When Will This Mailing Tabs Saga End??

So before work yesterday/Monday morning I go back downtown to the post office, which was where I mailed my parents' tabs.  It was supposed to be in their hands Friday evening, but according to the website, the last known location was St. Paul Thursday evening.  I was hoping that the postal worker could bring up more information beyond what I found punching in the tracking number onto a website, but it doesn't look like he did/could.

It was the right thing to do, going to the post office, but I would be lying if I wasn't badgered into doing it by Mother.  When she recommended going in the morning, she wanted me to call her.  It was around 5:30 a.m. her time, but, well, my parents are fucking crazy like that, waking up in the morning.  She was her usual panicky, overbearing self when I broke the news that there was no new news.  So she wanted to go to Plan B.  We get two tabs when we renew, but in Nevada you need only one license plate, so you need only tab.  Mother told me to send her only one tab for situations just like this, where the other gets lost in the mail.  That happened, so now she wanted me to send the other one -- but to Federal Express, not USPS.  Logical.

She wanted me to do this as soon as possible.  I thought to hell with that, and I told her I would go as soon as my workday was done, and no sooner.  I even turned off my phone from time to time at work because I didn't want her bothering me.  To be fair, she didn't call, and it just so happened that I got out of work at a decent time, so I went home to grab the tab, then go to FedEx.  (This is where I confess that I lied to Mother; when she asked me if I brought the tab I have to the Post Office, like she said she told me to do [and she did], I said yes when I knew I left it at home.  So glad I had time to go home, then go to Federal Express.)  Unfortunately, the cutoff time for packages to be sent overnight was five minutes after I got there.  However, I was directed to another FedEx place south of this location which has a later cutoff.  I went home, changed vehicles (I drove the minivan to the first Federal Express), kept my tab on me, and drove.

I made the mistake of calling Mother, which she wanted me to do when I was calling her from the first FedEx), when I was at this second FedEx.  She was telling me to do things with the tab that were obvious.  She was talking my ear off because she's anxious/upset she hasn't gotten the first tab I sent her.  So when I got to the front of the line, I hung up on her.

So for about $40 Federal Express says they will send it overnight, and it'll be in my parents' hands by 5 p.m. this/Tuesday evening.  Hope so.  Anyway, this fuck-up once again brings out the bitchiest in My Fucking Mother, which I abhor.  Saying that, none of this would have happened if the USPS just overnighted my package to my parents like they promised they would, and like I paid for.

I've lodged complaints.  Someone apparently from a post office in Las Vegas left me a message in response.  I'll hopefully hear from this person tomorrow, because I want this goddamn saga to end now.

I Don't Believe Her

So my cousin, who I haven't seen in at least a quarter-century and whose son is going to medical school here, wanted to know when I was free, right?  I asked if I could get back to her in the middle of the week so I could figure things out.  Well, the soccer results being what they were, I texted her on Wednesday -- like she asked me to -- and I told her that besides Saturday and Sunday morning, I was totally free for the weekend.

Then, nothing.  Well, I hadn't heard from her until yesterday/Friday.  Since I moved up my speakeasy visit from last/Friday night to Wednesday, last/Friday night was free for me, and that's when the both of them would get into town, so I figured that if last/Friday night was the only time the two of them could see me, I should text again.  She got back to me ... and she said sorry, they're busy, they can't see me this time around.  Maybe closer to the beginning of school, when they come back, but not now.

Sorry, I don't buy it.  At all.  She reached out to me, out of the blue.  She then called me, enthusiastically, asking when we could meet.  All I asked for was a few days and then I would get back to her, which I did.  And then my cousin just says, basically, whoops, can't see you?  I don't understand the about face at all.

Sure, I'll be dark and conspiratorial.  Maybe she decided that me asking, oh so gently, for some space and time was a rejection to her.  She took that as a sign that I didn't want to see her at all, which is not true at all.  My only other theory is that Father talked/got to her.  He had some dumb fucking thoughts in his head that when I said I needed to get back to her later, I really meant that I didn't want to be bothered, and so he told her to lie and say that she and her son realized they were busy.  I can't think of what else it could be, because I don't believe her when she texted me that they're busy.

Honestly, this hurts.  She wanted to see me and now she doesn't?  I blocked out some time and moved around some things so I could spend an afternoon or evening or day with them.  She basically said to forget it.  Don't understand.

I can't do anything except wait until my cousin and cousin once removed supposedly come back late in the summer to see if they really want to see me.  If they do, and we meet up, great.  If not ... why in the hell did she even ask for my phone number?

Oh, by the way, because my Friday night was free, I went back to my original plan of greeting The Beginning Of Summer by going to my speakeasy.  Yes, it was the second time in three nights.  I can't quit the place, and after this emotional whiplash, I needed a couple drinks.

Could my cousin want to visit home?  No, can't let her.  I'll say I'm too busy to arrange coming to the house, or I'll be running around all weekend and I can only see you someplace.  But shit, man, can't let her visit the house when it's like this.  That would be bullshit.

Need to make sure I keep her far away from the house.  Maybe I'll lie to keep her from even bringing it up.

They're Coming Home Because They Think I Should House The Cousin I Haven't Heard From In Decades

This was going to be a more expansive blog post because my cousin isn't the only person who has reached out to me and wants to see me.  But things had to take a scary bad turn for me, and that's because of my goddamn parents' meddling, again.

I have learned to check the spam texts the hard way.  I lost out on a gig I applied for because the person hiring for the crew texted me, and since this number was not from a trusted contact, it went into the spam folder.  Curiosity was the only reason I checked that folder, and I saw it months after this person offered the gig to me.  What an embarrassment ... and that company hasn't hired me since.  And yet I still go to their hiring board.  I applied for something a couple weeks ago.  And I am checking the spam folder just in case they give me another chance.

Anyway, it was also in this spam folder where I saw a long text from my long-ago cousin to whom I haven't spoken in decades.  She is in town and wanted to catch up on old times.  I will be honest.  She is one of four sisters and brothers my brother and sister and I remember hanging out with from time to time when we were young.  I like this particular cousin the most even though that's based on guesses on what I remember back when we were kids.  The oldest of the four I have problems with; thing is, I don't remember if I ever got into a fight with her.  My memories of interacting with her enrage me now, but I really don't know if she thinks we don't get along.  I just don't want to see her again.

But I need to give family a chance, so I reached out ... as soon as I spoke to My Father, whom my cousin, or "cousin," said gave her my number.  I hadn't spoken to my parents pretty much for the past week, but I finally had reason to ring them up.  And yes, Father said my cousin is the real deal and so gave her my number.  OK, this is not catfishing.  We spoke -- can't say I was over-enthused on catching up, but I want to see if I could see her over the holiday weekend.  We promised to compare schedules the middle of the week.

With that matter kicked down the street, I went to Art-A-Whirl's last day.  And while I was minding my own business, trying to give myself some grace and be a part of a community that I love, I feel a buzzing on my ass.  Father called again.  I took the call while wandering around an art studio.  I should have known they would have called again demanding that I be more "hospitable."  They asked me to ask my cousin if she needed to borrow my car.  She already told me that she and her son (he'll be studying in town for the next several years) have gotten a rental.  They then fucking asked me to open up the house to them.  I told them my cousin and cousin once removed already got a hotel.  I completely fucking lied; I'm pretty sure they have, but I don't know that.  What I do know is that there is no goddamn way in hell I am going to let them stay here if I can help it.  No offense, but fuck no.

The call ended; I don't think My Fucking Parents heard the combination of rage and fear in my voice at the end of the call.  But I kept thinking about them while I was doing my personal art crawl.  Also, I remember that goddamn time they surprised me by coming home and not telling me.  So goddamn scarring; I'll never forgive them for doing that to me.  I know that they suspect that I don't keep the house clean while they're gone.

So that leads me to one conclusion: They're coming home.  They might not tell me.  They might.  But they're coming home.  They think I am so unable to be a good host for family that they will fucking pay the obscene amount a plane ticket costs these days and come home to see if I have cleaned up the house.  By the way, they insisted that I gave them my cousin's phone number, even though I think they already have it.  I can totally believe that My Fucking Parents insisted, if not demanded, my cousin cancel their hotel and car so we can give them housing and transportation.  Fucking weirdos.

I can imagine them booking plane tickets online right now.  Fuckin' A.  The house is a mess, just like I wanted to.  And I need to clean it up in five fucking days to impress one person I haven't seen in decades and another person I didn't know existed until yesterday?  Fuck that shit.  I'm too tired to clean, and I'm too busy to care.  And that's how My Fucking Parents will screw me again.  All because oh-oh-oh, I need to be good hosts for family!!!  I'll bring shame to them if I don't!!!

Fucking hate my parents.

So Mother said I had to pay property taxes on the house, and they're due at the end of the week.  Also, because she's paranoid, she wants me to personally deliver the check to the receptionist at the county government building.  I would do that if I could get out of work in time.

Saw my schedule when I came to work yesterday/Monday.  The only time I get out of work early (and thus go into work early) is tomorrow/Wednesday ... and dammit, that's when I have to go to the United FC Match playing that evening.  Well of course I would be scheduled to leave work early on a day that I shouldn't.  I sure as hell won't schlep all the way up to the county building only to go back down, pass my workplace, and to the Match.  That's a lot of driving, and I am not going to drive everywhere, especially with gas as expensive as it is now, thanks, Trump.  Moreover, I wish I would've gotten my schedule before I left work on Friday.  Sometimes my boss is able to release the following week's schedule by then.  If she did, I could check back with her and ask to work an early shift on a day other than tomorrow/Wednesday.

Best thing I can do it push my workday tomorrow/Wednesday down a half-hour.  Assuming we'll be offered overtime to key, I could just flow from work to Allianz Field without worrying about excessive downtime, which is what I could be facing otherwise.

Oh, wait ... I'm talking about my property taxes, aren't I?  So yeah, I have no time to personally hand my check over to someone.  Best I can do is drive up there well after afternoon rush and drop my check off at a drop box.  Hope I can find this box.  And I hope Mother will understand, but she won't, so I'll lie about not handing the check over to a human being or something.

Goddamn, they murdered another one.  They don't care.  He was no threat, but they say he was a threat, and because we have some stupid, stupid people living in this country, they're going to get away with it.

I'm even more scared now.  Truth doesn't matter anymore.  It's not that people aren't hearing past the lies.  There is a significant population in America, in my humble opinion, that don't care about facts.  They will believe any bullshit that comes out of any motherfucker from this installed administration because they want to hear what they are hearing.

I have to ask again: How is non-violence going to get us out of this?

I'm Not Mad At Them, Just Disappointed

Another thing about the funeral service for my neighbor: Neither of my parents went.  Mother was dead set against it once I told her; I thought Father would go, and he said yes, but the night before he said no.  So, even though we lived a few houses down from her, even though they sometimes waved to her when the neighbor was enjoying the outdoors on her porch, and even though, when my folks were making egg rolls for us to eat, would make enough for her to eat as well, they refused to say goodbye to her in the last time one could say goodbye to someone before the body is laid into the earth or cremated.

My parents are very private people, but I really, really thought the circumstances around this death would prompt them to behave differently this one time.  They knew her.  They live close by.  The service was two minutes away by car.  (I walked there; if it weren't cold, snowy and windy as it was that afternoon, they could've made it in five minute on foot, and even if they didn't want to go, I could fucking drive them.)  And they fucking had nothing else to do.  And yet, they refused.  Maybe you could blame the weather, maybe you could blame them being so old and not wanting to risk, for example, falling on the icy sidewalk.  But those are just excuses.  Fact is, they just don't fucking care.  And they showed their whole ass for my neighbor's children to see when I showed up but they didn't, even though it would have been so goddamn easy for them to put something clean on and stand for two hours.

Also, like I said in my previous blog post about this, they originally planned to leave for Las Vegas the morning of the ceremony.  They said they thought the flight they wanted to take would prevent me from going.  I told them when I first told them about the date of the funeral service that I could take them to the airport, come back, shower, dress and get to the ceremony, no problem -- and it wouldn't have been a problem.  I thought they stayed because at least one of them would pay their respects.  So, if they wouldn't, then why the hell are they fucking here for another three goddamn weeks?  If they're not going to be nice, respectful people in saying goodbye to a neighbor and trying to comfort her loved ones, why don't you just get the hell on out of here?

I'm not mad at them, I'm just disappointed.  No, I lie.  I'm disappointed in them, too.  I didn't learn to be a grown-up from them, that's for goddamn sure. ...

I Fake Showers Now

You remember I admitted feeling shame in taking showers every day because My Fucking Father told me to?  Well, fuck that, and I am going to not do it by faking taking a shower.

I started by recognizing that even though I am expected to take a shower every day, I don't have to take a long one, like I usually do.  So, about a few weeks back, I began taking shorter showers -- for real, but sometimes I would only soap up my armpits, genitals and feet (this expert recommends it, for one), and since I only rinsed the rest of my body, I save time that way.  Sometimes I don't wash my hair, and that save a lot of time, too.  And then I decided to cut my wash time even shorter by taking a quick bath -- just soak my feet, then get a washcloth to clean my face, pits, groin and tushy.

Then I realized: Hey, if My Fucking Parents think that I now take quick showers and baths and let me get away with it, why get wet at all?  So I have begun to do what I did last/Friday night: Go into the bathroom, turn on the shower ... and just sit on the toilet and scroll through my phone. Sure, I jostle the shower curtain to splash the water everywhere inside the shower.  I also put the soap dish underneath the shower so that it looks like I used the bar of soap.  But after a few minutes of turning the water on, then turning off the water and waiting a few more minutes (perfect time to just doomscroll), I take off my clothes, wrap the towel around my body, and walk out.  Of course, this won't work if my hair is completely dry and one of my parents is just outside and catches me leaving the bathroom.  Conversely, if neither of them catches me doing this, why go through the theater of leaving the bathroom with just a towel?  Hey, I'll cross that bridge if I get there.  All I know is that, so far, they've gotten off my back with the showering every day bullshit because they think I do.  How little they know!

And what the fuck is My Fucking Father doing with the shower curtains???  I have opened the shower curtains all the way.  It's what you're supposed to do to air it out and let it dry after showers.  But for some goddamn reason, for the past week or so I see the curtain tied up, or touched in a way that is obvious that My Fucking Father came into the bathroom.  Why?  I think that's his way of telling me to make sure I shower every day, like that's any of his fucking business.  If that's why he's doing that, well, I just faked taking a shower just now.  I know it's petty, and you could say I might as well shower for real if I'm going to do that, but seriously, fuck him, it ain't any of his goddamn business why I don't shower every goddamn day.  How fucking creepy is that bullshit?

Oh, every day he straightens out the bath towel I use, too.  That asshole doesn't have anything else to do in his doddering old age, does he?

Maybe Fuck Dinner

I am doing my level best to convey how upset I am that they have gone through and literally thrown away most of my stuff, but doing so in a passive-aggressive way so that I don't get thrown out of the house.  That's tough to do, considering that they still don't seem to give a shit.  But I might have been pushed to do something that could get their attention, if only because I am now tired of it myself.

Yesterday/Thursday was a no-spend day.  I was going to go in to work, leave work, and go home.  (I have my trepidations about doing that, but I will blog post about that at a later time.)  Work actually was light, light enough for me to come home at a decent hour, early enough to eat dinner with my folks.  But that didn't happen.  My Fucking Mother recently alluded to the fact that, because I had worked so late so often, My Fucking Parents don't eat dinner much, either.  So, regardless of when I come home, eating together has gotten quite rare in the last, oh, couple months, and we really haven't eaten together all that much since they came home.

What they do is leave food for me, and usually it's too much, way more than I would get for myself if we were eating together.  My Fucking Parents continue to say that I don't have to eat all the food they leave for me, but I know that's a goddamn lie.  I mean, they used the impetus of me spearheading donating my old car as an excuse to clean everything else I hold near and dear out.  (Don't care if that sounds like a conspiracy; I believe it.)  So I am under the gun to eat everything they laid out for me.  And for dinner last night, they laid out two pork chops, three pieces of Kentucky Fried Chicken, a bowl of spicy vegetables, tofu soup, and about a cup of rice.

That was so goddamn much it took me two hours to eat it all.  And I feel fat because I am fat after consuming that all.  And they're not even there.  So now, after they've taken everything important from me and done so under false pretenses, why in the fuck am I eating all this shit by myself?  If dinner is something we don't do anymore, why should I even eat at home anymore?  I mean, sometimes I will eat out.  But I am thinking that even on these no-spend days, I just go home and ... not eat.  And it doesn't matter if I get home late or early.  I just won't eat.  You know, I keep complaining about all this food and how it's fattening my belly and making me gain weight.  Why not ... just not eat?

And hey, it might send a message that I don't think we're a family anymore.  Because after the bullshit they just pulled, we're not.

Missing This Fairly Important Soccer Match

Well, well, well ... this Sweden-Germany Women's EUROS Group Stage Match was a banger in the First Half.  The Germans scored first, the Swedes responded with two, then a player for German got red-carded, and then Sweden scored a Penalty Kick.

So right now, as I type this, it's Sweden 3-1 Germany, all Goals scored before Halftime ... and I missed the whole fucking thing even though I didn't want to.  I got back from getting a shave.  I decided to get one because I didn't know I would have the time to do it after work next week, and I need to shave because I have a huge function next Saturday.  I really had my mind set on watching this particular Match from the start, but I needed to get this shave more, and so I missed the important parts.

With that all said, there were chances for to not miss this Game.  There were so many people at the school where I got my shave, so I knew that when the teenage girl said someone would be with me "shortly," she was lying.  (I waited a bit more than half an hour, for the record.)  But yes, I had the choice of not getting a shave, but I didn't.  I could have woken up sooner, and I was kind of banking on my parents waking me up for lunch early.  But this was an occasion where we ate at noon.  This would've been great if I didn't have things I needed to do in the afternoon, but this time around, I did.

Since I was going to miss a good chunk of the Game, I decided to miss more of it and shop for lotion at the store on the other end of the parking lot.  If I'm going to miss it, might as well make the time away from the Match productive.

Doing The Triple? Uh, Nah

It's never a good thing to be woken up by someone mowing the lawn just past 9 on a Sunday morning.  It really sucks when, after considering how close the sound of the mower is, you realize that it's your own Father who woke you up.  He is on his own timeline.  That gives me an excuse to be on my own timeline.

Had a plan of doing a soccer triple today/Sunday: The Women's EUROS Doubleheader, Norway-Finland followed by Switzerland-Iceland, then the Gold Cup Final between the U. S. and Mexico.  The first Women's EUROS Match began at 11; the second Women's EUROS Match begins at 2, and the Gold Cup tonight is at 6.  The problem, and I did not anticipate this, is that none of the soccer pubs I go to were going to be open before 11.  There were some that opened right at 11, but my OCD brain decided that wasn't good enough because that would mean that they wouldn't be obligated to open until 11, so I would theoretically wait until they opened their doors right at that time, so by the time I sit down, I would've missed the kickoff which, because these are Europeans, would start right at the top of the hour, if not close to it.  Beyond that, the pub I go to may not have turned on the TVs yet, or turned to the right channel, or turned up the sound yet.  I could be at my seat before kickoff and still miss it because the pub wasn't ready.

Add to all this that this tripleheader is kind of onerous.  There's a manageable gap of an hour between the EUROS Games, which is fine, but then the gap between the end of the second Game and the Gold Cup Final is two hours.  I would probably go out and eat somewhere, but my initial plan was to watch one Women's EUROS Match at one pub in downtown Minneapolis, walk down to another pub to watch the second Match, possibly go to a coffeeshop or Culver's inbetween, then have a beer at a third place in Midway for U. S.-Mexico.  Not only is that a long time with a car trip between the cities, but that would be a lot of food I'm eating.  It was going to be a laborious soccer-loving Day as is, and I don't know if I wanted to go through all that if (and again, I have OCD) I am going to miss the first very start of the first Match.  It's all ruined if I miss the very first kickoff.

So, I decided to punt.  I'm staying in to listen to Norway-Finland on SiriusXM (without eating at home to save my stomach; I'm telling my parents I am hanging out with a friend all day and evening), then I will leave straight for St. Paul for Switzerland-Iceland.  Hopefully I will have enough in my stomach to go somewhere to eat/drink something, then I'll have a beer or a cider and hopefully see the States come out victorious tonight.

Hopefully, I can stay up for all this since I was woken up by My Father mowing the lawn this morning.

It's Getting Difficult To Donate Stuff

So I have another round of clothes (and, now, two bedsheets) I want to recycle.  I have heard that Goodwill probably won't take the stuff I want to donate, so I was looking around if there are places that take, uh, less-than-usable stuff.

Looking around the Internet, I see this website where they just place a huge bin in some parking lot somewhere, and you can just toss in your clothes (your shoes too) and it's supposed to go to a good place, or they can be used or sold for something good, or something like that.  That's when I vaguely remembered seeing a bin or two close to home.  Shoot, why don't I just throw this stuff in there?  Easy!

So on Sunday I went to my storage unit to grab all my old clothes and bedsheet -- if I kept them here, my parents probably would throw them away, and that doesn't sit right with me -- to take the places I knew these bins were.  Well, one place is close to the mall nearby, but damned if a travelling carnival set up shop there.  So many cars, and so I had no time to park for the two minutes I thought I needed to toss in all my stuff into the bin, so that was a no-go.  I drove home past my high school, where I thought another bin was, but I didn't see one.  I swear one was there. ...

I tried again yesterday/Monday, and this time I had my second, other bedsheet (which I washed Sunday night) to take to donate with my other stuff.  The carnival closed up shop (although it didn't leave town; I think it's setting up again for the long holiday weekend), so I had all this space to just walk up with my bag and throw it in the bins, of which I noticed there were three.

But dammit again; the bins were completely full!  I saw huge bags filled presumably with clothes that overwhelmed the bins.  The chute doors were wedged open because they were all stuffed with bags.  I literally had no space to shove my stuff in anywhere.  It would fall to the ground, and that's considered dumping; if a police car drove by as I walked away from the mess I made, I would be cited.  So I couldn't leave my stuff there.

Now I don't know what to do.  I guess my plan is to just go to the Goodwill tomorrow/Wednesday on my way to the MNUFC Match and have them take my stuff, even though they probably don't want it.  But hell, I don't want it, either, not anymore.  In fact, looking at the grand scheme of things, it appears as though a lot of people don't want a lot of their stuff.  But what happens if the people who say they'll take the stuff other people don't want ... well, basically don't take that stuff?  Yeah, I'm getting the feeling the organization that set up these bins isn't well run.  But that's just me.

The Definition Of Best Laid Plans Ruined

So I got out a little late because Mother wanted me to help her out at Walgreens for some reason.  I get to the stadium in time, but I get lost, and then I decide I really want to eat and drink something while there, so I decide to miss some at-bats while I get food and a beer.  But then the Game goes slower than I thought, and then it goes into extra Innings (Griffin Jax blows a three-Run lead, goddammit), and I only got metered parking for four hours, so I make plans to leave early, but then the Game ends quickly in the 10th Inning (Twins win!  I was wrong in the WMNSS!) as I leave the bathroom and go downstairs to see my friend, who's ushering the Game.  And then I tell him I have to leave before my parking expires, even though I promised him as I was walking into the stadium that I would talk to him for a bit before I leave.

Also, I was hustling because this bodega close to where I parked sells these supposedly awesome breakfast egg sandwiches, but they close at 3:30.  I get there at 3:32, but it looks like everything is closed.  So, to sum up: I missed big chunks of the Game including the Game-ending play; I had to buzz past my friend even though I told him I wanted to talk; and I was too late getting this egg sandwich I want at possibly the only time I will be downtown on a weekday all year.

Damn, man, I need an HJ so bad.

Glad Last/Sunday Night Is Over

So after lunch and learning that I'm helping Father stick an EKG monitor on his bare chest, I hear Mother screaming at Father, over something.  I have never known what they've ever argued over, but I haven't heard Mother yell like that in a long, long time.

We eat a very early dinner (four hours after lunch, which is insane).  I was the one who attached this EKG on Father; Mother was in her office doing her own thing.  I go up to my bedroom and eventually take an early-evening nap before going out to exercise.  Mother bangs on my door to wake me up.  I'll expound on this hopefully in a different blog post, but never wake me up from sleep.  I hate that.

She gets me out to the dinner table.  She needs help booking their flight, although she actually said, "You promised to help me with my frequent flier miles," which is something I don't ever remember her saying.  It was obvious she was in the kind of mood she has often been in after yelling at Father -- wounded, feeling like a victim and lashing out because she felt entitled.  And this type of thing My Fucking Mother ropes me in to doing for her is the type of thing she usually ropes me in to do for her, which is something that has to do with not understanding English words and some elements of the task I believe she knows how to do, but doesn't want to do them because she wants to act helpless.  Besides all that, I feel like I've been dropped in unfamiliar territory, and so I'm figuring what the hell I need to do, but, and this is also typical of her, whenever I run into a roadblock or something I don't understand, she goes, "Well, what are we going to do?"  And I've gotten a little better at pointing to her, "Um, we are not doing anything.  You brought me into this because you don't want to do this.  I'm trying to figure out what I'm going to do."  (She also has this tick where I say something to her and she goes, "I know."  She clearly isn't using that phrase when she's supposed to, but I still get triggered because I take her literally at her word, and I want to say to her, "No, you don't know!"  But that's another blog post.)

I can't book a flight online.  Mother asks me to call for her, fuckin' A.  The call wait time is 2 1/2 hours.  They invite me to text instead, so I tell My Mother I'm going to leave for the gym and just text the airline about this.  So as I'm putting on my shoes, my sister calls My Mother.  There is another matter my sister wants to talk to her about.  "Has Unforgivable Wetness talked to you about it yet?" my sis says.  "No," Mother replied, "He doesn't want to talk to me about it."  And I had to shout from the bottom, "That's not true!" and I went back up to the dining room to get my face on Mother's phone to tell my sister Mother's lying, and then to tell Mother that if she wants to talk about this other matter, she should talk to me, otherwise I'm assuming she's handling it herself.  Goddamn.  I've always thought I've gotten my self-pity from Father.  But I might be wrong.

Anyway, I got the gym but had to delay exercising because I was busy texting with the airline rep, or the bot, who knows?  There are no flights available.  So I come home, see Mother at the other side of the front door ... and she's all calm and stuff.  If she weren't calm, she wouldn't even look at me.  So maybe she's gotten over what she needed to get over.

At any rate, this was a Sunday that was a little too eventful.  Glad it's over.

No Stripper Wants To Come Over

**y, one of the stripper girlfriends who has serviced me in the past, was supposed to come over this morning to do me.  It's been a long, long time since she's done that, so I was really looking forward to seeing her (naked).  But when I woke up she texted that she doesn't feel well, so we're not doing it.

This comes on the heels of another stripper girlfriend, ****e*, cancelling on me earlier last week.  No sexual activity with her; no, she was supposed to clean the house in time for Chinese New Year.  But she too said she was sick.  My house will have to remain dirty.

Two stripper girlfriends, two rejections.  Sorry, it's hard to not take this personally.  Yeah, strippers flake.  Sure, strippers lie.  But I can't help but shake the feeling that after initially saying yes, they no longer want to keep their appointment with me.  Or, to put it another way, they find me and our relationship disposable enough for them to blow off our appointment if and when they want to.

All I know is my house is dirty and I am untouched and therefore I am not comfortable.

And Now The Black Cloud Descends On Our Nation

I do feel a palpable dread from the correct-minded people of this nation now.  It has animated my anxiety and a lot of my short temper since November, but now that it's finally "here," I feel my sadness, anger an bitterness runneth over.

The thing I am still trying to reconcile is that, if I recall correctly, I felt things were going to be just as bad eight years ago.  Why is everything worse now?  Well, we correct-minded people really thought that our fellow Americans would remember the facts that he was convicted of multiple felonies, was called a rapist by a judge, acted like a petty asshole who talks like someone who has Alzheimer's and thought, "Yeah, I want more of that good shit," or didn't care enough to vote.  Our fellow Americans seem to be OK with liars and grifters and people who break the law.  And all of us who hated what we went through cannot deal with how we'll have to deal with all that bullshit again.

I see a meme on social media likening the second TFG's administration to watching the second plane hit the other Twin Tower.  That's totally apt.  The first time we were so confused as to what's going on.  Now?  We now know what's about to happen.  And we're terrified.

I hope that I have the courage and the resilience to resist more than I did the last time.  It'll be very, very hard doing so with the knowledge that there are Enemies Among Us who prefer dictatorship over democracy, and want to kiss the ass of a con man.  But soldier on I must.

Goodbye, Twitter/X, Hello, Bluesky

The election shouldn't have prompted me to do it, but I'm far from the only one.  I had heard good things about it from time to time in the months leading up to last Tuesday, but I didn't really consider jumping from the dominant social media platform to one of these upstarts.  For one, I got what I needed from Twitter/X: Engagement, smart people promoting their smart things, and jokes and dunks on stupid people.

But I knew that I was liking and reposting under a company owned by Elon Musk, a guy I once thought was cool but had turned into a thoughtless, id-driven man-child who only talked shit about the concept of "free speech."  I didn't see all the hateful comments others saw, but I kept many of my settings private and largely stayed in my own lane.  Still, yes, Election Day was the final straw.  I also knew in the back of my mind that he was using his highly-leveraged platform to, uh, platform, racists and vile Republicans in order to tip the balance of races on Election Day in Republicans' favor, and goddammit, it worked.  It took this to fully realize I am monetizing myself for that asshole, and that was enough.

I need to be honest, though: Since devoting my attention over to Bluesky, the thing I miss the least was all those fucking ads.  And it's always the same one: That game where you shoot at something with a flashing number on it, and that number keeps going down.  Meanwhile, there are hordes of people coming at little old you, and the demonstration shows the object of the game is to ... well, survive, I guess?  Anyway, that was, like, every third tweet I saw, and even though I click on "Not interested in this ad," nowadays I still see that ad.  (By the way, I believe it's the same company that came out with a different type of game promoted on X/Twitter that I actually signed up for.  The gameplay was nothing, and I repeat, nothing like the promoted ad on X/Twitter.  I am so goddamn pissed that I gave these bait-and-switchers my personal information for a shitty lie.)  No doubt that that cesspool was where the racists and sexists lived because Musk invited them back.  But, I was most annoyed by the ads ...

... of which there are none on Bluesky.  I remember having that platform recommended on a local news website by a commenter.  Last Wednesday or Thursday, seeing how I was engaging for Musk, I decided to look around and, after looking around real quick, I signed up.  It is growing at breakneck speed.  So far, many people poking around Bluesky liken it to the younger, more innocent days of Twitter, where there were no ads to avoid, and no Republicans there to try to get you going.  Since it still is in an embryonic state (even though it's been around for several years now), people are trying to instill a "culture" there that's directly the opposite of the one in the old place, one that demands inclusion and thoughtfulness, and one where Republican trolls are easily and routinely blocked.

I like it so far, mainly because it looks a lot like Twitter/X, just without the baggage.  The easy block features sets up situations where posters congregate in their own bubbles, but quite frankly, the "public square" aspect of X/Twitter has just turned into firehoses of disinformation from people whose handles end in a string of ten digits, so I don't really care if I'm in an echo chamber.  It's good for my mental health.  But at some point there will be a controversial topic I am fascinated with, and I will wonder how ... uh, tolerant the place will be if I sincerely ask something I don't know, or state a minority opinion.  I don't mind debate on social media.  I just want that debate to happen in good faith, and I know that's no longer happening in Arkham Asylum over there.  That's why I am severely limiting my eyeball viewing on Twitter.  I won't shut down my account(s) because I think I would give my paper trail to Musk, so I will just lurk and not repost or publish anything original over there anymore.

So far, the vibes are good at Bluesky.  There's a mixture of relief over escaping a hellsite that just realized its worst fears and basest instincts combined with a happiness that there seems to be a community of millions that look forward to something new, happier, and free from pain.  I think all correct-minded Americans need that right now.  Of course, maybe Bluesky isn't meant to last.  After all, I think it's owned by a tech bro -- just like Twitter was before that dude sold out to Elon Musk.

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.

#IStandWithTheMedia No More

At least not political reporting on the national level.  I know I have stuck my neck out for journalism time and again.  But at least when it comes to this presidential cycle, I can't do it any longer.  A significant chunk of reporting has failed, fucking failed, when democracy is being threatened.  Either I have seen the light or something has changed, but I'm convinced now that beltway reporting is ruined beyond measure.

When did it change for me?  Over the summer, over the subject of Biden dropping out of the race.  That remains a huge sore spot for me; I still think he would beat Trump, even though I see the breath of fresh air Harris has become in stepping in his place.  But even though forces behind the move may have been the final straw (and that hasn't really been sussed out ... which would be the responsibility of Washington reporting), beltway "journalists" did a lot of heavy lifting.  It really started with the debate, where Trump railroaded the moderators and the debate format and caught Biden looking ... well, I guess it all depends on how you look at it, but apparently the money forces in the Democratic party saw it and decided he needed to go.  And that was all the political reporting focused on -- Biden is too old, he might have dementia, "some people" say he's not up to the job of being President even now, oh, no, what is America gonna do???

I had thought, for a long time, that reporting had the important duty to tell what those in real power (in this case, senior Democratic strategists and, well, rich Democrats) are thinking.  But this, at least to me, went beyond reporting.  It was tipping the scales.  I had worried that national political publications were hellbent on reporting not on the stakes of America and American democracy, but on the horse race between Republicans and Democrats.  And the focus on whether other people think Biden is the Democratic candidate was one the beltway press hammered home, non-stop, to the detriment of covering vital topics -- such as Trump's own mental fitness for the job, and even (I would say especially) Trump lying in the debate.  They can cower behind the (possible, maybe probable) fact that Nancy Pelosi, George Clooney and others wanted Biden gone and they are just reporting that.  Those people in power might have moved to push Biden out because Washington reporters were relentless in talking about Biden's age, like a puppy to a chew toy, never mind ample evidence that Trump and Republicans have plans to turn the United States into a dictatorship.

That's when my feelings turned.  It has been cemented by this bullshit from The New York Times and The Washington Post and other reporting companies not to publish information a foreign country (in this case Iran) that hacked into Republican servers gave to the newspapers.  Those same fucking rags are the ones that gleefully published private information from Democratic servers that Russia -- helping Trump, who asked Russia to help him -- gave them eight years ago.  These reporters were gleeful in reporting every stupid thing about Clinton and her campaign.  But when the same goddamn thing happens with Republican secrets ... they have fucking standards now?  Honestly, they could say they they learned from 2016 that they failed then and are doing better now.  But as far as I know, not one publisher or editor-in-chief from any of those publications has said that.  I don't know if they've said anything.  That means that they and their reporters are either scared that Trump and Republicans will find their personal information and harass or even try to kill them -- to which I say I am sorry, but fuckin' A, our democracy is at stake, at some point you sack up and you publish the information anyway because that's the fair thing to do -- or they need to hype up a horse race that may or may not be true so that people continue to read their papers and websites -- to which I say, fuck you, that's not your goddamn job.

Yeah, I'm done.  I hate how the profession I got my degree from has curdled into a combination of public relations and empty-calorie snark.  It's supposed to be a noble job, one that involves serious people and a lot of humility.  When it comes to national politics, I no longer see it.  And it has gotten so bad that I no longer give it a pass.  I do believe people in a democracy have a responsibility to find and educate themselves on facts and real stories about things that affect all of us.  But it's been beyond time for Washington-area political "journalists" to dig for and publish that information to the people.  Instead, over the past several months, it has refused to publish important stories and to report on drivel.

A serious segment of journalism is beyond broken.  Ignore it.  Ignore it all.  And vote Democrat.