Pre-Election Day Tension

I'm nervous about today.  No -- I am scared.  I don't think it's going to go my way, the way things should go.  I don't think people care enough about the idea of democracy, and that the United States is supposed to be the shining beacon of it.  And I'm really scared that Republicans will win control of ... well, either chamber of the legislature or any statewide race here in Minnesota.  And I'm afraid a Republican will because enough people in the state believe in the idea of "fairness," and after years of allowing DFLers to run the state, they think it's only right to share.  That's stupid bullshit, because if Republicans win anywhere this time around, they're not going to share a fucking thing ever again.

I have followed FiveThirtyEight from time to time, but maybe I shouldn't have.  Partly it's because site founder Nate Silver has exposed himself as a libertarian/Peter Thiel whore.  Partly it's also because the news it's been giving me since the summer aren't favorable enough for me.  But on that thread, the recent a-ha moment I learned from reading journalism has lifted my guilt for no longer going on that website only because it makes me feel depressed.  Republican pollsters have, especially recently, flooded the ... I guess zeitgeist with polls saying Republicans are riding a red wave and will win Congress and shit.  FiveThirtyEight aggregates those polls into comprehensive, this-party-is-favored-to-win-by-this-margin, cut-and-dried odds.  The trendline has steered right in a big way; Silver now says that Republicans will take back the House and there's a pretty good chance they'll take back the Senate.  But that's with these shady Republican polls skewing the average.  That's done because Republicans are now playing mind games with both The Media and the electorate.  If they are able to influence the pre-election message that things are breaking Republicans' way, and then the votes say that Democrats won, that only boosts the narrative (the seeds of which have also already been planted by Republicans) that Democrats are cheating.  Conversely -- and this line of thought should get more pull than it is -- if it turns out that Republicans "win," they can say that the "honest" pollsters predicted as such, and so they can say that despite Democratic ratfucking (a total bullshit lie), The American People overcame that and spoke in unison that they want fascism.  Incredibly complex, incredibly underhanded, and incredibly frightening.

FiveThirtyEight has been wrong before.  Yes, it gave a puncher's chance of Trump "winning" in 2016, but it was getting only faint whispers of what was going on in Wisconsin, Michigan and Pennsylvania.  In no way did it (or could it) calculate him and Republicans illegally asking Russia to spread disinformation in order to brainwash voters into helping him win.  And there was no systemic, party-wide polling conspiracy trying to muddy the waters so that their narrative could either be justified tonight or be used as a rallying cry to fight cheating that never occurred.  I'm hoping the site is wrong again.  But I'm now scared of it.  I regularly use the News app on my phone, and about a few weeks ago it began displaying the odds of which party will win the House and Senate on its splash page.  That is giving FiveThirtyEight a lot of power.  Should it be given that power when people who are paying attention have noticed that's being manipulated?  And what about Silver?  He has to know that Republicans are fucking with him like this.  But he's a libertarian, and his odds are skewing the way Republicans want it to be skewed.  Does he care?  Or he is just going to say he only deals with "the numbers," when the political and psycho-social context are really the main story as to how Americans are voting the way they are voting?

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I don't care what people think -- this is the truth.  If Democrats win (and by win I mean they get anything important, be it a governor's race or one of the two chambers of Congress, what have you), they won fair and square.  If Republicans "win," they cheated.  That is the truth.  There is no Both Sides Do It.  Republicans cheat, Democrats don't.  And so if a Republican comes out on top on any individual race, I will immediately believe that person won because of voter suppression, or fucking with the ballot box or the polling site or voting hours or initial invalidation of votes by some county-level hack.  As races drag on beyond Election Day, I'll figure Republican judges are helping Republicans win.  (Oh, don't forget gerrymandering.  That's why Republicans likely will win the House.  That bullshit fix was in back in 2020.)

There are conspiracy theories; you just have to believe in the real ones.  And the real conspiracy is that Republicans (not just Trump; they're allies when it comes to upending democracy) have successfully built a terrifying apparatus where they will claim any political race and pull out all the stops in order to keep it.  Republicans claim Democrats are already cheating, will cheat today, and will cheat tomorrow.  That's just projection.  Republicans do what they say Democrats do.  It's a goddamn psychosis, and it's a spell they've been under since the run-up to the 2016 election.  Some Russian just admitted it, for fuck's sake.  I know in my bones that if people investigate enough, it will be proven that the Trump campaign asked the Russian government for help in winning 2016 in exchange for something of value Vladimir Putin wanted.  Ever since Republicans shut up and went along for a ride that delivered them the Supreme Court, they haven't been able to get the taste of power out of their fuckin' mouths.  And so they believe in The Big Lie, and they'll suck Trump's dick whenever he demands they go down on him, and they'll copy his Neanderthal, Mafia-style tactics in order to take or retain power.

I hope correct-minded people can see through this.  And I hope enough people care enough to vote and stop this march to dictatorship.  But will they be disillusioned by inflation and this phantom idea that crime is running rampant in our streets?  Will they not believe these lies, but not care enough to vote because Both Sides Do It?  Or will they understand that the United States is sliding towards fascism ... and will vote for it because they believe that Republicans will magically lower gas prices?  I'm afraid the answers to all of the above are "yes."

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I remember being at Herkimers bar in 2016, ready to see Hillary Clinton elected.  It was not going the way it was supposed to go.  Then I saw one brainwashed state -- I think it was North Carolina -- went red, and I went home and drank the rest of this bottle of shoju I was given.

I was at Bauhaus in 2018 when Democrats took back the House.  I was more relieved than happy.  But I don't think I can stomach going to an Election Night party tonight because I'm scared of what could happen.  Instead, I think I will do a combination of working late, watching Black Adam, going to a concert, and/or huddling in a coffeeshop and doing non-Election Day shit to distract myself.  Regardless of what I do in the evening, once I go home, I will pour myself a cocktail and hopefully drift off to sleep, then wake up to whatever fucking fresh hell awaits me Wednesday morning.

Graphic Design Complaint

Yesterday I visited my storage unit for the first time in weeks.  Mostly I did it because I have my reserve cum towel in there.  I washed it quickly while my parents were out visiting the grave of Father's mother/my biological grandmother, but because it was the only thing in the washer, it stalled out, so it didn't go through the drying cycle, and so I had a damp as fuck towel that I tried hanging it everywhere outside for a few hours in a vain attempt to get all the water wringed out of it before I had to throw it into my unit, and when I did it was still damp as fuck.  It was crusty when I saw it, and it may have raised the humidity level of my unit, but it's OK.  Don't know how my dick will feel when I dragged it across the towel in order to dab away the cum still sitting in my dickhole.

Anyway, I also went to my storage unit to get through all of the papers that are still in there.  My vow of chugging through my stuff isn't going well.  The pile of shit I have in there is taller than I am, and I really, really am running out of room.  Still, I have neither the time nor the inclination to sit there and go through all my stuff to see what I really want to keep and what I can throw away.  And I could alleviate my unit's space (and go through and maybe rearrange what I have in there) if I could bring some of the bags home with me, but I can't do that until my parents leave.

I've tried to start anywhere with my stuff, have any sort of entrée into which I can, in a focused, organized fashion, sift through my things.  My entry point is something I had not realized I had inadvertently collected: Brochures from car companies I get during my annual trip to the Twin Cities Auto Show.  I usually get dozens from all the brands whose vehicles I look at and get in, and I put them in a good, solid, reusable bag (usually it's Toyota), and when I leave a few hours later I vow to sit down and go through them and just fantasize about getting a new car.

I never go back, of course.  What I do is throw them into my closet and say I will look through them another time.  I have brochures going back years.  There are other small gifts that I found alongside the pamphlets, completely forgetting that I really wanted when I saw them on the Auto Show floor.  One time I even got a can of an energy drink branded by one of the car companies.  I threw it in the bag and completely forgot it.  I had moved a few year's worth of Auto Show bags from my closet to my storage unit a few years ago.  When I finally opened up the year and bag with the energy drink can, it had leaked, all of the drink had evaporated, and pretty much all the pamphlets in the same bag were rotted.  Whoops!

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Oh, wait -- that's not what I want to talk about.  I have, in my very slow way, started to go through the Auto Show bags.  And when you read them -- and I mean look at everything such as the copy and the features and the graphic design and the font -- you kind of notice how weird these brochures get just for the sake of getting you to buy a car.  There are, for example, a lot of voluminous yet empty slogans that are intended to excite you into think their cars are exciting cars, and you'll look so badass driving through a curvy desert road -- and you'll do it driving stick, because automatic is for pussies.  I've taken a few photos of these dumb aphorisms for posterity's sake, then taken those pamphlets home to put them in the recycling bin.

And yet when I went yesterday, something else caught my eye.  I was going through the bag for the 2019 Twin Cities Auto Show.  I apparently went to the Fiat part of the show because I have its small, almost-square brochure.  The cover has the Fiat badge and a series of multi-colored blobs that interconnect on the cover.  Think Tetris, but not all the pieces consist of four squares, and there are a lot of holes inbetween them so that's why they don't disappear.

Then I open it up.  It's a basic, straightforward car pamphlet.  It has an introduction about how the car company has been around for decades, it has an illustrious history, and that history points the way to an exciting, successful future, blah-blah-blah.  They then go through the whole lineup of their cars, each with its own hyped-up introduction, followed by a page of specifications for the trims of each model -- this trim has electronic stability control standard, a back-up camera is only optional in this trim, etc.

My problem: The multi-colored blobs on the cover page, save for three whole red circles and one hollow red half-circle on the third page, are nowhere to be found.  In fact, there are no graphic cues to call back to the mod-looking cover.  You can't put one blob for each of the models you're showcasing on your pamphlet, Fiat?  Then why did you pick that design for your cover?  It seriously looks like the cover from a different car company was stapled onto Fiat's pamphlet.  (I should add a photo of the cover of the 2019 Fiat brochure, but I don't know how to upload it onto Blogger.)

I don't know why this bothers me so much.  But it was so striking the dissonance between the visual expectation the cover art teases you with and the normal, even boring graphic identity of the rest of the pamphlet that I felt compelled to complain about it here.  Plus, in the absence of having much else to say on Memorial Weekend 2021, it was nice to blog post about something I have never blog posted about before.

My Fucking Father Fucked Me (Figuratively) ... First Time In A Long Time

Jesus fucking Christ ... I thought I had published this yesterday/Monday, and I apparently I fucking hit the wrong button or something, and so I did not publish this yesterday/Monday?  Goddammit.  And that meant that I skipped yet another day without blog posting.  Double goddammit.

Instead of changing every "yesterday" to "Sunday," I am just going to write this prologue stating that this piece was supposed to have been posted yesterday/Monday.

I have the perfect subsequent blog post for this, but I guess I won't have to write that until at least later today.  Fucking God, how in the hell did I not publish this piece. ...

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Came home from work yesterday to see that he cleaned up my bedroom.  Well, not all of it, but the stuff on the dresser was put into several bags.  And two of them wound up in the trash.  What's worse is that after dinner, he knew that I would be looking through them, so he literally took them outside to the bin -- and not the recycling bin.  I went outside after dinner, and that motherfucker put them in the trash bin, even though they were recyclable.  He even made a point of putting the actual bag of trash on top of one of the bags -- you know, to taint the papers I kept on my dresser so I would peruse them later.  Those moves (taking them out of my bedroom, then taking them into the trash bin, then putting actual trash on my stuff) convinces me that is fucking determined to throw away my stuff.  He wants to make this personal.

Well, fuck him -- I hope.  Does that son-of-a-bitch think I won't retrieve my stuff now that he's thrown it in the trash?  Goddamn him -- I dug through the trash to find my sub sandwich six days ago, and I ate it, for fuck's sake!!!  Turns out being a trash panda makes for good experience now that he's pulled this bullshit.  (Although I now regret not at least putting those bags in the less-smelly recycling bin.  I just looked inside the bin and then left it because I was afraid My Fucking Father would catch me.)  What I am going to do is get up real early in the morning, hopefully not see My Fucking Father out and about, go out to my car and, while warming up the engine, throwing those bags into my car.  Then after work, I'll throw them into my storage unit, where they'll be safe from My Fucking Father's cruel hands.  Hope to God I can get away with it.

In the meantime I have been internally so pissed off.  I am so fucking mad at him right now.  He ostensibly did this to redo my television.  (I went downstairs to his computer room to watch Liga MX on Telemundo because I couldn't get it on my TV.  When I turned my TV on after I got home, my set turned on to Telemundo.  Another passive-aggressive mind game from that asshole.)  He then took the opportunity to screw me over.  I just have to keep telling myself what Bruce Lee always says: "Be water."

Mole In The Resistance?

For the first time in a long time, the Resistance over the alumni clubs met.  It was convened by someone I would call a "shadow figure."  He says he cannot be a conspicuous figurehead for the group, but besides that he is an extremely active, and vocal, member of our group.  In fact, I have sometimes chafed over both his opinions and attitude -- at times -- knowing that he has not put his face and reputation on the line by actively engaging with the other side in our attempts to broach some sort of compromise.  He has his reasons; nonetheless, I think we need to assert our side a little more -- at times -- because we are the ones doing the dirty work.  (With that said, I need to point out that lately he has been more cognizant of his position in this group.  He still has questions and wants to contribute, but he did say that he asks those questions and volunteers his time and effort even though "he isn't there."  A little self-awareness is all I ask.)

And I am digressing.  The point of this blog post is that, after this Zoom meeting, I went over to what was once my alumni club's Facebook page.  It is still there, but now it is co-administered, and thus co-moderated, by members of the alumni association.  This was done before the decision over the summer to kill off all domestic alumni clubs.  When that happened, we were told that officials with that department would take a more visible role in social media platforms.  In, well, taking over our Facebook page, for example (even though I still was allowed to remain as an administrator and moderator), I was led to believe they would post more.  It might be articles touting the university, propaganda as such, but, well, I didn't think I had much of a choice.  (Even though I did -- I might get to blog posting about that some other time.)

That increased publishing hasn't happened.  I think some person I do not know posted two links to which members could sign up for some study of some sort.  But since this change began, no one from that association has posted anything.  I, however, have, and still have.  I could have, and maybe should have, taken this stupid decision as a reason to walk away from doing anything connected with my alma mater.  But I can't quit it.  So I am staying and fighting.  And I am occasionally publishing stuff on the football team and news about my alma mater and surrounding Los Angeles County.

So back to last night.  I posted on Facebook a death about a member of the football team (he was with them in the eighties) last night, just before the meeting.  I check back later ... and that post was liked or "reacted" (and if he did "react," he gave the sad emoji since the post concerned a death) by the head of my alma mater's alumni association.  It is the first time I have seen him lurking around our Facebook page.  Moreover, he liked my previous post about a five-star recruit committing to my alma mater.

Yes, this may just be coincidence.  Nonetheless, I'm freaking out.  The night we huddle together for a meeting, and then this guy, who all of us consider to be cutthroat and Machiavellian, just starts to come around my way and liking my posts?  I understand I might be looking a tad paranoid, but I'm not.  I'm really concerned.  I'm really concerned he choose to, well, pick on me because we're meeting again.  This is not some innocent gesture of solidarity.  He's probing for weaknesses.  He's playing mind games.  And ... no joke, I think someone from the meeting tipped him off that we were meeting.  This leader of the association was tipped off by this meeting by an apparent mole, and he decided, of all the people in The Resistance to fuck around with, he settled on me.  Don't know why.  And goddamn, I don't know what he wants.

And also -- WHO'S THE MOLE?

Zooms Petered Out?

So I had two Zoom meetings I had joined, off and on, since the pandemic and lockdown started for this ... uh, social group I have sporadically been a part of.  Even though the meetings (each of them are for a different age group, but [and I don't know why I did this] I just started going on both) are virtual, I mentioned that my times participating in the group have skyrocketed since these Zooms, which is obvious; I found it hard to make time, dress up, go and socialize in person, but I can just boot up my computer and start talking to other people.  I'm not a huge fan of Zoom meetings (maybe that'll make for a good topic to blog post about), but I had grown to like hopping on.

Well, for a while.  And then ... well, I'm not saying I didn't want to talk to people.  But it was always kind of a chore for me to talk to people I don't really know, and for the one-to-two hours these meetings had become.  I'm just not that much of a talker.  Then my sleep schedule changed whereby I would take (and still take) these heavy naps that last between one and two hours right in the middle of the evening.  Hey, if it's not safe to mess around outside, what's there to do at home besides sleep?  Oftentimes that meant I would wake up at the tail end of these meetings.  That was a blessing in disguise: I didn't feel the heavy lift of trying to sustain enthusiasm for a couple hours and instead I could just pop in and show them the bright, cherry side of myself for upwards of an hour, well before my fatigue takes over my body.

However, sometimes I would wake up, know that the meeting was going on, and decide I just wanted to do something else.  Again, it's not them -- it's me.  It soon became a 50/50 proposition on whether or not I would get on these calls at all.  When I did, I subconsciously made a point of getting on well after the call normally would have ended; more often than not, I would see I was the only person there, and I would think to myself, "Darn!  Missed it!"

(Here I should add that this thing with my college has taken up my time the past several Sundays.  That Zoom has been scheduled around the same time as the Zoom for my social club.  I did make a point to pop into the social club for a couple minutes to tell them hi, that I'm thinking about them, and that I regret not being able to stay long, which I both do and don't.  Like I alluded to, being on such a call for only a minute or two is actually something I like.)

So, maybe there is a very good explanation, such as the host of the social Zooms is on vacation.  But I noticed on Facebook on Friday (the invitations are posted on Facebook) that the host had not notified us of meetings for this week.  I am afraid that participation, which had started out strong, had petered out to the point where no one cared any longer.  And if that is true, I contributed to that eventual disinterest, and I am very, very sorry for that.

Poor Bastard Of The Moment: Dwane Casey

Dwane Casey was Head Coach of the Minnesota Timberwolves from 2005 to 2007, right in the middle of the Dark Age of the franchise.  He, however, provided the brightest light during that time.  He finished 33-49 in his first and only full season leading the Woofie Dogs -- not great at all, but this was the season after Latrell Sprewell was out of the league after bitching about not getting a contract extension and Sam Cassell was traded to the Clippers, thus breaking up the MV3 that led the Wolves to the Western Conference Finals in 2004.

Things were getting marginally better in the 2006-7 season.  At roughly the midway point of the season, Casey got this team at 20-20.  Then, out of nowhere and, as far as I know, for no good reason, General Manager Kevin McHale (who preceded Casey as HC after he fired Flip Saunders and resumed coaching duties for himself) fired him.  I think McHale said something like, "I think we can do better."  He thought his friend, Randy Wittman, could get this team into playoff contention or better.  Instead, the team nosedived, going 12-30 the rest of the way and sunk to the bottom, only now getting their heads above water by reaching the playoffs for the first time since '04.

People kind of forget about this era of the Woofie Dogs, but those in the know remember the firing and thinking how much of a raw deal Casey got.  We have no idea how well he would have done had he not been shitcanned mid-season, but the record of the 2006-7 season while and then after Casey was Head Coach should be evidence enough that he made a positive difference.

Apparently, he got fucked over again Friday.  He got another HC job at Toronto for the 2011-2 season, and although the Raptors had some lean years, the front office stuck with him.  Finally, with a nucleus of Kyle Lowry and DeMar DeRozan, they got better, and this year, with a bench that became formidable, the Raps beat out preseason East favorite Cleveland and early surprise Boston to get the best record in the Eastern Conference.

With that home-court advantage, however, they faced LeBron James and the Cavaliers in the Eastern Conference Semifinals and were promptly dispatched by them in four games.  Now, it took a back-and-forth Game 1 and a game-ender by King James in Game 3, but they were swept nonetheless.

Now remember, Toronto had never been the #1 seed in the East in franchise history.  They've won at least one series each of the past three years.  They reached the Conference Finals in the 2016 playoffs.  They have just been eliminated by the Cavs the past three postseasons, the last two via sweeps.

And Friday, it got Casey fired.  Apparently, Casey, the man who stuck through a couple bad seasons in the beginning of his tenure, is now considered the obstacle to an NBA Finals appearance.  Never mind that Brad Stevens is doing magical work in Boston, or that The Best Basketball Player In Our Era is also playing in the Eastern Conference, or that LeBron is likely playing elsewhere in the Western Conference next year.  I think someone with the Raptors organization believes that the Cavaliers have gotten into Casey's head, and they think just changing the Head Coach unlocks the final step for the franchise.  Well, be careful what you wish for.  The last time Casey was canned, that team fell into a tailspin.

Hey, at least for Casey, he now has a reputation of being a team whisperer.  One that can be disposed of as soon as management believes the team is onto something really good.  But that should mean that he gets another HC job somewhere in the NBA.

Till then ... Poor Bastard.

For The Greater Good. Maybe.

OK, I knew that if there was one accusation of inappropriate sexual behavior, there would be another, and another, and another.  The Bloodletting has taken a third and fourth swipe at Senator Al Franken.  I have been OK with the apology the first woman who accused him of groping, Leeann Tweeden, accepted from the senator.  The second woman's accusation seemed to be a blow people thought would happen and thus be absorbed.  But three and four women?  Yeah, that's a pattern.

I cannot defend this anymore.  When you have this many people say Franken grabbed him, and when the last two said it happened while he was a senator, well, that establishes a pattern of immorality and creepiness as a public officer.  So he must resign.

But ...

Yeah, I'm reconsidering.  Even thinking about equivocating makes me sad, because this feels like I have committed to go down a road I don't know if I can come back from.  However, I also believe that everybody has a line, and that everyone has a breaking point.  What I wonder is if that line and that breaking point changes depending on the circumstance.

This all began from a tweet coming from a source close to Roger Stone, noted Republican PR hitman.  Franken has been a notable progressive figure in the Senate, publicly going toe-to-toe with Republicans, especially when it comes to Net Neutrality.  The Republicans would love to get Franken's scalp (and by God, in these times, I wonder if I have to apologize for using the Native American stereotype "scalp").  And while his resignation may not tip the balance of power in the Senate -- Democrats don't have the majority and we have a Democratic governor who would replace Franken with another Dem -- he has been a leading voice for so many subjects that, I think, Republicans would be emboldened to take advantage of a humbled, quieted opposition to ram through their agenda.

And what would that agenda include?  Well, for example, there's that huge tax bill that would shove what remaining wealth the poor and the middle class have to the 1%.  And since Net Neutrality has been a passion for Franken, there won't be anyone who is ready and able to stand in the FCC's way in deregulating and thus turning that utility into the province of the rich as well.  Now, it doesn't really matter that a certain person is or is not in the Senate to fight this.  There has to be other Democrats who can stand up and fight Net Neutrality with Franken felled and maybe on his way out.  But way too often the political winds blow when those fighting those winds feel that they can't, or they shouldn't, or they don't deserve to.  What I'm trying to say is that I know that the remaining Democratic senators, or the Democratic voters in Minnesota, or the zeitgeist, will not cause enough of a ruckus that would somehow force Republicans to reconsider.  In other words (and to appropriate/twist a phrase often used in government), Republicans will enact their hateful, racist, divisive laws with the consent of the governed.

OK, that might not make any sense.  What I am trying to say is that we, as The Resistance, stands to lose a lot if Franken leaves.  We have someone who has the will, the intelligence, and the wit to fight against the oligarchy and for the rest of us, The Real Americans.  And it's an unassailable fact that we have someone who has also fought tirelessly for women's rights, whether it be control of their bodies or equality in the workplace.  Yes, someone like him also groped several women.  (I want to add that several women who have worked for him wrote a letter saying that he treated them with the upmost respect.  That too has to mean something.)  Both facts exist, both facets reside in the same man.  So are you really going to cut him loose when The Resistance will be significantly weakened with his departure?

I hate purity tests, almost as much as I hate bitching (can I say the word "bitch?") about purity tests.  I hear those who hate being told to shut up about being touched inappropriately so we can fulfill our political aims.  But you know what?  I'm willing to tell sacrifice them.  You know, those who say that Franken unequivocally has to go in order for someone to finally listen to them will lead us to a political beatdown that will eventually result in an anti-choice agenda, poverty for more Americans and rule by the rich.  As much as I hate to say this, those who demand this purity test on Sen. Al Franken believe they can withstand any totalitarian rule by Donald Trump and his Republicans.  And those who will suffer if this tax plan goes through, and if Net Neutrality becomes a dusty story in history books?  Those who demand this purity test on Sen. Al Franken won't listen to those people.  You only get angry if your ax is being gored.  That's how it usually is in life, but that means that different people will look at the same situation very differently.  They need to recognize that.

And remember that while we're squabbling over how much of a pig Al Franken is, Republicans are laughing their asses off.  There is manipulation behind this -- that I have no doubt.  It's very likely that all of this is a Stone-orchestrated hit, although Franken apparently gave Stone enough ammunition to kill off his political career.  Or more likely (although you'll have to work with me here because it has to do with mind games), Stone and Tweeden knew that this is a climate where, if one woman speaks out against Franken, other women who have been groped by Franken would feel safe to also speak out.  The Bloodletting would occur organically, and down goes a progressive voice.  And the Republicans win again.

The Republicans win again.  That's where I wind up.  That's the bottom line for me.  So yes, I can look away somewhat from these new accusations.  I don't want to say that his actions of fighting for pro-woman legislation means more to me than these gropes ... but it does mean more to me.  I want those who want Franken's head to think long and hard about what taking out Franken will mean -- not just to them, but to The Resistance, to the country, and to the forces of good, currently being assailed by this fat orange asshole, his morally bankrupt party, and Russia.

While writing this, my line and my breaking point have moved.  Yes, open up an investigation to Franken, and if his conduct is bad enough to warrant sanction or censure, good.  If he wants to serve out his term and announce he won't run for re-election ... uh, get back to me on this., I don't know how to feel about it right now.  But resign?  With the stakes so high, and the sanity of our country hanging in such a precarious balance?  As impotent as people think Franken is now -- and possibly as he thinks of himself now -- no.  Hell no, fuck no.  For the greater good.  Yep, I said it; for the greater good, Al Franken still needs to stay.

No Goddamn Way I'm Coming Back With My Asshole Brother At Home

I had a feeling that he, my sister-in-law and niece would be dropping by today.  Not just because it would be just my luck, but also because, well, Mother loves her granddaughter and it's the weekend, so it makes sense.

That's the good thing about always thinking ahead.  I can gird myself in case the worst comes.  This morning I thought about the possibility of that happening, and I girded myself.

I went downstairs to tell Father (who was reading stuff on his computer) and Mother (who was working on her computer) that I was leaving -- a rarity, but just in case.  Told Father first; told him I'd be back around 4.

Just as I was leaving and he was turning back to his desktop, he turned back to me: "Oh, Jimmy's coming at noon."

My folks know that we don't get along, and I'm sure they knew we didn't get along last week in Hong Kong, to put it mildly.

I had to stop and think there, in Father's computer room, for an extra beat.  "Tell him I say hi," I said.  Then I told Mother with the caveat that a friend of mine might want to meet up after dinner.  Wanted to give the impression that I might come in late and leave early, as is my want.  In reality, I have the United match to go to tonight; still don't know if they know whether I have season tickets.

Look, for all the obligatory his and byes we give each other and gave each other in Hong Kong, I fucking don't like him because he's a bully.  He can say all he wants about just wanting to drop by so my niece can see his parents, but he's just a fucking manipulator, trying to play mind games as the first son and the one bearing my folks progeny.  He's lording it over me, and so he thinks he can get away with everything -- like he has all his life.  Trying to be an adult around my niece just adds more pressure to me coming back home and thinking everything's OK, when it's not.  For me, it rarely has.

So why in the hell should I come back home while they're there?  Fuck being the better man.  I'm not going to debase myself and give My Asshole Brother the satisfaction.  How about just dropping off my niece and let my parents and I take care of her for a while?  That'll let me have bonding time with her without needing to deal with him.

Ah, it's no use.  I have to go home at some point.  Besides, I can't avoid My Asshole Brother forever because that'll mean avoiding my niece forever, and as much as I hate being over a barrel, I can't have that.  If I miss them today, fine.  Next time, I'll have to fucking play nice.  Because I'm supposed to be the bigger man, even though he isn't, because no one sees him as not being the bigger man.

Until then, though, maybe I'll stop by Dairy Queen before coming home today.  I mean, it's hot out there.

Will I Be Working Out By The Porta-Potties The Next Time?

As I thought and was afraid of, this game is being produced by the team that, en masse, turned on me, disrespected me and treated me like shit two years ago.  This is what you get the team finally gets good.

I saw his name when I was e-mailed my assignment for this week.  (We used to get called up, but apparently it's done through e-mail with go-betweens now.)  What I was exactly assigned, however, was something I have never done with these guys before.  It's something, in fact, I have never done since college.  What it is, however, is in the other truck -- as far the fuck away from these disrespecting assholes as I've ever been.

This is a trend that is continuing, I guess.  After my blow-up (although I think they started when they went nuts on me -- I was just making a phone call, alright?!), I was taken away from my customary position behind these guys to running around with some cameraman.  Next time I worked with them I was sent to the stadium.  And now this.

I'm not stupid, and I'm certainly not as stupid as they think I am.  All of those fucking people, or one of those fucking people -- probably the really fat one -- just decided they can't stand the sight of me -- though none of it my fault -- and by assigning me these shit jobs they are marginalizing me and pushing me to a point where I don't want to work with them anymore.  Typical petty mind games from these assholes.  Who the fuck are these guys pulling office politics, anyway?  I haven't seen these guys in two years.  Whatever they think I did to them should be water under the bridge.  Instead, they're manipulating me.

You know what?  If these guys are going to be this small-minded, maybe it's best that I stay away from these guys.  I don't need to talk to people who don't want to talk to me.  If we're not going to be cordial with each other anymore, fine, I'll deal with someone else.  Probably better that way.  I'll come in and just do my own thing -- eat breakfast, tool around the stadium, work on my phone.  I don't care, because they don't anymore.  Besides, I don't have time to chit-chat after the game's over; I'm going to the roller derby tournament right after the game.  I'll fight with the other fans on getting on the light rail, so I'll be gone as soon as I can.  They probably want it that way, too.

Well, I have to play devil's advocate for these pricks.  If they truly had any balls, they just wouldn't hire me.  I am at-will, and if they hate me that much, why are they bringing me back on?  I don't know; maybe somebody there does like me.  And even though I may not like them (and vice versa), I do like working these games.

Well, shit.  I guess I should be grateful that I'm working at all.  And maybe this new position, where I'm staying away from them is the best way to work for this crew in order to keep working, period.  Whatever.  I just know that Sunday is going to be very stressful.

I Hate This Game

So the experiment I'm doing now is unlike any I've ever done before.  Many aspects of it are familiar, but they haven't been squished together like this.  Add other new wrinkles on top, and I'm sure I'll never see the likes of this study ever again.

First off, it's long.  It was supposed to be 14 consecutive workdays of dropping by this office.  That would have been fine, even great, had I not realized that there was a vacation right in the middle of this study.  Like I said before, I wish I knew, because then I wouldn't have been out $40.  If I knew, I would have either called and set this all up sooner or pushed it back until after I came back from my vacation.  Either way I would've crammed in all of my visits instead of missing two of them.

Also, this study, which I found on a flier at the University of Minnesota, isn't being done at the U.  It's being done in downtown Minneapolis; while I remember going to a breathing study in Nordeast once, this is the first time I've ever tried to find parking in order to go do an experiment.  That has brought up its own predicaments.  They reimburse you for parking (after the whole experiment's over and not when you could use the money, of course), but finding it has become a huge hassle.  I have had to walk a few blocks over the office because I couldn't find anything closer.  They put down new black tar on Washington Ave. a few days ago, thereby eliminating a bunch of spots I could've used.  And for how long do I reserve my spot for?  Guess it doesn't matter since the study will pay for it, but I still don't want to pay for too short a time or too long a time.  The rules state (and they can be a little fudgy) that they will only pay up to a half-hour before and a half-hour after your appointment.  So far so good, I reckon; now I just need to make sure I have my receipts with me.

From then on the study looks kind of familiar.  It's one of those things where they strap a net of electrodes on your head to record brain activity related to eye movement ... maybe?  That's done while I'm playing a series of games, which is something I've done before.  What is new to me, however, is the absolute difficulty of playing this game.  I swear, this takes me back to the times I was playing on my brother's Nintendo or Super Nintendo and I threw the controller across the room because I got frustrated over losing.

I can't reveal too much, partly because I shouldn't say what it is, partly because I can't explain it myself.  But this is what I can tell you.  All of the games are played by pushing both shift keys.  Each game has its own set of rules.  Some of them are difficult.  Some others are just impossible.  Here is an example of one of those impossible games: You see this part on a ring with a color on it.  If the color is blue, you then look at the shape of the head.  If it matches the one you saw three parts ago, hit left shift; if not, hit right shift.  Now, if the color on this ring is red, you look at the logo on the body.  If the logo on that body is military in nature, hit right shift; if not, hit left.  Oh, and if you see an additional yellow ring while looking at this part, you don't hit either shift key.  And by the way, you're timed at this, so not only do you not get any points if you hit the wrong button, you may not get any points if you don't hit a button in time.  Unless you see a yellow ring, in which case you do wait so you do get the points, otherwise that part gets zapped.

See what I mean?  Not all of them are that complex, but some of them are, and when I see those very hard ones (especially the ones that ask me to remember what I saw two or three parts ago), honestly, I kind of check out and go, "OK, I'm gonna shit the bed on this one."  And when the two minutes are up and see that I missed more than half of the parts (and by the way, I'm not completely convinced that is true; I think this game is trying to fuck with me), I flash both middle fingers at the laptop screen and hope that I'll be done with it soon.

I get so demoralized after I'm done that, on Thursday, I forgot to take my hat and watch from the station I was at before leaving.  It was a very busy day, what with trying to get to a stripper party immediately after that and then the Saints game in St. Paul that evening.  But after that net of electrodes was peeled off of my scalp I couldn't wait to get the fuck out of Dodge, so much so that I left some things behind.

Honestly, I am working way too hard to continually fail at these games.  I hope that's part of the overall design.  But with this experiments, there is always some ulterior motive lying underneath.  I don't know what that is, and frankly, it's not important.  I just want to be done with it and collect my money ASAP.

Being A Dick, Then Being A Pussy

So my co-worker vented to me about work yesterday.  I feel bad; I think she may have bit off a little more than she could chew.  Still, she soldiers on, just not without the stress that I did not sense until she told me.

I feel bad because there is a lot of things on her plate that I can't help her with.  Also, being that I am kind of senior person here, I should be doing more, but I'm not.  As I've said before, I couldn't deal with the distractions I felt would annoy me to no end.  Apparently they were getting to her, too.

So, even though I can't take care of all the responsibilities she had, I thought I could do one thing, namely get the other co-workers to come to me instead of her so she can concentrate on her stuff.  Therefore, when I came in this morning, I thought of this: I'm going to act like I got an e-mail from my supervisor (who was not in today) instructing her to concentrate on catching up, and I'll tell the guys not to bother her and to come with me with questions instead.  And so I did, with the subsequent intention of having them go through their problems in such a way where I expect them to do that on their own from then on.  If they don't like it, well, I gotta do me, namsain?

It worked, sort of.  They split their questions between the two of us 50/50.  That may just be force of habit, but I did keep my headphones on a lot of the time, so I didn't project an inviting social attitude, like I usually don't.  Moreover, I didn't hear too many questions, period.  It's possible that they thought that instead of asking me, they won't ask.  The place was a lot quieter today, which is great, but if that means they continue to make mistakes, we're going to see that in the back end, and that just means we're going to get pissed then instead of annoyed now, and we're just trading problems at that point.

What I did not think of, however, was that I could get in trouble from my boss.  I lied, plain and simple, in order to help my co-worker relax and just do what she needs to do.  It's going to come back to me.  He's coming back tomorrow, and one of them is going to say, "Oh, Unforgivable Wetness said in an e-mail not to bother her.  I know that's a lie, but we get the message!"  And my supervisor's going to go, "What the fuck?"  And then he'll call me out ... or just plain fire me.

So now I have to prepare for the possibility that I might get a dressing-down or an outright dismissal.  I think he'll be cool with it, but I don't really know him, so maybe I shouldn't have lied like that.  I hope he understands.

---

So the job where I think I got ridiculed?  I got a paycheck this week, and OMG, it's huge.  Well, not like I hit the lottery or anything, but it's, I believe, twice as much as I usually get for a job like this.  Shit, it's almost as much as I get for the temp job for the week.  Gotta love TV.

But I needed to make absolutely sure that wasn't a mistake.  But there is an ulterior motive: To take his temperature on where I stood with him.  Look, there's no doubt I fucked up that Sunday, and I think that one guy might still have something against me.  But I've worked with this production for a long time, and I think I've built up enough credibility that one moment (or two) of frustration won't mean I'll never be hired by them ever again.  That's what the call's for; if he's still not OK with my attitude or performance, or if he isn't as cool as I thought he was, I would then believe the exorbitant check was a way of saying thanks for my years of meritorious service and the extra money should cover the times I thought I would be working for them but won't.

I rehearse what I'm going to say.  I decide to be mousy, and cautious, almost apologetic.  After a couple deep and anxious breaths, I call.  He answers.  I explain to him the check ... and he said that is right.  And then, unbelievably, he hired me on for their next game.

Oh, so I guess I was just paranoid after all.

Or, maybe not.  Maybe that guy does like to play mind games.  Seriously, I'd like to be as resourceful for them as possible.  Shit, I know sports.  But hey, as long as I continue to get hired, I guess I won't complain too badly.  If this guy doesn't like me, too fucking bad, I'm still working for them.

Yeah, And One More Thing ...

(And I'm back to saying this in the second person.)  I know what you meant when you said that in front of me.  You do know that I've worked with you more times than any of the other guys, right?  So he's now your go-to guy instead of me?  Man, I can take guesses, but I really, really don't know what I said or did to piss you off, I really don't.  Looks like I did, however, because that is some petty, passive-aggressive bullshit you pulled on me.  Whatever.

The more think about it, the more I think this working relationship is irreparable.  No one, even the angriest ones, even the ones with violent outbursts, have gone out of their way to marginalize me at this job the way you did.  It was so covert that I didn't even fucking realize it till now.  Good one!  Shoot, if you do bring me back -- and don't get me wrong, I still love this job and I'd be very goddamned heartbroken if I don't get called back to every single game I can work -- how can I face you?  And how in the hell can you face me?

You've made your decision, and you've sealed my fate.  Why?  One look?  My tone?  What the fuck ever, man. ...

My Fucking Father's Mindgames Begin Again

Although I have been busy for the past two weekends, My Fucking Father chided me for not cleaning the bathroom.  He did, and he had no problem telling me tonight: "You need to learn, every week, to clean the bathroom.  It took me an hour!"  Yeah, the bathtub was getting a little grody, but I didn't think it was that bad, and besides, I was so tired I didn't give a shit.  Whatevs, pops.

Then I opened the bathroom closet door.  The towels, as of right now, are on the bottom.  They didn't used to be, but they were cleaned out while the contractors were remodeling the bathroom (half-assedly) and that bottom component got very dusty.  So My Fucking Father decided to lay down papers so the towels don't get dirty.  And he decided to use the City Pages and ESPN The Magazine, two papers of mine.

I immediately put them back where they were: In the next compartment in the closet up from the bottom.  I'll have to move the towels somewhere else, but no doubt that this was My Fucking Father's shot across the bow.  It's on, motherfucker.  You have no idea how passive-aggressive I'm about to get.

Hunting For Pussy Via Text

Folks didn't talk to me again tonight -- are they mad at me?  Until then, a story about something not terrible. ...

So my ATF, the one I get most of my handjobs from for money, lost her cellphone for, like, the third time since I met her.  This time was different, and a little more harrowing: She got jumped near her trailer by a chick who was jealous of her because she believed ***e* was hitting on her man.  I saw the black eye she tried to conceal with makeup the last time I flashed her.  I trust her.

Before she could get a new phone and number, she borrowed one from her friend, who I think was a host of a house party I once went to and whom I also showed my weiner.  (It was close and I'm glad I got away with it; she opened the bathroom while I was in it, asked jokingly if she could see my penis, and without any other guys passing by the open door, I got her attention and took it out.  If she is the girl I'm thinking about, she reacted by saying, "Woo-hoo!"  Let's just pretend she really was excited.)  ***e* said that this was going to be her phone until she got a new one.

Well, up to last weekend I didn't hear otherwise, so I texted her out of the blue.  Nothing dirty, I just wanted to say hi.  I got a text back: "Who is this?"  Whoops, I may have texted one of her older numbers from one of the other times she lost her phone, and I didn't update my cell's phonebook.  Well, I tried again yesterday, sending it to what I thought was this latest number, the one that actually was her friend's.  But I got the same message, except that she outed herself as "****i**."  Funny, I don't remember a ****i** hosting a party.  There is another girl named ****i** that used to strip at My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Division) and whom I have talked extensively here about her tits so big that she lets me chew down on them like I'm teething.  But her texting language didn't make me think it was her.

Nonetheless, I'm intrigued.  I told this ****i** who I was and said that I texted her because I had no other contact information for ****i**.  Recognizing who she was and I think who I was, she texted back, "Us 3 need 2 get together sometime."  And even though I was in my car after work, my dick got sprung!!!

I could barely contain my brain from thinking about the three of us, ***e*, ****i** and I sitting around a dining table getting shit-faced, then me whipping out my dick and leaning back, pointing to it.  And then they both take turns slobbering on me cock.  I tried to both confirm and extend this dream by texting back, "I hope we can do that, for drinks and for something more."  See what I did there?  I was inviting them to sex.

So I thought she was on my wavelength.  But you know what she texted back?  "Sounds good"  There isn't even a period at the end.  I can't think of a worse way for your dick to shrink than thwarted pervertedness.  Two words without a period shows a rushed mind, action without thought.  This is her saying, "Oh, you're hunting for sex?  Well, good luck with that."

I will tell ***e* about this and ask her both about ****i** and the possibility to go for drinks, just the three of us, and something more.  I've got little else to cling to, guys.

I Just Signed A Contract To Stay Living At Home

I thought things were going good until Mother told me we needed to talk out in the dining room.  Although she wasn't as mad as she was when she told me to leave the house, she finally did something I was afraid she would do: She made out a contract of things I need to do in order to stay in the house.

Here are things I need to do, which I signed because I frankly have no other choice:

1. When I wake up, I have to brush my teeth, wash my face and make my bed.
2. Clean my room weekly.
3. Don't say "What?  What?" when my folks yell for me.
4. Be nice to my parents and don't talk back to them.
5. Change bedsheet and pillows bi-weekly.
6. When they want me to throw something away, throw it away.
7. Don't throw my clothes on the floor.
8. Keep room junk-free.
9. If I don't have a job, get up at 9:30 and find something to do.
10. Shower every day.

This is going to fucking kill me.  Some of you may look at these rules and think, "Fuck, big deal."  Well, they are a big deal to me:

1. Never do this.  It's gotten me this far.  Why start?  Well actually this is something I sort of do now.  But I just go through the motions in the morning: I turn the faucet on and act like I'm brushing my teeth.  Heh-heh, that'll show him.
2. Fuck.
3. Double fuck.  This one pisses me off.  They yell at me all the time but they can and I can't???
4. I'll do this as soon as they stop yelling at me.  Goddamn, these fucking people have no fucking self-awareness at all.
5. Oh, fine.  But that means I need to buy new sheets.  They were nice enough to give me a new queen-sized bed when they forced me into Grandmother's old bedroom, but they neglected to give me sheets that fit except for flat ones.  I hate those because they always untuck and get loose.  I need to buy fitted ones.
6. Fuck that shit.  But that's what storage is for!
7. Well then, goddamn, where should I put it?  I know where my clothes are when they're on the floor.  I can accede to this, but can I put the tub where I put my dirty clothes be on the floor?
8. Goddamn.
9. Double goddamn.  Now I have to either get a job full-time or go to school full-time?  Have these fuckers seen the economy?  And do these assholes know about the oncoming student debt bubble?  They just think it's so easy to find a job or go back to school, but Life is not as easy as it was for them.  They don't realize that.
10. You know, I know I should do this, but what would it fucking hurt if I just skipped a day?

I am being treated like such a fucking child that I need to move.  I just have to!  But how?  Where do I go?  What do I do?  How do you, like, pay money to rent?  I am now absolutely certain they want to push me out (at least My Fucking Father is) and they're just trying to piss me off so I would leave.  But I know I can't go anywhere; I don't know how to fend for myself out in The Real World.

I'll be honest with you: I am staying for two reasons: 1) I need their approval while at the same time 2) I am punishing them for their neglect and abusive mistreatment of me while I was young.  I want to show them how bad a set of parents they are by staying ... and yet I constantly want their love and will withstand almost anything to get it.  It's fucked up.  But shit, this family is fucked up.

Man, we're Chinese.  Why can't we just live together and just accept and love each other?

Another Goddamn Motherfucking Snowstorm, Bringing Forth Another Obligation

We just got hit with another foot of snow today.  I had to cancel "work" so I can shovel tomorrow.

I always thought that living in Minnesota in wintertime is saintly because, as my high school counselor always liked to say, "it builds character."  I think the state is great to live in -- a political swerve to the right aside -- because it keeps the cowardly out.  But after this record-setting winter, even I feel like a pussy who pines for the days he lived in Los Angeles.  Seriously, fuck this winter.

Plus, I now have a dilemma, sort of.  I plan on getting up real early in the morning -- like, in a few hours -- to help shovel out my parents' minivan.  I really do want to help, and yet I question my motives.  Does this have anything to do with the lecture My Father gave me last (Saturday) night?  Am I doing this only because I think that if I don't wake up tomorrow morning and help, he'll be mad at me?

Complicating all of this is my enmity towards our snowblower.  I can't get the goddamn thing to work, and I would rather just shovel.  And yet it is times like a blizzard dropping a foot of snow that is geared towards using a snowblower.  But I hate relying on that goddamn infernal contraption.  If I try it and it doesn't work, I'll be frustrated that I would just go back inside.  I mean it.

Father And His Goddamn Mindgames Again

So I tried to do some housework, specfically wiping down the plant leaves.  But it was really warm in my bed and there was hockey on, so I rolled out of bed just in time to be up and at 'em at around the time I thought my parents would be home so they would see that I was working.

Then my Grandmother wakes up and sees the pail I'm toting around.  So she panicks and decides to give the floor a quick mopping, which is where I'm at, so I just quit.  When she's done, I'm still up, so I decide to break out the pail again, but before I do that I need to piss, and when I was on the toilet I hear the front door open.

Mother came through the front with jugs of water I took downstairs.  But Father?  My Father didn't come in yet.  He was outside; I saw him with a shovel.  Oh shit.  You see, with all the snow we've been having, somehow the tallest parts of the snowbank on both sides of our driveway is at the very end, so that if you're backing down to leave, you won't be able to see either side of the street.  You would have to reverse very, very slowly to make sure someone sees you in order not to get hit.  I've meant to clear that part of the snowbank for a long time because whenever I back out of the driveway I'm blind to the street when I should be able to see, and I think, "Goddamn."  But I never did.  Apparently it was enough to bother My Fucking Father.

So that meant that he's got it in for me, which means I needed to keep it quiet, even defensive, when he wants to talk to me.  And it looked like my fears were well-founded when he banged on the door to give me the phone without speaking to me (sister called; more on that later).  So I start setting the table for Sunday dinner and I turn the TV on; the NFC Championship Game, the one between Green Bay and Chicago, is on.  "Is it on now?" Father said, and from his tone of voice I'm pretty sure he's sincere and isn't softening me up so that he could verbally lower the boom on me for not clearing the snowbank that he busted his ass doing just now.  I give it about ten seconds before replying, "It's in the third quarter now, Father."  And he didn't snap at me then.  Whew.

Spoke too soon.  For some fucking reason, as I was about to pass out in my bedroom, he whispers, quietly, something at me.  I am conditioned to go back and lean in to hear what he's repeating: "I've got a new bottle of dressing,  Is there enough in the old one?"  And before I could say, "I don't know," he blurts out, "Go check."  And when I reach into the fridge (which he was closer to than I, so why couldn't he fucking check it?) to show him, he waves he hands at me, saying in that condescending tone of voice, "Put it on the table, don't show it to me."  You wanted me to check so I showed it to you.  Asshole.  Now I don't feel guilty for retreating back into my room without doing any chores.  And I snapped at him after he snapped at me for giving Grandmother her insulin shots right after he knocks outside my room for dinner and right before we begin eating.  It's insulin -- it has to be taken just before, not an hour before.  Psssh.

But then, for dinner, he gets all nicey-nice on me, talking about football and shit.  He even makes me stand up and put my hand over my heart because we were watching the National Anthem for the AFC Championship Game between Pittsburgh and the Jets.  And then, after dinner, he seemed a bit upset that I was watching the game on TV and I made him replace the bag in the trash can.

I don't know.  His threats again over going back to school is really weighing on me.

Or, I could be paranoid.

Father Ruined The Détente

Again, he does this every time. Just when I was feeling good about my relationship with My Father, he ruins it, he fucking ruins it.

How does he do it? By storming into my sister's room and yelling at me to "clean it up." He actually said, "It's been a year, two years now!" No, you motherfucker, it hasn't been a year or two years -- it's been seven months. And by the way, seven months ago, you were the son-of-a-bitch who made my sister's room dirty by going into my room and taking out all my things and putting it into her room. I should've told you to do it your goddamn self, but then you'd throw all my stuff out. So I didn't.

It was a frustrating day of reading moods.

• He offered to buy tacos ... then was shocked when I told him I ate the two hardshell and the two softshell tacos before "dinner," even though I only asked for the hardshell.
• I was painting the backyard and when I wanted to pop inside to see a little bit of the Notre Dame-Michigan game, I couldn't open the side door I left open to get to the front yard and thus the front door.  It was locked from the other side.  Now did My Fucking Father forget that I had to work outside, did he assume that I could enter the front from the other side door, was he telling me to use the other side door, or did he all of this on purpose to piss me off?  I don't think I'm paranoid when I say that I honestly do not know.
• I volunteer to take the trash out to the car.  He waves me off.  "But I'm leaving tonight," I say, with my paint clothes still on.  But he, already dressed in pajamas, walks past me.  Asshole.

I really do think this is because I asked him to drive all the way home from the casino last night.  I was tired, and I think after driving him, my mom and I 70 minutes up there, he could do the same going home.  If he didn't like it, he could've just said so.  But he sucked it up, and took it out on me today.

I was going to do some chores tomorrow during the NFL games -- maybe paint, maybe stay inside and wash the floors so I don't miss a minute of football.  Now ... now I either pack my Entertainment Weeklys, make sure you don't take my shit away, and/or just sit in my bed and relax.  Because after the emotional about-face he pulled on me, I think I deserve to not work.  If he doesn't like it, let the fireworks begin.

I Vacillate Between Vindictiveness And Guilt

Have I said that before?  Have I used that as a subject blog post before?  Sorry, I may be repeated myself just 1 1/2 years after I started this.

Anyway, feeling defensive and sad most of the time takes a toll on your mind.  Every day, especially as soon as my parents come home, is a mind game that I may be playing only with myself.  But I just can't help the fact that I have to gird myself in case anything bad happens, because oftentimes it does.  As I've said before, the anticipation about how my parents feel, in particular My Fucking Father, takes up a lot of my mental attention.

Take yesterday, for example.  I wanted to grease any wheels that needed greasing by calling Mother and asking her is she needed anything from the grocer's (she wanted kiwis, which I got).  I got home just after they did; in fact, they were getting out of their car when I drove up the driveway.  As I was, and Mother was lifting a branch off one of the dead-looking flowers on the walkway, My Fucking Father looks at me.  And I swear he gave me The Eye.  That look, you know?  That look that says, "Why do you haunt me?  Why do you torment me by your presence?  I have plans on turning your room into my gameroom -- why won't you move out?"

Why haven't I?  Anyway, I'm in defensive mode.  I assume, and I think correctly, that Father is in Vindictive Mode, so I have to keep my guard up.  And such an approach was employed at the dinner table later that evening, when I told them that I won't be eating dinner Wednesday because I'm attending a Happy Hour.  Mother asked, "Do you have to pay?" to which I say no, I don't think so.  Then Father chimes in with a typically juvenile question: "Do they pay you?"

Now I know what he's thinking: Why don't you get a job?  Actually, I do have a job, and to get My Fucking Father off my back I've told him I've got one.  It is just two hours a day, three days a week, for ten bucks an hour, but it's still a job.  I think I told him this, therefore his bitchy question wasn't warranted.  Told him so with my tone, too; I said, "No.  Why do you ask?" as I tilted my head to one side, the unspoken statement coming from which being, "Well that's a stupid thing to say."  He didn't say anything afterward.

But then, to smooth things over, I drift downstairs to their computer, in case they need me to do anything.  And sure enough, Father wanted me to do something, and without acting like an asshole while requesting it.  He was confused about some form he needed yesterday, and I helped him open up the attachment and print it out.  He's buying some property or something.

OK, so maybe the look and the question weren't intended to be as mean as I thought they were.  But later, as I made them sign and initial the forms they needed to send back, Mother (who is a co-owner of this place) balked.  I wanted to exercise, so I just left them alone to talk things out.  I went to the bathroom and gathered my things, and as I get ready leave the house, I hear them arguing downstairs, then hear a door slam a couple times.  OK, so maybe Father and Mother were being mean today.  (Maybe not Mom, though; she didn't like that I wiped a rice bowl I got for her with the wrong towel.  Instead of yelling at me, she just took the bowl and rinsed it herself.  It'd be moments like that where I would be the one that would flip out, but this time, I just let it slide.)

Whatever, I get a good workout in and come back.  I was in the mood for the apple juice that is just sitting in the downstairs refrigerator.  All I wanted was some juice.  I go downstairs, in the dark so as not to wake up the 'Rents past midnight, and get the juice.  Again, I don't turn on the lights because they're sleeping and I've done this many times and I haven't run into anything in at least five years.

What I usually do to protect myself is to put my hand out in case I'm walking into a wall.  I do that, hoping nothing will go wrong ... but then I push something over.  And it shatters into what sounds like a million pieces.  The measuring cup Mother drinks out of, goddammit!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So now I have to turn on the lights and cause a commotion because of the mess I made.  And I have to stay there until I clean it all up because my parents wake up frequently to piss and they're going to be walking on those bits of Pyrex.

I'm anticipating their rage when they open the door.  It took them a couple minutes.  Did they actually sleep through it?  No, I figure, they're in a deep sleep and that crash was so loud it's taken them a couple minutes to figure out what the hell's going on, and once they realized it, and that I did it, I'm going to get it.

As I'm sweeping up the bits of fake glass, I finally hear the stirrings from their bedroom.  Like I thought, My Father came out first.  But instead of yelling at me for waking him up, he said, "Broke a glass, huh?"

Didn't say anything.  For all shit I thought he was giving me tonight, I feel really awful about this.  I'm such a klutz, and I just didn't want to bother anybody by what I did, and I ended up doing that and more.  And all I wanted was some apple juice.

Well, either because he didn't think I did a good job or he actually wanted to help, he took the broom and started sweeping himself.  Then Mother got up and pointed out that some of the glass got under their door and the door of the closet right next to it.  Shit, man, this was everywhere.  It took 10 minutes out of our lives, but I think everything's swept up.  And thank God, they didn't give me any shit for breaking the glass measuring cup in the middle of the night and waking them up.

I will say this, only because I'm an asshole: In his insane mission to move everything out of the house, he moved the pool table to one corner of the current game room and the wicker chair to under the altar.  Before, that wicker chair was in front of the ledge that I ran into; if I ran into the chair, I knew (in the dark) that I was too far to the right of the stairs.  Now, not only do I not have that, the chair is to my left, so I had to veer right.  I now have to zig-zag to make sure I get to the stairs, and I just didn't move to the left fast enough, and I met the ledge instead.

Of course, I also didn't have to stick my hand out right in front of me.  If I put my hand out at, say, hip level, I wouldn't have knocked anything over.  So ... yeah, it's my fault.  Goddamn I hope they don't use this against me later.  And I hope the measuring cup I bought this morning makes up for it.

My Father's Sick Leave Is Driving Me Crazy

Father had a stent put in his artery last week.  Everything's fine.  I can barely stand living with him, but that was a day where I was reminded how much I would miss him if he were gone.

Ever since, even though I would miss him if he were gone, I have been reminded how I can barely stand living with him.  He was told to take it easy for the next week -- he can drive and walk, but he shouldn't go up or down stairs and he shouldn't lift anything above ten or even five pounds.  I thought he'd just take it easy at work.  But he decided to take it real easy, as in stay home ever since the operation.  Now I get the worst of both worlds: He's here whenever I'm here, and yet he's good enough to walk around, use the computer, even do some chores, so he has the strength to hound me into doing some chores.  I wish he had to recuperate so much he was in his bed the whole week.

The worst of it was Friday, when I decided not to give a shit and wake up when I wanted to wake up.  But, as Grandmother prodded me, I checked downstairs to see how My Father was doing.  Like I thought, he was fine -- he as at the computer checking out stocks.  And after going through some quotes for stocks he wants to pick but didn't buy (like he always does), he lectures me, "Either you trade stocks at 9 o'clock every morning or you can get a doctor's degree for me."  For you??  Oh, you ass.  I still feel burned by that insult.  Hell, I even decided to cancel work so that I could rake the leaves that afternoon, thereby filling the "do some chores" requirement that at least I feel obligated to fulfill because he's around the house.  So I had to look on the bright side: hearing that comment freed me from feeling sorry for him when I left to go to a Gopher women's soccer game later that evening

I don't think he's playing mindgames; his presence is making me play mindgames with myself.  I constantly asking myself, What's he gonna say?  What's he gonna think?  Terrible way to live, of course.  For example, today.  He was fixing the hot water at home, so probably because of that he wasn't totally on my ass today.  Still, I needed to, like, get away from him, so I used the excuse that I needed pick up his medicine (and, uh, go to the library to look at some art pieces he bought) to just fuckin' leave.  I would have no reason to do that if he weren't here, but he is, so I was gone.  Then after I went to the library, I was waffling between going to the mall closest to us, buying a malt at Dairy Queen during their Happy Hour and maybe buying some tea tree oil for the acne on the back of my head, or go home, do some more raking, and, maybe if Father doesn't need anything, walk on down for some coffee.  I did the latter because I wanted to make sure I was home in case My Father needed anything and didn't want him yelling at me for being out doing nothing the whole afternoon.  Of course, he was totally intent on fixing our hot water.  He even told me a little about how difficult it was to fix it.  No bullshit today; I still feel on edge because it could always be worse.

He should be back at work by the end of the week, but maybe, just maybe, he's gone starting tomorrow.  I'm thinking he'll be home one more day.  I'm just afraid he's going to start liking this and just up and retire.