of the day.