For The Second Wednesday In A Row ...

Saw my schedule yesterday at work and goddammit, for the second Wednesday in a row, I have to cut open packages and get my hands dirty from stranger piss.  I also have to wake up super early in order to do it.  And for the second Wednesday in a row I won't be able to at least enjoy it by going home early because, for the second Wednesday in a row, I have to go to a United FC Match, which means I have to stick around the eastern side of the Twin Cities and find something to do for the 4 1/2 hours between work and the Game.

This time, though, I will not confine myself to the St. Paul side of the Cities.  I want to get a second massage ... yes, for the second Wednesday in a row.  This time, instead of a massage school, I was going to get a proper one.  But this past evening I started to get the heebie-jeebies.  The more I thought about it, the more I kind of get the impression that this salon isn't for men.  So, I have decided to go to the Minneapolis side and get a massage from a place downtown I've been to twice before.  Come to think of it, this place isn't so male-friendly either (although, to be honest, "proper" massage places don't seem to cater to men, do they?), but there have been a couple of Yelp reviews posted by men, plus I didn't feel any bad vibes when I went in the previous two times.

So, I am going to get treat myself for a second long and hellish Wednesday in a row with a massage on the second Wednesday in a row.  I hope not to do this again, however.  It's still a long day.  Also, I can't get massages every week because that will add up.  Finally, I am getting the feeling that going in to cut and touch piss is going to be the thing I am doing on Wednesdays from now on, goddammit.  At some point, I need to cut my Wednesday off early and go home to get some well-earned rest.

Hottest Babe In The Hooters Calendar: June 2025

I'm sorry ... this month is a dud, and I don't think hanging it up on my wall for the whole month would have changed my mind.  No offense to the ten women posing in the month.  But whether it's how they were posed or, um, something else, only three stand out to me.

In third place is Camila, hailing from Jonesboro, Ga.  Wavy, dark blonde hair that falls below her shoulders, she is wearing a blue two-piece bikini.  She does something most of the servers in this month do that is quite off-putting: She has an emotionless expression, in her case a pout, that gives no warmth or arousal.  Still, she is grasping the string in the front of her bikini top as if she is going to pull it down, and that's not nothing.

In second place is Scarlett, of Pearland, Tex.  Strawberry red hair (or maybe she dyed her hair pink), which is a huge plus in my book, that is wavy and cascades to chest height.  She is sporting a brown (taupe?) two-piece that is bordered in white.  That hair makes her look real cute, and it makes up for the strange posing where she is rotated to her side and her left arm is covering up her body.  Also, she's been told to touch something to her right (the left of the photo), but it's out of frame.  I just noticed this, and now it's bothering the hell out of me.

Finally, in first place is Tia, from Raleigh, N. C.  I'm not a fan of laying down because it invariably means the model's hand is in front of her, and this case is no different.  But she is lying in ankle-deep water in a pool, and so her straightened dark hair is wet, which I like.  Also, her dark skin sets off really well against the light blue two-piece bikini strung together with pink-and-blue string.

So, congratulations to Tia and the others I have singled out.  I have already touched myself to you three, but I think I will give it another guy pretty soon.

Yeah, You Told My Ass This The Day Before Too, I'm Sorry

I struck a defiant tone when I apparently screwed up at work on Thursday.  But I did not tell you that I made another mistake around the same time.  That one I definitely did fuck up, and with that I had no issues of being told I've done this four or five times before.  It was my mistake ...

... which I apparently repeated, to my utter disgrace, at work yesterday/Friday.  I did something I should not have done, to be slightly more specific.  And because my supervisor told me not to do this on Thursday and I did it again the very next fucking day, my boss had to step in and ... well, I hope it's not a verbal reprimand that's going on my permanent record, but he had to put in writing via e-mail that I did this mistake again and that this is what I'm supposed to do instead.  I have to admit that getting a warning that way is a good way for me not to make that mistake again.

But there are questions that abound from this.  The defensive side of me wonders how this mistake got back to my boss.  Did someone tell, and is that someone pissed that I did this two days in a row?  If so, who is this person, and does that person not respect me anymore?  I hate that, but I have to admit that if the roles were reversed, I totally would think that person is stupid and untrustworthy.  But the other side of me is wondering (after apologizing, which I did to both my boss and supervisor in replying to that e-mail) after years of doing it correctly (or at least I think), what is going on with me that I would fuck up something this basic on back-to-back days?

And to think I get to do this all again today/Saturday because I get to go back to work!  Yippee!!

Addendum To: I Played Myself

As paying ten more bucks than I needed to wasn't bad enough, I saw something at the X I didn't think I would see.  There was a merchandise stand there, selling several items related to the conference (the NCHC) and the event (the Frozen Faceoff), but not as many items as I would expect for an event of that size.  Two of the items, a shirt and a pint glass, commemorate the fact that this is the last time (or so they say) the conference will have its tournament in St. Paul (and for the first few year of the NCHC, it was at Target Center in Minneapolis)/neutral ice; starting next year and for the foreseeable future, the conference tournament will be played on campus sites.

The tag line for the event was "Last Call In St. Paul," and that slogan was on a shirt and a pint glass.  I saw the shirt (but not the pint glass) while I was walking the concourse inbetween the Semifinals on Friday and thought, "Hey, that's kind of cool."  And then I saw there were a few people at the stand, so I figured that I would continue to get my steps in, buy food (a pizza slice because it was the shortest line) and, once I got done with that, go back to the stand to purchase something.  Swear to God it was maybe 25 minutes at the most.  But once I went back to the merch table, the "Last Call In St. Paul" shirt was gone.  I never thought that, what, 5,000 people would buy enough shirts to sell out, but it sounds from the merch people that they didn't have much to sell.

What did catch my eye was a scarf.  It had the NCHC logo, the year of its birth ("Est. 2014"), and the 2025 Frozen Faceoff logo.  It makes no mention of the fact that this is the last neutral site Frozen Faceoff, but shit, this is as close to marking this "end of an era" as I'll get, especially if they don't make this scarf anymore, which, in hindsight, I doubt.  But I bought it, for $30.

I went back there last/Saturday night for the Frozen Faceoff Final.  (By the way, Western Michigan came back from a 3-0 Second Period deficit to win it in Double Overtime, 4-3.  Some kid from Prior Lake potted the Game-winner, his second of the night.  I didn't see it in person; I left early because I had to catch the last light rail, at a quarter after 11 [which got pushed back to 11:25 or so -- damn, Metro Transit has to be more accurate with that stuff], to get back to where I parked my car at Midway)  No new shirts or pint glasses.  But they still had scarves.  And now they were selling them for $25 apiece.  I looked at the sign with the price; someone printed out "25," cut it into a square, and taped it right in front of the "30."  I have no fucking clue why someone suddenly discounted the scarves by five bucks, but I feel cheated, and I feel so goddamn impotent because I want to complain to someone about it, but I don't want to come off as a whiner.  But why in the hell did they knock off five bucks on the scarf?!

So now, not only did I overpay for the ticket to that Game by $10-3, it looks as though I paid five bucks too much for that goddamn scarf.  So that's $15-8 I feel like I need to make up by not spending on something I would spend money on, like coffee and breakfast before work.  Man, that shit just pisses me off.

Yeah, so many little regrets over yesterday ... first, I got to the party about 45 minutes late because I stayed for the "Race Of The Century," which turned into a coronation for Ariarne Titmus, who beat Summer McIntosh, both of whom left Katie Ledecky in the dust.  And I knew that probably would be the case because that is what many people were predicting would happen, and I should have listened to them, but I didn't, so that was why I was late to the party ... even though I was blog posting and looking up the lowest gas prices in town during the race.

Should've taken more pictures at the party, too, and better ones than the ones I took.  In particular I should've asked that all the new students get their picture taken together.  Then again, I didn't want to kill the vibe of the party and I didn't want to make the new students nervous.  The party is for them, after all.  Did they know I was taking pictures, and that I would be posting them on social media?  Should've asked that beforehand.  Maybe I would have had more authority and more initiative to take pictures if I had shown up earlier.  But since I wasn't the host, maybe it wasn't within my rights to show up first thing.  Also, would I have stepped over my perceived bounds if I just declared, "I am the picture taker!  Stand over there and smile, and I will post these on Instagram!"  And so I didn't.

Overkill?

I'm coordinating a massive ticket buy for a college football Game at the U. this fall for alumni who live here, and it's been a slowly-moving ... thing for the past couple months now.  But we're at the point where we can begin to buy tickets.  Some of the people in my group want to sit together, and now I've been trying to coordinate that, mainly by e-mailing those who want to sit in this area of the stadium, those who want to sit in that area, etc.  All the time I'm wondering, "Is this overkill?  Do I really need to do this?  Do the people I'm sending this to believe this needs to be done?"  And frankly, I don't know if I needed to send those e-mails.  But I did.  I wonder if the perception the people I e-mailed a couple hours ago has gone down because I come off as scatterbrained and needy.

Don't Give A Fuck About The Debate -- I'm Still Ridin' With Biden

So I hear Biden lost the debate last night because he looked old and enfeebled.  DO I HAVE TO FUCKING REMIND YOU THAT TRUMP IS A CONVICTED FELON?!?!?!  It doesn't matter if Biden's eyes rolled up into his head and was just blowing up spit bubbles.  No, I didn't watch the debate because I don't want to blow my head off, at least not yet.  But Trump was just spewing bullshit for 90 minutes.  And he "won" because he looked confident while Biden looked weak?  There are times when spinning chicken shit into chicken salad is a good thing.  Trying to become President isn't one of them.

This is a crisis point for Biden, unfortunately.  Apparently there is a lot of pressure on him right now to step down.  That ain't gonna happen because who's going to replace him at this point?  Anyway, however he is now reflecting on what I guess is a consensus ass performance, he shouldn't step down.  Let cooler heads prevail.  Think.  Understand that Biden has a positive record.  Also understand that Biden isn't an asshole ... AND THE NOMINEE FOR THE REPUBLICAN PARTY IS A CONVICTED FELON, AND AN ASSHOLE.

Don't make any rash decisions.  I remember when that stripper lied to me, and as I approached the house she was who I didn't think she was, and I drove away, but not before she threatened me through text.  I had a thought that she was going to "get" me, and so I thought about just wandering into oncoming traffic to end it all.  But I didn't, because I didn't want her to "win."  So I didn't do anything rash.  I breathed.  I slept on it.  And I survived, both the incident and, myself.  (Have I blog posted about this?)

I suggest we all do the same.  Republicans are still fascists, and I'm not going to agree to give up my country because Biden sucked one night.  He can suck in the next debate and I'll still vote for Biden because I won't vote for Republican cocksuckers like Trump.  People who give a fuck about this country had better think the same way.

To Hell With The Quiet Ones

First of all, a side note: I fell asleep because I felt my body get tired a bit past 6 in the evening, and I woke up totally refreshed around 2:30.  Wow.  I can't get my head around being able to get in a full night's sleep between dinner and the middle of the night.  But I just did that.  First full sleep I've had in weeks, too.

---

Yeah, yesterday was shit.  I think I would've been faster if I hadn't had to remember all the stuff I learned when I started.  By the time I finished up with everything, I accrued an extra 15-20 minutes in overtime, and I want to see if my boss is gonna be pissed about it.

I was wrong in something I said in my last blog post.  This person who bugs me in The Main Department didn't say anything when I screwed up.  Now, come to think about it, she is not one who pipes up when she sees something wrong.  She never has, so I don't know why I ever thought she would.

What she did instead, and what she usually does, is nothing.  My work procedure, at least as I knew it, was to go through my work and then pass it off to her, which is what I needed to do on this day because I was filling in for someone and she happened to be sitting adjacent to me.  For a good 15-20 minutes she didn't pick up this folder I passed along to her at all.  I didn't get it.  When this person was out of earshot, I spoke with another co-worker, one who is a bit more friendly.  She told me that we don't do this procedure anymore; instead of passing it down, we just do everything.  That would've been something I would've liked to have known.

That girl is weird, though.  If she is not finishing up these folders, she does not need to write anything down on this log that tells everyone we finished that folder.  And yet, after lunch, I look on the log and she put her initials on a folder I learned not to give to her.  Moreover, in this department we have a dedicated lunch time, and as everybody left, she kept typing away.  I get to freelance at my other positions, but not this one.  And I will venture to guess that she doesn't get to do what I think she did.  Also, near the end of our day, when it was obvious we were late, she just swooped in and did everything that still needed to be done.  That is something she's supposed to do because it was getting late.  Still, it bugs.  My excuse is that I got bogged down with a bunch of really, really bad folders.  I still was getting acclimated to the work she does every day, certainly.  But I can't help but think that she is cutting corners, and I have to think that she is annoyed with how slow I was.

OK, I am really going out on a limb here accusing her of things just based on my perception of her, but I don't care.  She's a blank space.  She rarely talks to anyone, she doesn't engage in chit-chat, and we know very, very little about her.  (Well, one story.  We had a team-building exercise last week, so to speak, where our boss was giving out candy for our work.  Most of the candy this year, compared to past years, were not of the chocolate kind.  I saw it, was disappointed, but grabbed the Starbursts and Skittles and all the non-chocolate candy that was available.  [I still have them if anybody wants them.]  Apparently, upon seeing the dearth of chocolate candy, this person shouts to the team that she doesn't want the candy, and then after being told by my boss she has to choose, complains while grabbing a bag.  If what I imagine that scene is what actually happened, what in the actual fuck?)

But that's the problem I have with her.  She is too quiet.  Normally, that's fine.  Hell, I'm usually quiet at work.  But when the only time you show any personality is when you petulantly let everyone know you don't like the free candy you're given, and you spend the rest of your time ignoring work I give you and staying after to do the work you want to do your way ... I don't care if I come off as a hypocrite, you're fucking weird.  There's nothing to you because you don't let anyone know what else is there to you.  Someone being this quite and all to yourself is a detriment to the work environment, almost as much as being too loud and too invasive.  And since I am getting shifted back to The Main Department more and more, I don't know if I can work like this, and with her.

Well, Guess That Explains It

So the plan was to call the mechanic where I had my parents' minivan towed very early yesterday/Monday morning to reaffirm what I wrote on the envelope in which I put my key: I was driving Saturday when all of a sudden the battery light on my dashboard came on; I got to a safe space to park and turn off the car; I tried turning it on again but it wouldn't start; the tow truck driver gave me a jump-start and everything looked good.  I was going to strongly intimate that I think the only problem is that the cables aren't tight enough around the battery posts (and by the way, the battery is only a month old), and I shouldn't be charged for more than the winterizing the cables and battery ... although if they find something else with the van, let me know and I might approve that repair too.

These guys open at 7:30.  I actually woke up before then, even though I had set my alarm for 8.  (It's good to be able to wake up before you are woken up because that way you know your body is ready to be awake.)  I called at 7:45, but I didn't get an answer.  OK, they probably are running a little late.  I go get coffee on my way to work and I call again.  I get voicemail again, and this time I leave a message.  I then wait until around 12:30 to call, and no one is picking up.  I leave another VM, but this time I speak in a passive-aggressive tone because, at this point, I'm freaking the fuck out.

You must have the perception of car repairmen as greasy, skeevy, creepy losers who are always out to rip you off by bullying you into paying for repairs you don't need.  I never got the idea that these guys are that type of people, but why in the hell aren't they picking up their phone on a Monday when they say that they are open on Mondays?  Could there have been an emergency of some sort?  Had the phone system they have somehow broken down?  Did they lock themselves out of the shop?

If, in the worst-case scenario, they suddenly closed permanently, I would be so fucked.  The key I use I slipped into the building.  I can't find the spare key, and I sure as fuck don't want to ask my parents where it is because I don't want them knowing I am paying for repairs to their van.  If I somehow need to pay for a second tow, I would need a key to get into the van so I can help steer the van onto the tow bed.  And, oh yeah, I need a key to drive it, assuming it ever gets fixed.

With my day ruined because my mind was filled only with anxiety over this silent treatment, I had to drop by the shop (for the third day in a row) to see just what the hell is going on.  The van was still there, exactly right where the tow truck driver and I placed it.  I wanted to peer through the windows to make sure all the equipment was still there.  But then I saw a sign on the front door.  They were closed yesterday/Monday as well as Friday because they were on a family vacation.  They return to work today/Tuesday.

Well -- yeah, that makes total sense.  Of course no one would return my calls.  And why's a little family time the matter?  I was in such an angry and yet strung out state when the van got towed on Saturday (I had my alma mater's football Game to watch in the evening) that I completely missed the sign that said the mechanics are taking Friday and Monday off.  Whoops!  Well, at least there's an explanation.

Masking Nowadays

Went to the Queens Of The Stone Age concert last/Sunday night.  Quick review: Josh Homme (still don't know how to pronounce his last name) I think missed a couple notes and a couple lines (QOTSA did a gig in Chicago as part of Riot Fest down there the day or night before), but he was still his brusque, inscrutable self.  The important thing is he played all the songs I like of them the most, including one they don't play all that often, the one that got me hooked on QOTSA in the first place: "The Lost Art Of Keeping A Secret."  (I think Homme missed a couplet in that one.)  The show ended with the triangular light set-up on-stage shining so bright I had to shield my eyes.  The band left the stage at that point, presumably without saying goodbye.  Well, that's them, I guess.

Since Saturday, I thought about whether to attend the concert in a mask.  Since the pandemic is ... waning, I guess (and I will get the shot ... soon ... as soon as I have time), I have largely gone back to normal -- with one exception: I mask up.  Not as much as the thick of the pandemic, though.  And my mask-wearing has ebbed in many ways.  If I go indoors to eat, for example, it's about 50/50 that I even bring a mask, let alone wear one.  I am eating, and if a mask is there to protect you from the coronavirus but only if you put it over your nose and mouth, it won't help a lick if you're eating, so why bring it?  I have to admit, though, that peer pressure goes into my thinking a lot more than, uh, common sense.  I wouldn't care about wearing a mask to, say, Hooters if I didn't think I would get shit over it.  (And that's why I hope that the motherfucker who shouted at me "COVID's over!" at the State Fair, well, dies of COVID.  Fucking bully can go fuck himself.)

There are a couple of calculi I thought about for the concert.  It is a concert, and even though I got a cider to drink, you're there to watch music being played, not to eat.  It would make a lot more sense, then, to wear a mask that'll be in your face a lot more than it wouldn't be.  And if there was a, uh, gentler band I was going to see, I would have gone all out, N95 and everything.  But while I like Queens Of The Stone Age, and I think they have some, uh, progressive stylings to them, they're still a rock band, and I felt as though I would get shit for wearing an all-out mask to the concert.

I was going to wear my KN95, which appears to be the mask du jour for the (few) people who do wear masks while going out, but I don't know where it is.  I'm afraid I lost it, or threw it away.  I've had it for a while, so maybe I needed to get rid of it.  Anyway, without that in my car, I thought about double-masking -- a surgical mask underneath those cloth ones that have a pocket for a filter inside it.  (Remember those?  No one talks about them now.  I wonder if scientists have come to unanimous agreement that they don't work.)  But I have one cloth mask that is dotted with the logo of my alma mater, and I was afraid I was going to get ridiculed.  And then the other cloth mask I have in my glove compartment has a tear of blood.  I wanted to look bad-ass when I ordered it way back in the teeth of the pandemic, but 1) that blood tear isn't lined up right, and 2) I was really scared that someone would look at me and think I was trying to be bad-ass when, if you look at me, I'm not, and that guy was going to come up on me and challenge me.  Didn't want that if the crowd at the QOTSA was full of Republican tough guys.

So I wore just a surgical mask.  I'm not ready to declare them useless, but I think there is a long-standing consensus that they don't work all that well compared to N95s and even KN95s when it comes to preventing contraction of the virus.  And I was not razzed at all at The Armory.  But the few people I saw there were wearing the better KN95 masks, and seeing so many people breathing out in the enclosed rock hall, I conjured up paranoid visions of breathing in the virus.  So why in the hell didn't I just go all out and wear my N95?  I have many of them at home, and I haven't used any of them in weeks.  A concert would have been the perfect occasion to use them.  And so what if I get beat up for wearing one?  At least I wouldn't get COVID-19 too, right?

I am so disappointed in myself for caving into public perception at the cost of my health.  My main concern when thinking about wearing a mask is, "How would other people think about me wearing one of these things?" and not, "Would I be safer wearing a mask?"  And I've thought that way for too, too long.  I need to have the balls to wear a proper mask out in public, and fuck what strangers think.

I Think My Fellow Alums Don't Like Me Much Right Now

So I run this e-mail list where I promote our game-watching events for football season.  Well, one of them, who I have met in person but haven't seen in years, complained to me that one of my e-mails led to a phishing e-mail from one of the people I e-mailed.  She wanted me, rightly, to look into it and make sure I delete that e-mail address.  One problem: I don't see that e-mail address on my list.  I don't know where that came from.

What do I do now?  I want to help, but I don't know how, especially since this didn't look like I had anything to do with it.  I thought about asking her to forward this phish to me, but that would mean I would get phished, wouldn't I?  What concerns me is whether she continues to believe I bear some responsibility.  Again, I want to be a man about this, but I don't want to take blame if it's not my fault -- and I don't think it is.  To be continued, I guess.

---

Meanwhile, I ran into another fellow alum at last/Wednesday night's United FC Match.  I actually saw him first in passing on the concourse, but I don't think he recognized me, and I couldn't remember his name until he passed me by.

But then, as I was sitting in my seat, I saw him again.  He was going to his seat which was just a couple rows ahead of me.  I shouted his name at him and we chatted very briefly, about a minute.  I stammered through what I said, which consisted of "Hi" and "How ya doin'?"  I said I'd let him go to watch the rest of the Match (which was about go to Halftime, great timing there) and that I'd catch up with him to say goodbye, presumably, after the Match was over.  But when the Match was over, he and his son bolted up and went down the stairs.  I screamed at him goodbye, but even with the loudness of the place as the fans were about to sing "Wonderwall," I don't know how he didn't hear me.  Maybe he didn't.  Or maybe he heard something about me he didn't like, and that's why he hasn't said anything to me for the past several years.

Maybe I'll try and reach out to him and say it was nice running into him.  Or, maybe that's not the smart thing to do 'cause he doesn't want me to reach out to him.

I Am Afraid I Am Getting Mask Fatigue

I continue to wear surgical masks at work.  You never know, and besides, if there is ever a place to keep wearing a mask, it's in an indoor setting where you're relatively close to people for 8 1/2 hours a day, right?

Well, sometimes the masks I get are bad.  I've come to the conclusion that the boxes the masks come in have varying degrees of quality.  Sometimes the masks are relatively small for my face, so when I stretch the loops to take it off (to drink, to blow my nose, etc.), they snap loose.  If one does, it's almost certain that the next mask I get, which likely will come from the same box as the first one, will also be too small and also will snap.  And they do.  I have gone through half a dozen one morning.

And I am going through a similarly bad run as of late.  I believe I had to get a new mask twice on Monday and twice one day last week.  Yesterday/Wednesday was going to be different; it was going to be a day where the mask lasts the whole day (it usually does).  But about an hour before I was done with work, I unhooked myself to finish off my coffee and snap! there went the loop of the mask.

And to be quite honest, my initial thought was: "Well, I'm only going to be here for an hour longer.  I can go without it."  But then common sense (as well as a pull to toward the routine) kicked in and I grabbed another mask.  (It seemed larger than the one I had been wearing all day, for the record, so I'm guessing it came from a different box, a better one.)  But that thought wasn't uncharacteristic of me as of late.  I am getting mask fatigue.

I have resumed how I lived my life before the pandemic began: I go out to eat a lot and attend movies and concerts when I want (well, my previous blog posts about passing the Fleet Foxes show notwithstanding).  I usually wear a mask, and quite often an N95 mask I have hoarded (and sometimes, at least for this hazy summer of smoke, a ventilated N95) over a surgical one, either one I have in my car or, if I'm going somewhere straight from work, the one I have been wearing at work.  But I've been slipping.  I have slipped my masks off indoors when eating or drinking something, and now, when I sit down to eat, I keep it off until I put it back on.

Lately I have stopped putting a mask on if I'm dashing into, say, a gas station to pay for gas.  I have let my guard down for longer periods as of late, too; I watched Bullitt Monday night (and have I told you how much of a badass motherfucker Steve McQueen is?) and I kept my mask off after I got done eating my popcorn and drinking my Coke.  Moveover, the past couple weeks I have become acutely aware that I am one of the vanishing few walking around with a mask on when I have been at, say, Target or the Mall Of America (I really felt awkward when I was at the latter Independence Day/Tuesday).  I hate that I have allowed to creep into my head the thought: "Do other people think I look stupid still wearing a mask?"

I don't know if COVID-19 has reached an endemic phase.  Maybe it's still a problem but The Media isn't covering it, so it's easy to dismiss now as a dark chapter in humanity's history that's finally behind us.  But like I said, you never know if some chump coughing up a storm next to me while pushing past me on the concourse at Allianz Field (I know I'm going to lose my temper there again on Saturday) is spewing the 'Rona.  Or the flu; that can still circulate during the summer.  And heck, mask-wearing might come back into vogue in the winter months, when more people are cooped up indoors and the coronavirus won't be automatically vitiated by the outdoor air.  But yes, I am catching myself slipping from mask-wearing.  Some of it is risk I'm willing to accept.  But I think some of it is me finally getting tired of a killer that might not be tired of me.

Do They Know I Take Half An Hour In The Bathroom?

OK, so whenever I'm not in The Main Department at work, I take my breaks whenever I want.  It's one of the best perks about my job.  While data entry is brainless and nothing is expected of me, the regimented shifts are a pain-in-the-ass.  Sometimes the work requires you to stay until a natural break in the workflow.  Sometimes you just don't want to break when people expect you to.

Moreover, whenever I'm not in The Main Department, I don't have a direct supervisor keeping track of where I am.  Sure, I still have supervisors and bosses, but whenever I'm not keying, they're doing their own thing while I get to keep to myself.  I have taken breaks all over my shift and I have yet to be questioned -- either as to when I take them or, ahem, how long my breaks are.

See, as I am left to my own devices when it comes to breaks, I come and go as I please, and I pay no attention to the clock.  These breaks are supposed to be only 15 minutes, but I have regularly exceeded it.  Usually, I have exceeded it by an obscene amount.  This happens more for the morning break, which I usually take some time after 11 a.m., which is when The Stephanie Miller Show ends, because I usually have a bowel movement that I need to, you know, pass.  So I grab my phone, walk halfway in the building, lock the door and use the single-person bathroom.  While I poop, I'm scrolling through my phone -- you know, Twitter, maybe newsletters, possibly a text or two.  And it's great to just defecate in peace on your own time, with no one expecting you to be back at work at a certain time.  So I let it go past 15 minutes ... to maybe 20 ... or, probably, 25.

And then there was yesterday, when I think I spent a half-hour in the toilet taking a crap.  I was reading an article in my News app, I texted a stripper apologizing for missing yet another of her house parties, and, yes, nature was calling.  By the time I got done, it was possible, possible, that I spent 30 minutes in there.  And to be honest with you, this probably wasn't the first time I was in the bathroom for that long for my break.  It's just ... safe and comfortable in there, you know?

The thing is, though, is that, inbetween the other places I work at besides The Main Department and these single-person bathrooms is ... The Main Department.  As I am walking back to where I work, I am walking past my co-workers.  Normally I don't think about them, but yesterday/Monday I walked past my supervisor, who came in on a Monday to help out because we're behind on work.  This is not the first time this has happened, either.  But perceiving as though I may have taken the longest I ever have taken a morning break, I wonder if she noticed that I was gone a long time.

Come to think of it, I also have to walk past the break room, too.  Sometimes, when I start my break, I see my co-workers sitting and eating.  I see them sitting and eating when I come back.  But I know it has been way more than 15 minutes.  Do they notice that when they notice me?  And even worse, what if they see me going as they're eating, but when I come back they're back at work?  Is there an internal clock that makes them think, "Geez, he's been gone way more than 15 minutes -- and it's not the first time he's done that!!!"

I try and make up for it by cutting short my afternoon break, maybe way shorter.  It helps when there is no Father around stuffing me with food I don't want to eat.  But I don't think that's really "allowed" in an effort to take only 30 minutes' worth of break time.  And I really don't think you can plan on joining your breaks together to make a half-hour break where you get paid.  Besides, if no one is noticing me, I really plan on taking my breaks whenever and doing whatever the hell I want.  Well, until my supervisor and/or boss finally brings up that, "Hey, we've noticed that you seem to be taking really long breaks."  At which point I'll feel humiliated, stop doing that, and/or quit.

Night Shoveling; Day Working; Facebook Slot Machine Avoiding/Forgetting

So I just got in from shoveling for about half an hour.  I started at a quarter to 3 and got done a quarter after.  To be clear, that's just now, this morning, overnight.  There was no one around while I was shoveling -- no cars, no strange people walking outside at night at the onset of a blizzard that might be my open door and think they can kill me and live in my house.

Anyway, I went to eat out -- maybe for the final time if I don't survive this storm -- after work (and thankfully the snow that started mid-afternoon wasn't too bed for me to drive home), and I got so tired that after seeing all but the first minute of Night Court (and that still irks me that I didn't leave the restaurant five minutes earlier!) that I went to bed around 7:30 and woke up around midnight.  I've been up ever since.  I had the energy, and I wanted to make sure that I could get to work in, uh, a couple hours, so why not go out and shovel?  At least I would know how bad the snow is.  And it's ... well, it's not great, but I hope shoveling the driveway behind my car and the part of the street that would be plowed onto the end of my driveway if a private snowplow drove down the street now will clear enough snow that I could leave the house and start my job.

So I'm glad I did it now.  I might have been able to power through the snow if I didn't shovel just now, but I'm not that sure.  I'm just glad my parents weren't here to stop me from doing what I want to do overnight.  Besides, I need the exercise.

The forecasters have consistently said that this phase of the storm, which should end in the morning, will be far better than the white hell we're going to face starting in the afternoon.  There's a steady stream of light snow now; if it stays this way through the end of the phase, I'll take it.  It's just getting home that scares the crap out of me.

---

I have a good boss.  Really, I do.  With that being said (and I hate to only point him out whenever I have a disagreement with him), I found it kind of tone deaf when, with this impending snowstorm coming, he sent all of his workers yesterday an e-mail saying that overtime is being offered because we're backed up again.  OK, maybe he had to put it out there, I don't know.  But we are in the middle of what will probably be an epic blizzard, and he's telling us we can endanger out lives and be at work for longer than we already are?!  I e-mailed him that maybe instead of OT, he could explain what we're going to do if we can't get to work (or the delivery can't make it to work, or if the plane can't bring out work to the airport) because it's damn Hoth outside tomorrow/Thursday.  We'll play it by ear, he says, which may be the only thing we can do, but dammit it's a whole lot worse to be reactive than proactive.  And that still doesn't explain if he knew how it, and he, looked when firing off an e-mail about potentially making more money when we should be worrying about surviving this storm.

No, I won't be coming in early or staying late this week.  If there wasn't a blizzard, yes, I would.  But there is, so I won't.  Besides, I worked there Sunday.  I've done my OT.

---

So I said I woke up at midnight.  I doomscrolled through my phone and did not get to my laptop, and that sucks, because the daily slot machine day ends at 2 every morning, and I failed to take my free spin, and so I broke my streak and have to go back to Day 1, which I just did.

Nowadays, if I want to go to the Internet, I use my phone and not my computer.  I use my laptop to blog, like I'm doing now, and then I incidentally surf the Internet.  But if I don't feel like writing, I take to my phone.  That prevents me sometimes from going to Facebook and making sure I keep up with the streak.  Yes, circumstances right now (snowstorm, fear, drinking, passing out) are reasons I didn't do it, but still, it sucks.

Expenses Without Receipt

Starting from Monday, February 20:

• Actually, let's go back to Friday, February 17, when, after work, I celebrated the retirement party of a co-worker I don't know but who was important to work with because she gave me part of the work I need to work on every day.  Does that make sense?  I am usually reticent in hanging out with people at work.  I think there's something good about keeping your social spheres separate.  But I don't want to be an antisocial dick, either.  And my, uh, social club was having its monthly dinner five minutes away, and this party was relatively close to work, so it made sense to pop in for a quick gingerbread cider to huff down in half an hour.  (Gingerbread cider, by the way, is a tad sweet.)  It was good; I had a nice time with these people, and I didn't overstay my welcome.  That cider plus tip: $10.
• That monthly dinner goes to different places every month.  I will tell you that this time around they/we went to Khan's Mongolian Barbecue, a place I had not been to in at least a decade and a half.  I detailed the, uh, somewhat gross details here.  I did remember that it's customary to tip the people doing up the stir fry.  So since I had two bowls/dishes I tipped a total of: $2.
• Back on Wednesday the 15th, ********a came over.  She was in town from western Minnesota for a few days.  It was supposed to be for a bed dance, but it morphed into a massage with me totally naked -- you know, the way ******a does ... well, did, since I think she's going through a mental breakdown right now.  She said that next month, when she's back in town, she'll rub me down good and proper.  Good -- even though I don't she'll touch my pee-pee.  The price I paid for the massage is the same amount I was going to pay for her dances: $100.
• When she was done I felt the need to eat, even though I probably didn't have to.  The local Chick-Fil-A was offering me a free chicken sandwich, so I took them up on it.  Paid for a bowl of tortilla soup, and I was surprised how big the bowl was (even though it wasn't that big, it's a hell of a lot bigger than the cups of soup you usually see).  Quite filling, too.  So a bowl of chicken tortilla soup and the free grilled chicken sandwich (got that instead of the original sandwich) came out to: $8.99.
• Back to Valentine's Day: Starting my day off at Caribou for a mocha and oatmeal.  I need to eat more oatmeal.  With tip: $11.27.
• When a loser like me goes to a strip club to find love.  I went to My Favorite Stripclub (Cover Division) to see my ATF again.  Yeah, I dropped 21 dances for her.  Don't think I mind it.  With cover, tips and an Angry Orchard I spent: $231.
• After the strip club I had time to dive into Pancheros, aka brokedown Chipotle.  I shouldn't say brokedown; they're cheaper, and they promote the fact that they mix up the ingredients in your burrito or bowl, which I think is a good thing.  Unfortunately, I got charged for extra guacamole when I didn't order it.  And the cashier said he couldn't take it off because he was new.  I wanted a drink to go, but he could only give me an item up to the price of the extra guac.  Hemmed in, and instead of offering a promise he'll discount me next time (I had no trust that this guy would still be working at this place next time), I got the guacamole I paid for and didn't want.  I like the food here; it's almost as good as Chipotle at a cheaper price point.  But this blown charge, man, means that I can't come back here for a while.  But I tipped anyway because I didn't want to look like the bad guy: $1.
• Assuming I had receipt stretching back till then, we go back to Friday, February 3 ... ***e* was in town, asked if she could get me off, and it just so happens that she is staying with ***u** while she was in Minnesota, so instead of just one person masturbating me, there were two.  Totally happy, I just wanted to be double-teamed when I wanted to be double-teamed.  Had to pay: $240.
• I don't know if this was the day I found a quarter and a penny on the ground, but I had to put this EWR somewhere.  An Infusion of: 26 cents.
• We go all the way back to Saturday, January 21, when I went to a party.  ***u** invited me, but at the time she still owed me money, so I tried getting any dance from her at a discount.  She finally relented, and thank God, because she is one hell of a lover.  I would stop seeing her if she kept saying she didn't owe me money when she did, but, well, she didn't.  With cover, this handjob only cost me: $100.
• Finally, on Friday the 20th ******a came over.  She was going through a mental breakdown, which I detailed here.  Suffice it to say that even though she is physically attractive and I appreciate her massaging me while naked, her paranoid bullshit had to stop.  I haven't seen her since this date, and while my muscles ache, I don't mind it.  Well, at least not right now.  Her going rate for rubdowns is: $120.

Good through February 20.

Hottest Babe In The Hooters Calendar: January 2023

First of all, I have to say that I cannot believe that I'd be buying Hooters calendars, let alone evaluating all the hot women in them, for the past four years.  This wasn't even in my frickin' radar until, I guess (can't remember) a Hooters waitress goading me into buying one in exchange for, I guess, a free beer when I went in that day.

With that being said, this month is, surprisingly and disconcertingly, very underwhelming for me.  I have kept looking at the ten waitresses for the whole month of January and part of February and I find myself not really getting enthused about any of them.  Don't get me wrong, they're all gorgeous.  But compared with some of the other photos from past months and years, this month is comprehensively lacking.  Hate to say it, but this might be the worst month of babes I've seen in a Hooters calendar.

Every one of the ten has some flaw that puts each of them and their photos a clear cut below all of the ones I at least have pointed out in previous months.  For example, the main girl, Megan of Melborne, Fla., is cute, but she has both her arms fully wrapped tightly against her body, significantly hiding her tight belly from us.  Ireland, out of Madeira Beach, Fla., shows off a nice figure and has a Jenny Ortega vibe to her, but Jenny Ortega is a hell of a lot younger than me, so I'm just going to avoid looking at her so that I don't get into trouble.  There's Orlando's Portia, and she looks familiar enough that I believe I have seen her in previous calendars, and probably ranked her as well.  But for some godawful reason she's in a red one-piece bikini.  She might as well be in a burqa since she's hiding all her goods.

The drawbacks continue.  Gwyn of Kennesaw, Ga., is wearing a skimpy black two-piece, but she's way too flat for my taste, plus she's not smiling.  Also looking as if she hated doing a photoshoot are Emily of Orange Park, Fla. and Nova of Alcoa, Tenn.  Finally on my list of honorable mention-as damning by faint praise is Mariah, hailing from Clearwater, Fla.  She's sporting a white two-piece, and her sideways lounging pose would be arousing if not for her left arm hiding a good portion of her stomach.  Also, I have to say, her face looks kind of old.  Maybe if I saw her in a Hooters uniform I'd get hard over her MILF vibes, but it doesn't work for me in a swimsuit setting.

If I am going to put anyone in first place for this month, I will select Kya, out of Houma, La.  I hate that she too is hugging herself in her picture; her arms are covering way more of her stomach than the others of the month.  And I also think she's a bit on the elderly side.  The only thing I like about her, and the only physical characteristic that makes her stand out from all the others, is that she seems to have a big pair of tits.

You may have heard the adage, "In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king."  Well, same scenario applies here.  Congratulations to Kya for winning what may be The Worst Month In Hooters Calendar History.  Unfortunately, I don't know if I can get turned on enough to masturbate to any of these women.  Sorry.

State Fair Thoughts

Today/Monday/Labor Day was the last of three days I went to the Minnesota State Fair.  And while the lines were longer than I remember them from last year and 2019 and before then, all three days I was truly grateful to see so many people (although I think final attendance numbers will be a lot lower than what The Media and people say they saw) having fun and hanging out with their friends and loved ones.  And frankly, the hot women showing off their bellies was something I was looking forward to, too.

What I was not looking forward to, and what I didn't expect?  The cutting in lines.  I swear it wasn't as bad as it had been in years past.  I blame Trump and the pandemic.

I got really pissed when I was trying to queue up for the bus taking me back to the lot where I parked my car.  I was about to round this metal barrier when this young, hot bitch (who wasn't showing off her belly, pffft) cut in front of me and stopped right at the end of the barrier because that's where the line ended.  I got so upset that another young person again cut in front of me that, because I was standing right there behind her, I said, "Hey."  And she said, "Hey," and probably thought I was going to kidnap her, so she and her friends went up the line and cut in front of more people.  Maybe my anger at her came off as something creepy.  OK, it did come off as creepy.  I just had no way to call out that bitch for cutting in line.  And then she and her friends were going to beat me out of the church parking lot, so even though they got off the bus first (I had a slow, old woman asking the bus driver questions while she and the others in the back went out through the back exit -- forgot about the back exit, dammit), I sprinted to my minivan because I wanted to beat them onto the street because I'm a petty, passive-aggressive son-of-a-bitch.  I showed her, didn't I?  No, I probably made her think that I was weird.  And that I run funny.  Fuck it, who cares, I did have a fantasy football draft to get to.

---

Oh yeah, one other thing.  Because of that goddamn shooting Saturday night, I believe security ramped up the use of metal detectors.  That made things really bad getting into the Fair today/Monday because I had to wait a good, oh, 5-10 minutes.  I literally carried my things in my hands to show them all the things that could set off the detector, I was told to walk through the detector, I set off the detector, and some "security" guard leaning against a metal rail pointed with her free hand to the side where another "security" guard was.  And then I waited another five minutes before I was told by that "security" guard to go through another detector, which I did not set off, and so she just waved me through.

Total shitshow.  I understand why.  Thank the gods above The Great Minnesota Get-Together somehow has not had a really bad gun incident like the one Saturday night (and, now that I see on Twitter, tonight).  But frankly, if the lines getting in are going to be long, and the lines getting to food are going to be long, and if people are just going to be rude and stupid ... well, that takes the sheen off of the Minnesota State Fair.

I started off this blog post saying how much I love the Fair, didn't I?

Air Should Be Free, Dammit!

I should have talked about this sooner: Finding places where you can put air in your tires without paying anything is an outrageous adventure.  We have been told constantly that it is important, if not imperative, to make sure you have the right pressure in your car's tires.  After all, so much is riding on your tires.

   

But if that's the case, then why do I see nearly every single damn gas station make you put in quarters in some infernal machine so some hose starts blowing air?  It's all around us.  Breathe in -- that's air!  It's free, or at least it should be.  But I'll be damned if I have to go hunting for gas stations where you can park next to a hose and, even if you're penniless, properly put air in your tires so you don't have a blowout on the highway, for God's sake.  Fuckin' stupid ripoff.

Once I realized how important it was to keep the right pressure in your tires, I have occasionally looked out for gas stations around the area that have a free air hose.  And I swear to God and Buddha and all the gods above that there are only two gas stations in the entire fucking Twin Cities that offer free air, and gloriously, they are both close to me.  Now, sometimes the hoses don't work, but sometimes they do, and besides, hey, free air, like it's supposed to be.

That has changed.  The closest gas station to me with a free hose changed companies last week.  Overnight they put a new paint job on the building and replaced both the signage on the storefront and the huge standalone tower sign at the corner.  The new gas station company appears to have also yanked the free air hose out of the hole that came out of the automated car wash and as of now, I don't see anything replacing it.  Fuck.

If that's the case, I have to go to the second one, a couple miles further down.  It's been reliable, although, like the one that was closer to me, not 100% reliable.  The problem is that the hose is off to the side of the closest parking spot with several feet of sidewalk between the hose and that spot.  I can park there, but the hose only stretches far enough for me to pump air into the two tires closest to the hose, so if you drive straight into the parking spot, that's the driver-side two.  If I want to properly pump up all four, I'll have to park, put air in both driver-side tires, start the car, pull out, reverse back into the parking spot, and turn off the car again so I can put air in both passenger-side tires.  Of course it's a pain in the ass.  And I have at least once put air in one side of my car and just drove off because I don't have the fucking time and I don't want to look like a dumbass.

But now I might not have a choice.  If these new people force me to use the pay hose, forget it.  So just now I Googled "gas stations with free air near me," and I found this website called freeairpump.com.  I appreciate that someone put in the effort to start this, but I don't think it's quite accurate because the gas station with the janky air hose spot isn't on there.  The closest ones are several miles away.  I might have to check them out just out of principle.

But why doesn't every damn gas station have a free air hose?  I don't fucking get it.

Hey, I Tried My Best

Two things concerning work/jobs last night that has me disconcerted, for now.

You know what?  I'll start with work.  I was filling in second shift.  There was a ton of stuff when I got there, and I didn't get through much by the time I left.  Don't want to get into details, but the forms that we generally get were updated.  By law, all the information for the samples we receive need to be filled out on these new forms when the samples are sent in on such and such a date.  Whenever that date was, all samples received after that date that came with the old forms have to have a special process done to them, all of it centering around asking for proof that the people collecting the sample knew they were using old forms and explaining why they did.  If this proof isn't issued, we don't test the sample.

There is, to be frank and crude, a shit ton of these old forms.  One of the things that need to be done with them is to scan them into our records.  That is what I did for the majority of my shift that ended.  And that probably makes me look bad when my supervisor comes in in the morning.  I'm guessing that this task is going to push a lot of work to the back burner.  But at least on a visceral level, I left folders upon folders upon folders all over the room.  It is largely a standard, if not a hard and fast rule, that you at least are able to get through the work that was there when you started your shift.  That did not happen last night, not at all.  I was too busy scanning all these forms -- a large and herculean task that I decided needed to be done before most other things ... even though it is not clear to me it is such a priority that I had to drop everything in order to take care of this task first.

Oh, and by the way, I didn't get through all the old forms that were left for me.  I got through some, but not all.  Oh, and I stayed an extra half-hour even though I wasn't asked to.  There were these, uh, other things I really, really wanted to complete before I left, and by the time I got done and shut everything down and cleaned everything up, it was 12:30.  So it is possible that my supe is coming in tomorrow and is seeing literally dozens of folders that I did not get around to, including these special folders containing all these old forms, and she's going to get pissed and wonder why in the hell didn't I work, even though I stayed an extra 30 minutes that, if you want to look at it through conspiratorial eyes, makes me look as if I racked up overtime without doing the commensurate work.  Shit, man, I did work, hard and steadily, but it's just so goddamn much!  Now, could I have worked, uh, harder and faster?  Sure, according to her standards.  But I'm not going to blow out my heart just so I could prove to her, or to anyone else, that I am working hard.  I have panic attacks at work as is, Christ. ...

---

What I don't get, and what I somewhat am scared of more, is this letter I got from the company for which I scored tests.  It was a warning letter.  It said that there were concerns about the speed at which I scored tests.  Now I remember coming on here and worrying that my poky speed at the time -- affected by the distractions around my bedroom as I worked from home -- would raise the attention of the powers that be over there, and it actually did -- sort of.  What I got from the letter was that the massive fluctuation in answer reading led to a wide fluctuation in scores ... and that the faster I got, the worse my scoring accuracy became.

So-so-so ... uh, is she saying that the faster I worked, the more inaccurate I got?  I was worried all this time about working too slowly, and it now seems as if my decision to work faster has backfired on me.  I don't get why they're so upset, especially when I was told repeatedly by the supervisors during the project that we could all be going faster.  And speaking of that, no one I worked for at the test scoring project raised any concerns in the way I scored these essays.  In fact, I was told during the project that I should hew the distribution of my scores closer to the project average, which I did over time.  And since I started working faster to boot, that means the scores I gave were actually more inaccurate?  I don't believe it, but I would like someone to explain it to me if that were the case.

The last sentence in that letter was ominous.  Paraphrasing: "We cannot employ you any longer if your scores continue to be this inaccurate."  First of all, I'm not being inaccurate!  And second of all, does she really think she could just send this without thinking it has to be elaborated upon?  This warning was a total fucking blindside, and I think I should call her to make sure this wasn't some big misunderstanding.  Because if we Work From Home again next year, I will have no clue if what I'm doing, and the speed at which I'm doing it, are truly satisfactory to them.

Two jobs, tons of real and perceived complaints.  But hey, what can I do?  I tried my best -- right?

The Ceiling Fans At Work

Man, I know I started this shit, but damn, she's fucking annoying the shit out of me again. ...

It gets hot in the hallway.  Once again, the weather outside is warming up, so yesterday morning, I noticed that the ceiling fans were shut off.  I turned them on.  Now, I thought about asking the other people whether they were OK with me turning them on.  But every single one of them (and there were four people who work under the fans and so would feel them when I turn them on) were focused on their work and had headphones on.  I took that as a sign to not bother them.  So I went to the end of the hallway and flipped the switch that turned on both ceiling fans.

Do you remember me talking about Miss I Did Lotsa Folders?  She was at the scanner yesterday morning, and while I was looking in her direction, she flipped off the switch that turned off both ceiling fans.  Fuck.  Me.

Again, I will take responsibility because I did not ask her if it's OK for me to turn them on.  Also, she was intent on doing her job, and I did my best to slink around her to get to the switch, so it was possible she didn't see me turn them on.  Or ... maybe she did.

Anyway, I kind of got apoplectic.  That Girl who fooled me into thinking she was smart only because she is quiet has a bitch of a passive-aggressive streak.  Well, the only way to bust through that is direct confrontation ... which probably wasn't needed if I just asked her beforehand.

But I went up to her and asked her, "I'm sorry -- did you not want me to turn on the ceiling fans?"  To which she replied, "Ope!  No, that's OK!" and she turned them on herself.

Now, I will allow the possibility that I'm making a mountain out of a molehill.  And I have to go back to confessing once again that I probably started all this.  But let's be real here: She wouldn't have turned off the ceiling fans if she didn't want them off.  So why did she turn them back on?  For me?  If she didn't want them on, she could have just told me.  So, yes, her just turning them back on and essentially saying, "Oh, excuuuuuuuuse me!" is a very passive-aggressive way of telling me she hated what I did -- and that she may not like me, period.

That's my story and I'm sticking to it.  For now.

I could've gotten the fuck away from That Girl by taking second shift for seven straight days.  But no, I had plans and I have training.  (Oh, by the way, my co-worker really does have a valid reason for asking for all those days off a mere week in advance: A family member died.  Totally understandable.  My misperception.)

I'm out in The Main Department until next week.  I don't know if I can last that long being around That Girl.