Farewell, Neighbor (Whom I've Talked To Maybe Twice)

The neighbor across the street is moving.  Have seen some stirrings for a month now, but the "For Sale" sign makes it real.  That came up maybe a week ago.  The huge dumpster (like the one I threw my trash into last week) was on their driveway maybe a couple weeks ago.  And the moving truck was there when I woke up today.

I literally may have spoken ... no, come to think of it, I should accurately describe it as "interacted" with the members of the family that lives/lived there two times.  Once, when my niece was little, one kid who lives there, while he was being held by his father (the head of the household) offered her candy, and my niece freaked out.  The other time, the sons were playing catch (they had baseball uniforms on, so they may have come back from practice or a Game) and a baseball rolled to the edge of my driveway; I threw it back, poorly, to one of them.  And that's it.  I never had an issues with them.  They were the perfect, quiet neighbors who left me alone.

So I feel bad that I'm not saying goodbye to them as they're moving.  But, what would I say?  What kind of small talk could I come up with, especially since I made no talk with any of them while they were here?  And yet, when I came home from shopping earlier this afternoon and I saw the whole family running about, I thought about going there and saying hi.  But, I haven't.  And I probably won't.

Goddamn, Car Trouble Fucks Everything Up

Man, don't you hate it when you have to stop everything just because of car trouble?  OK, I am exaggerating what happened and didn't happen yesterday/Tuesday, but it's still a pain in the ass.

So I go out to sleep in my car at work for my lunch break.  My paranoid eyes always makes me think I'm seeing something that's not there, but on this day, they latched onto something unusual and, turns out, scary: A bulge/blister/bump on my passenger-side tire.  Honestly, I didn't think anything of it.  I just thought I needed to deflate the air in that overinflated tire (didn't help), and then I went inside my car to nap.  But that bubble concerned me anyway, so I had to go to my cell and Google, "is it dangerous to have a bump on the side of your tire?"  And all the entries in the search said, "Hell yes, it's fucking dangerous!"

(Aside: I seem to have more problems with tires on this car than I ever had with my old one.  Is it because it's a subcompact whose tires are naturally lower profile?  I remember getting one of my tires punctured the Friday before Labor Weekend, and now this.  By the way, that bubble is probably the result of hitting one pothole, or one too many potholes.  Goddamn potholes.)

After making a couple calls to see if I could get a tire after work, I decided that after work I needed to swap out that tire for the spare.  But dammit, my mechanic screwed those lug nuts in so tight I couldn't loosen them.  I did not believe at all that I needed to call AAA, but because I am too weak, I had to.  Luckily, even during afternoon rush hour traffic and him helping me being led astray by his Google Maps, the guy who was about to save me arrived at work after one hour.  The last time I called AAA (and I think it was when I had to stop the minivan around St. Thomas for what was a broken alternator), it was at least twice that long.  And after using WD-40 and a long-handle lug nut remover to get as much torque working, he got the bad tire off.  Roadside assistants are angels, they truly are.

Also angels are, I now realize, the only car mechanic in the neighborhood that's open evenings.  Why aren't there more car shops that are open evenings, or weekends for that matter?  Cars don't break down at night or on weekends?  Anyway, the place I babied my car to was the only one around the area open at 7 at night.  And even though they couldn't get the same exact tire for me that evening, they can do so this morning.  Also, they did what I asked them to: Check the other tires to make sure they're fine, and to check the air pressure on the spare (even though I asked the roadside assistant to check and to pump it up.  I always forget to check the air in the spare).

So I talked about having plans ruined.  Specifically, I wanted to eat at either Culver's or Potbelly, two places where I can get free dessert for my birthday.  I then wanted to go home, look through the mail, call Mother about the mail if need be, then maybe nap before I caught the 8 o'clock showing of Ready Or Not 2: Here I Come.  But after I got everything arranged for the (hopefully) quick tire swap this morning, I got my car back, spare tire still affixed, and I still had time to make the movie.  I didn't feel completely safe that I could drive to the theater to watch when I could, and maybe should, drive back home.  But a mixture of relief that people were able to help me and defiance that I didn't want my car trouble to stop me from the fun I planned on having compelled me to get to the movie.  And I made it in time.  And the film was ... um, bloody and profane, but OK, just like the first one.

One problem after I left the shop and before I went into the theater.  I locked the door with the key fob, but I didn't see the light flicker on indicating everything got locked.  I then noticed that the hood was slightly open.  Now I noticed when I was at the shop, looking through the window into the bay where the mechanics were looking at my car, that the hood was opened up, presumably for the guys to go through their customary check of everything in my car even though I was just there to get a tire replaced.  I didn't think anything else of it, though, because I assumed they would slam the hood shut.  But they didn't.  I didn't drive really fast; you're not supposed to on a spare, plus I used side streets to get from the mechanic to the theater.  But I realized that I drove several miles with the hood open.  The hood of my old car flew open while I was driving to the gym a baker's dozen years ago, and that was the scariest fucking thing that's happened to me on the road ... well, OK, maybe top five.  My point is is that it seems very, very dangerous to drive with the hood open.  I don't think anything got ruined, and yet I feel my car is beyond repair because I drove it with the hood open.  Look, if anything did get damaged, I probably won't know till much, much later.  Fuckin' A, man -- these guys were quick, and they treated me well.  But they fucking forgot to slam my fuckin' hood shut?!

No, I probably won't bring it up.  Again, if there's damage because I drove with the hood open, how would I know?  Oh, well, you take the head-slappingly bad with the good when you're in a jam.  Hopefully they can just get me my new tire and do so quickly and easily.

NO, NOT HOOTERS!!!

Heard it on Common while working yesterday/Thursday afternoon: Hooters and The Mall Of America is closing for good.  Last day's next Sunday, the 22nd.  Goddammit.

First things first: I have kind of an obsession with stores that have been at the Megamall from the start.  (The store can't move from its original footprint.  Also, it can be renovated, but it might not count in my eyes if it, say, closed down in order to make those renovations.  Length of time is important in this case.)  Hooters was one of them.  With it being gone, what's left?  Macy's?  Nordstrom?  Cinnabon on the 1st floor?  That alpaca place that somehow stays in business?

But I am sad about what I think of as an institution closing down.  That breastaurant made me a man.  I'm joking.  Well, only half-joking.  Well, that half-joking part is perverted as hell, because going there was the first time in my life I felt good about being proud of looking at gorgeous women dressed daringly (or at least how I thought daring was at the time).  I think the first time I went to Hooters I went with my high school buddies.  My friend noticed that our (hot) waitress was stuffing a pack of cigarettes in her fanny pack, and I thought that was the hottest goddamn thing ever.

Hooters MOA overcame a flurry of sexual harassment lawsuits early in its tenure to just be the place teenage boys go to begin to get in touch with their heterosexual desires, and for parents to bring their boys to prevent them from becoming gay.  I went from time to time to ogle, of course, but there are a few servers there that I'm familiar with.  No way are we friends or anything, but I think that we are acquainted enough that whenever we see each other, we smile, and that's great.  My "relationship" with Hooters was cemented over the past several years once I decided to buy the Hooters calendar every year and, if possible, get it autographed.  It was nice to have the sexiest Hooters girls sign.  I even took the calendar to other parts of the country if I were vacationing so I could have other Hooters girls in other branches sign it.  And, of course, I came back ... well, not because of the food per se, but for the coupons that came with the calendar.  If I spend $15 when I visit this month, I get a free dessert.

I planned on going Thursday to get that free dessert, and to watch the actual start of March Madness, but now I must go.  And I probably will go that Sunday too, its final day.  Thirty-three years, man, a third of a century, and they said it wasn't making enough money.  I will miss the fuck out of that place.

You know, come to think of it ... I know the perfect place to replace Hooters -- Twin Peaks.  Same concept, they're growing (the company, not my dick), and even though the closest stores are in Fargo and Omaha, it might be time to bring one to the Twin Cities.  And who knows, maybe those Twin Peaks girls will do things beyond my wildest dreams.  No, probably not.  But a lonely hetero perv can dream, and Hooters allowed me to do that.  RIP, Hooters Megamall.

It's July 2025 All Over Again

So last week I was at My Favorite Coffeeshop doing, among a couple other things, going through my receipts.  Serves me right to get them all in order but not bring my day planner so I could write the amounts down.  Anyway, I have this leather pouch from culture and lifestyle magazine Monocle, which I bought when I went to Hong Kong, that I purchased just so I can shove all my receipts in it.  I haven't done a good job of cleaning it out, though, because as I was doing some digging, I saw a few receipts that were in there should have been accounted for.  They were from July 12 of last year.

In my day planner, I write down all the things I paid cash for, then see whether I spent more money than I got from the bank or not, and by how much.  To be honest, and this may not make sense, in all but, oh, three months since I started this way back in my twenties, I have finished a month taking out more money from my account than spending it.  Anyway, at the end of every month, I make a table and write all my cash transactions (what I spent and what I took out of an ATM) down.  For the month of July, I now had to re-do that table.  Moreover, I am rewriting it for a third time; it turns out there were some receipts from July 12 of last year I found, presumably in that pouch, after I did this month-end table the first time.

It's all done.  Wait -- I can't say that with any conviction.  There could be other receipts.

OK, *Now* I Can't Get Extra Money

I keep saying that I can't get OT from work, but it feels as though my boss really means it this time.  Following up on a meeting we all had, he emailed me Friday afternoon saying that the work is light enough whereby overtime is no longer necessary, should I should leave work for the next day.  I disagree; I think there is enough work that, if I stay only eight hours, there will be so much carryover work that the next day's work will have to be pushed back, and that will create a cascading effect that will mean tests won't get done for a day or more.  The workload ain't that light.  It might not even be light, period.

But I reckon that he saw me go over eight hours last week, capped off with me staying until 6 Thursday night.  He has said that OT is off the table off and on for a few years now, but something about this email makes me think he really, really means it this time.  Fine.  I will acquiesce.  But he did say "try to leave after eight hours," and even though I read that Friday afternoon, it still took me an extra half-hour to do all the things I felt I needed to do before I left on Friday.  I will try and start hewing to eight hours beginning on Monday, which also is the start of a new pay period.  It's a clean slate that I agree to.  Maybe.

Fuck, They're Gonna Be Here Forever ...

First of all, I was wrong about what Mother has.  She doesn't have sciatica in her hip; she has a torn meniscus.  Ouch!  And second of all, the worst-case scenario is happening.  You don't magically go in, have knee surgery, and leave the same day like it's outpatient surgery.  In fact, I know that they need to be scheduled, and they need to be scheduled weeks in advance.

And goddammit, that's the case here.  My Mother is getting surgery Thanksgiving Week.  And as I feared, there is going to be a minimum of eight fucking weeks before she can fly out of here.  Moreover, there is an entire schedule of visits -- a couple before the surgery, many rehab and physical therapy sessions after it -- that have to be assembled around the surgery date.  I totally get that, but the fusillade of post-op sessions, not to mention the date of the surgery itself, means that ... goddammit, they're going to be here through January.  Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.

Everything is ruined, man, everything.  This obviously means I won't get to hang out with my wang out during the holiday season.  Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's -- I'm going to have to holster my pee-pee, continue to hide my porn, and worry about how they fucking feel.  (I know that at some point I'll be bursting to go to a stripper party and get turned out by a stripper.  It's just so weird to do it while My Fucking Parents are in town.)  I can't make cocktails for myself for four months.  I won't have the mental space to figure out the storage situation, which is still up in the air, and since they probably will leave in late January, it doesn't give me much time to figure out a drastic plan if my current situation is no longer tenable.  I have a lease through the end of March, and I might have to haul shit out of a 5' x 5' stall, and that will take a lot of time.

And yeah, sure, what really matters is how My Mother feels.  I need to know her schedule because, shit, I have to help out when I can.  Problem is is that with work, I don't know how much I can be of help.  I don't think I can drive her to every single rehab visit she'll have.  And this is wintertime -- what happens if there is a huge snowstorm on a day she's supposed to go in for physical therapy?  Fuckin' A, I really didn't want her to do this here in Minnesota.  I mean, I think the health system here is much better than most other places, but she needs to walk around after getting her knee fixed, and she can't do it in the snowy and icy roads of a Minnesota winter.

Worse than that is my sister.  I honestly thought that she would be the one helping Mother rehab.  She's not doing anything now, so she has the time to assist her with her exercises and taking her to physical therapy.  But, and I need to talk to her about this, now that we have a surgery date, it looks as though she is making plans to leave.  Dammit, man, I hate that all of this planning might fall on me.  I'm too much of a dick to be of any use.  And knowing My Mother will be in pain means that she will become a huge pain-in-the-ass the first week or so after surgery, where I'm told the pain will be at its worst.  I will have to deal with a bitch for the next four goddamn months, yet I don't know how to handle a bitch who is in physical pain.

The only solace I have is that My Mother is on a waitlist.  If there is a cancellation, this surgery can be moved up.  And My Mother wants this surgery done, like, yesterday.  If by some miracle this can be done next week (and I wonder if that's even possible given that there are two pre-op visits; doesn't there have to be some time between these visits and the surgery?), we all would jump at the chance.  But it probably won't happen, which means I'm fucking stuck with these two reasons I want to kill myself.

Sore On Belly

For the record, I have a sore on my belly.  I may have gotten it ... Tuesday, when I ate too much and I felt that I distended my stomach.  I feel fat to this very second.  (I don't really remember if it was Tuesday; I feel as though I have had this sore for a while.)

It is scary that this sore popped up after I ate too much, meaning that this sore may have developed because I ate so much.  I am imagining that my stomach grew to make room for all the food I ate, and ... um, then I developed a sore on my skin.  That happened because that happened, you know?  And I wonder if the only way this sore goes away is if I eat much less -- which won't happen.

When Do I Have To Do The Long Drive?

So my boss yesterday/Thursday asked if I could come in to work tomorrow/Saturday and, after trying to think if there was anything I absolutely had to do and coming up empty, I said yes.

But there is something I kinda could have done tomorrow/Saturday.  Last week Mother asked me to drive all the way down to my brother's place and give my niece presents she asked my folks to get for her.  I don't enjoy a 45-minute drive, but I was prepared to do it.  Last week my sister-in-law told me they were out of town, so this weekend would've been the "perfect" time to do it ... until I volunteered to come in and work.  I guess I could still do it tomorrow/Saturday; it would just have to be after work and probably after dinner.  Or, I could do it Sunday before the Gold Cup Matches.  But if I had to drive all the way down to my niece's, I prefer it to be the only thing I do that day.  And that plan is ruined unless either 1) I get to do this drive possibly next weekend (I might be busy then, too) or 2) they come up here and get the gifts from us.  The latter would be a huge burden off my chest, but it probably won't happen.

Too Much Of ... Everything

So I went to my favorite speakeasy last/Friday night, and I had my two drinks and ate my two plates of food, and I was still so hungry that, after I saw that Jimmy John's gave me two bucks off a sandwich, I bought one.  And then I ate it at the parking lot of a local grocery store, but the sandwich had peppers in it or something, so I needed something to wash it down.  I was going to buy a Pepsi, but I didn't think I was going to drink it.  But I did.

And then my body woke me up early this morning to, let's just say, get regular in the bathroom.  And I had to get up to do it again.  So hey, I'm good with my plumbing.  But I guess you can say that drinking makes me hungry, and I did a bit of both.  But honestly, what gives me a real twinge of regret is the bill I got from the speakeasy.  $100?!  Yeah, I like these guys, but I generally have a rule that I don't spend $100 on myself unless I'm having dinner with friends.

So ... cut back on the drinking, cut back on the eating, and cut back on the money.  Got it.  Maybe.

Why Do I Still Go To The Auto Show?

I have been going for a long, long time.  I loved how I could see all these fancy new cars.  Also, I could see the ones that are, shall we say, much more attainable (although I would have to bust my butt and look for a higher-paying job).  I loved getting all the brochures, and I would tell myself that I would lie down and look through all of them and maybe be inspired when the time came to purchase one.  And the bags.  Oh, the bags -- you gotta get one to put all those brochures in, you know?

Well, that was then and this is now.  I went to the auto show yesterday/Saturday, and in keeping with how the trend is going, I stayed there far less than when I did when I first went to the show.  In fact, I looked at my watch when I thought I had seen everything and there was still more than an hour before the Frozen Four Final, for which I decided to stay the whole day and night in downtown to go to our alumni group's bar and watch.  I eventually found stuff to look at -- I went to the classic and antique car rooms, separate from the main room where all the new cars you can buy are -- but things are dramatically different, from both my perspective and the show's.

It's clear to me now that, as an adult, it doesn't really pay to aspire anymore.  There is one thing I have done for some time now: Find the most expensive car in the show that I can get into (that means no show cars, no prototypes, and definitely no classic cars) and take a picture of the sticker price and the front of the car.  I get a kick out of that not because I hope to one day be able to buy it, but just to note the price.  (Aside: The add-ons of nearly all the cars I looked at ballooned the base price of the car to an exorbitant amount.  I cannot believe that the size of those add-ons were typical of previous years.  If not, there's one explanation: That Fucking Guy's dumbass tariffs.)  For the record, a Range Rover clocks in at $158,370.  But beyond that, I did way less getting into cars than I used to when I was young.  Oh, sure, I saw some that I liked.  The new and colorful Volkswagen vans, called the ID Buzz, were a splashy hit, for example.  But all the other two dozen or so cars I checked out were interchangeable to me.  Also, I wouldn't be able to buy any of them.  That's another (sad) similarity.

Parallel to this, the show has changed.  I think it was the pandemic.  The auto show has gotten smaller.  I see fewer brands on the showroom.  The convention center is a huge space, but in the years since (and I really want to say it started in 2022, two years after it was cancelled and a year after it went to the State Fairgrounds), more of the floor was ceded to an area for test-driving cars, which is cool.  But, this year I saw a corner of the center dedicated to jacuzzis.  You can't drive jacuzzis, can you?

But the big difference in the auto show now: No more brochures.  The pandemic accelerated the push to make all papers digital in an effort to cut costs.  I have gotten way fewer brochures since the pandemic and, for the first time ever, yesterday/Saturday I did not pick up one single brochure -- and I did not see a brochure available to be picked up.  The days of bringing home a car-branded bag of pamphlets I probably won't read are now gone.

But hey, at least Toyota is still offering bags.  I filled it with the auto show brochure (which in itself was cut down [and shrunken] to the size of a fold-open pamphlet -- it even had a coupon!) and some salesman's business card.  The salesman wasn't there to give it to me.  No, there was a stand, and in the middle was a pile of business cards, and I took one.  I didn't even look at the cars of the dealership he works for.  I just picked one up so I could throw a second thing in my Toyota bag.

I really am just going to these auto shows now for the bag.  That's the only free thing they're offering ... well, besides fantasies, I guess.  And fantasizing that one day a beautiful car I scoped out at the auto show will wind up on my driveway?  Heh!

Should Be My Free Day. But It Won't Be

I should be able to sleep in today/Saturday.  But dammit, Mother wants me to really, really deposit these checks at the bank in the morning.  Then, come to think of it, it is time to type up that letter regarding needed to change the timing chain at the library.  And then, while I'm there, I might as well print out those real estate renewal certifications for my parents.  And really, I should finally fill out that dental claim form for the check-up I got a couple months ago.

And that's not counting buying groceries at Target and some alcohol at Total Wine.  And I should put some gas in the car.  And I wanted to exercise too, but considering all the other stuff I have to do, I no longer think I have the time.

I have to cram all of this in today/Saturday because I am working the Vikings Game tomorrow/Sunday.  It's a big one -- vs. the Packers, and both teams are good, and the broadcast is going national.  I am kind of nervous over this.  But, since the kickoff time got shifted from noon to 3, I get to come in three hours later.  In fact, I should be able to sleep in and get to the production truck well on time.  Ironically, it's today/Saturday, a day where I don't have work, where I nonetheless have to wake up early.  And that's why I am kind of in a tizzy right now.  And I should go to bed now.

Now My Psychotherapist Says I Should Push Myself

So last week I was able to speak with my psychiatrist because my work schedule allowed me to get out of work early.  Sometimes, frankly, I struggle with figuring out what to say to him.  I want to talk to him.  Sounds bad to admit this, but I don't really talk to my friends or family about my struggles or worries.  It's my shrink that I speak to.  Have done it for many years now.  But sometimes things are so good that I, well, struggle to talk about things.  That's partly why I only speak with him sporadically.

What I came up with, the thing that I'm "struggling" with right now, is finding another job.  My rush to leave my current job has cooled, mostly because of insouciance and inertia.  My friction with my boss has abated, even though it's not because we solved anything; it's because there has been such little work that I haven't been able to accrue overtime to finish the work I need to finish, and therefore my boss hasn't yelled at me over OT in a month or more.  I should look for other work anyway, not only because this issue could rear its ugly head if work picks up but, somewhat paradoxically, I need to find a job that gives me more to do than what this one has been able to give me all year so far.

But I haven't looked in a while, and that's the problem that I mustered enough effort to talk to my therapist about, even though, to be fair, I raised this issue with him when I was really considering leaving my job.  I admitted to him that I haven't looked lately, however.  To which he ... well, he didn't snap at me, but he was more forceful with me than he ever has with me before on any other subject I have raised with him.  He said that my boss and this company don't value me, that I am worth more, and that I should look for another job that helps me fulfill my potential.

I hear him ... but I don't hear him, you know what I mean?  This reminds me, sadly, of the times Father would talk to me about going back to school or finding another job.  I understand I could potentially put myself in a better place but ... man, I just don't have the energy.  Father hasn't done that with me in years.  Maybe it's because he finally realizes it's not working, or that he's just happy I have full-time work, or that he's just tired in general.  So it is kind of jarring to hear my psychotherapist essentially take over Father's job, especially when I have spoken so much about Father to him, and usually not in a positive light.

And, bottom line, I probably won't do anything about leaving this job unless things get really, really bad there again.

Another Week Where I Went From Getting To Do Nothing To Needing To Do Everything

This week I'm not in The Fourth Department.  I work from 7 till 3:30 every day.  Just like old times.

When I have that shift, I usually don't get stuff to eat before coming into work.  And when I don't get stuff to eat before coming into work, I am more likely to just drive home from work, stay in and not spend money.  That is what I need to be doing these days.

But am I doing that?  Of fucking course not.  To be fair, I was going (and went) to last/Tuesday night's USWNT Friendly versus South Korea (er ... Korea Republic), so I was spending money then.  I wasn't going to spend money Monday, but when my boss texted me that I was going to work at a different department, I thought the change necessitated a mocha and oatmeal from this place I like in order to adjust.  For today/Wednesday I thought I could go to work and then home, but then my therapist said he could talk over the phone after work.  I can't talk to him at home, so I will go to a park to speak with him instead, and if I'm starting my car up more than two times a day, I might as well start up my car four or five times that day and go somewhere.

Tomorrow/Thursday I thought I had nothing.  But that's when the NBA Finals start, and I'll be damned if I watch those fucking Dallas Mavericks on the TV after they beat the shit out of my Timberwolves.  I'm so irate I would rather go out somewhere than be tempted by turning on the television and watching.  And I also thought I had nothing on Friday, but out of the blue, ******e let me know that ***e* is back in town and want to double-team me.  I haven't had my pee-pee touched in a long time -- so much so that I was actually thinking about texting her last/Tuesday night to see if she had any free time for some sexytime -- so even though I don't want to go out on a Friday night, I will for this.

One of these days (well, probably tomorrow/Thursday) I want to just go to work and then home.  I am so exhausted today after staying up and then watching soccer in the pouring rain.  I don't know how I can keep up such a jetset lifestyle at my advanced age.  I will need to take it easy next week ... right?

I'll Be Fucking Everywhere This Weekend

So hey, summer begins!  And I am celebrating by spending money like the dickens.  I will allow myself that this weekend.  It's a holiday!

Yesterday/Friday and today/Saturday I am helping out the broadcast of the Lynx Game.  Easiest set day in my life yesterday/Friday, thank goodness.  I was out and about, but I spent a total of six hours there.  It was an absolute breeze.  And I just need to do stats today/Saturday.

With that, I have the afternoon free.  And after seeing the EPL Play-Up Game tomorrow/Sunday, I will have the rest of the afternoon free then, too.  What I am filling those afternoons with rested on two things, one of which was dependent on the other.  The first thing happened serendipitously: *****y asking me if I wanted to come over and get a handjob from her.  We've been trying to arrange something, and I thought I would text her to see if this weekend would be good, but I didn't want to talk to her until the second (or is this the first in this case?) thing happened, which is PWHL Minnesota, the professional women's hockey team that bought the PHF and then memory-holed its history.  I have riffed a couple times of how pissed I am that PWHL Minnesota had essentially bought, stolen and trashed the history of The Minnesota Whitecaps.  But I set that aside once that team stole Game 2 of their Walter Cup Series at PWHL Boston.  I then was waiting for the result of Game 3, which took place last/Friday night at the X.

If they lost, I was looking at a wide-open Sunday night.  However, they won, which means that tomorrow/Sunday night's Game 4 could be for a championship, and everyone here knows we're starving for a championship.  I want to be in the room where it happens, so once I heard last/Friday night that PWHL Minnesota had won, I hopped onto Ticketmaster and bought a ticket (with exorbitant fees the state has just vowed to crack down on).  They beat PWHL Boston in Game 3 4-1 as well.  If form holds, Game 4 is just a formality, and I will (fingers crossed) see what I believe to be The Minnesota Whitecaps hoisting a second trophy at the Xcel Energy Center Sunday night.

Once I knew I had that to do Sunday night, I thought my weekend plans would fall into place: After the Lynx Game today/Saturday I would either reach *****y or ******e for a HJ, then maybe work on my receipts at a coffeeshop or eat walleye at Tavern On Grand in St. Paul (before they close for good next week), then spend the evening at the local jazz club in town because a guy I ushered with back in the day is opening up for a stand-up show there.  I have never been to this place (although I have been on the premises when it was a restaurant), and I finally think this is the time to go there.  Sunday I would go downtown to watch the Play-Up Game, go home to eat a very early dinner, then go to St. Paul.

Well, unfortunately, *****y changed that.  So with the sexytime for sure occurring Sunday (right after the Play-Up Match), I am going from Minneapolis to a suburb of St. Paul back home and then to downtown St. Paul that day.  That's a lot of driving in my car, and a lot of back-and-forth in particular.  Don't like that at all.  But hey, she wants to wank my dick and I want to see a title-winning sports team in town, and both of them are happening several hours apart tomorrow/Sunday.

To make up for it, I will stay at home for Memorial Day.  Maybe.

Did Not Dodge The Other Bullet

So it was more than a week ago that I got to my car, which I parked illegally, and drove off before the tow truck came.  For the first few days I checked online to see whatever fine I needed to pay for the illegal parking and I didn't see any record.  That led me to believe, or at least hope, that because I sped off in time, I didn't have to pay anything.

With that being said, the fine print in the back of the ticket said to wait a week to check, just in case.  I was going to check this weekend, but I got caught up doing other fun stuff.  Finally checked just now ... and goddammit, they did record the ticket, and I do have to pay, albeit $45.  On the one hand, I should thank my lucky stars that's all I have to pay.  If I didn't get to my car in time, not only would it have been a pain-in-the-ass to get it back, but that's better than the, gulp, maybe $450 to get out of the impound lot, which is fucking obscene.  On the other hand, I have to pay $45 just to go see my dentist, and that's pretty shitty regardless.

I was invited to a stripper party for Friday afternoon.  It just so happened that I plan to take that afternoon off from work.  It would've been perfect timing to go, but because I need to shell out $45, I don't feel like I can afford it.  Actually, I wasn't planning on going anyway because I don't have the money, but I'll blame it on this ticket I have to pay.

I Did Something Yesterday That Still Terrifies Me

Goddamn my temper.

So I was driving to work yesterday/Monday.  Since I had my timing chain replaced, I've slowed down while driving -- for the most part.  But there was this van that got behind me, then changed to the lane to my left, then merged right in front of me.  Like, "Why are you gettin' that motherfucking close to me, you fucking asshole?!" close.  And I felt violated and attacked and as if my manhood was taken from me, and so I needed to take my manhood back.  So I went to the lane to our left, floored the gas pedal, and cranked my car back onto our lane and right in front of him.

But I didn't.  I did all of those things, but by the time I thought I was showing him up, he (and it had to be a he) moved one lane further to the right, and he was slowing down because he was getting onto the off ramp.  When I saw that I kind of dusted him but he was not in a position to see that I did, I stepped on the brake.  Hard.

I have had bouts of road rage like this before.  Rode my car hard many, many times -- accelerated to close to 100, then cut off the son-of-a-bitch who cut me off and slammed on the brake.  Afterwards, I always felt as though I may not have "succeeded" in showing who's boss, but I felt true to myself in taking back what was taken from me.  But not this time.  I'm not disappointed in myself.  But I am still shaking -- not exactly over what happened to me, but over what I did in response.  Yes, I've done this before.  And yet I can't believe I did this, or allowed myself to do this.

I'm getting older.  My uncle dying probably is weighing on me more than I am conscious of.  But I feel this sense of shame now because of what I put my car through.  It's getting older, and it's not as if I can afford to buy another one off the lot.  And I know that you hurt the car when you suddenly accelerate and suddenly brake.  And oh, by the way, I have new tires on it.  There's a breaking-in period of about 1,000 miles where you should go easy on them, and I sure as hell didn't yesterday morning.  Now, if my car is ruined after this one rush of blood to the head, then this model needs to be recalled for being a piece of shit.  But I can't let this happen again.  And I certainly can't allow this hard driving because of my road rage contribute to a pattern that will ultimately kill my car.

I am under no illusion that I will do what I have pledged to do in this blog post.  This prick (and by the way, the car that almost sideswiped me was a minivan from, I think, a company called Royal Transportation [there was a decal on this fucking vehicle], which I believe is a public assistance transportation company for those who cannot drive themselves, so I believe the driver was someone who was hastily trained in driving) could be riding my ass again this morning.  I am not absolving this piece of shit for what he did to me; I have never had someone merge in front of me so closely.  But that van's gone and I still have my car which I totally abused because this red mist descended in front of my eyes again.  People suck at driving, but I have to walk the line because getting revenge means I destroy the vessel that gives me mobility in this world.

Still have this aching suspicion that I've hurt this car past some irreversible point just because of what happened, though.  In the meantime, I think I will try and drive slowly -- and, Lord willing, let things go while I'm driving.  Just don't know if I will.

She Finally Got The Hint

So there is a stripper whom I have blog posted about before here on WAF.  I met her once before when she was doing dances at **y's place.  She's quite old and her skin is stretched out and shit.  I got dances from her once where she jacked me over my pants.  That was enough for me to believe she was down to fuck, so when she started inviting me to other parties she was working, she would text me.  But somehow, I would get there and she would never be there.  Instead, the only girls working there were, well, ugly and fat and kind of scary.  This missing her when I got to the parties she was working (and, I think, hosting) that I once texted her in frustration that I thought she was going to be there and why was she not.  She said her kid got hurt and so she needed to run home.  I don't believe that, nor do I believe her when she subsequently said she drove back to the party.

That was at least two years ago.  That may even have been before the pandemic.  Regardless, that was the last straw for me.  Not getting touched by her in years, plus her series of excuses of not being at a party she invited me to, plus getting only fugly women to work these parties, and plus accusations of ripping off other girls who worked house parties she hosted (including **y), and I gave up ever seeing her.  And as time went on, I stopped caring that I would see her.

With that being said, she still had my number, and she continued to text me whenever she either was doing parties or working at a strip club in the region.  I told her that I was busy or I had no money, but to be honest, I had no interest in seeing her.  Also, some of the parties, and the strip clubs she now works at, are way too far for me to drive to, even if I did have money and was horny.  But she always accepted my excuses and was very cordial to me, saying, "OK."

Till yesterday/Tuesday afternoon.  She texted me that she was working at some club 90 minutes from here tonight/Wednesday night.  I told her that "job issues" came up.  That excuse is vague, and even if me thinking about changing jobs is real, it should have no bearing on whether or not I have the ability to see her.  But that's the reason I told her I wasn't able to see her at the club tonight/Wednesday night.  And she said, basically, "OK, it's been two years of you telling me you can't make it.  You're off the list."  And my first thought was, "Wow, she finally put two and two together."  But then I texted her, "Sorry," and she said, "That's OK," and I suddenly felt all guilty.  Does she think I was stringing her along?  Because, well, I was.

But, will I try to see her again?  No.  I probably won't.  Eh, whatever -- she still has my number.

Make Up The Money I Had To Spend, Or Live A Little?

I vowed that I was going to cut back on my spending because I had to shell out two grand to get my car fixed.  Well, just last/Tuesday night I decided to go out to First Ave. to see DJ Shadow, a legendary indie hip-hop artist whom I've heard of but whose work I am not familiar with.  Thirty-five bucks is a decent price for a concert of someone of that stature these days.  Trust me, if it were a tad more expensive than that, I would not have gone.  Still, combined with the price of a Strongbow and the cost of gas, it was, oh, almost $50 I could have saved by staying home.

But shoot, that's no fun.  And hey, I really liked the concert.

I'm not gonna make up that money, am I?

2024 New Year's Resolutions

I made them a long, long time ago, but I hadn't since because it was depressing to see me fail to keep them so often.  But I have reflected a bit late in 2023 and thought of some resolutions I want to work on.

I resolve to not think about doing violence to people who have wrong me while I'm daydreaming.  It's a waste of time, I sabotage my day, and my heart rate goes up whenever I think it.  I need to stop that.

Also, and this might be contradictory, I resolve to speak my mind more.  I think I do that already, and that's a product of old age, specifically not caring about what people think of me and feeling as though my age gives me some standing in public.  But I still have opinions, and I shouldn't be afraid of voicing them.

And you know, I resolve to drive a lot calmer.  I hate doing that, but because of my recent brushes with car catastrophe, I think I need to go easier on my car, and that means accelerating easier and settling on a slower top speed.  I have to keep this one for a while.

I think those are enough resolutions.  I don't want to break any more than these.  And more difficult resolutions, such as eating better and watching my weight ... yeah, let's not get grandiose here.

Thoughts On 2023

Things weren't bad, if I am being honest with myself.  Lost Grandmother's best friend back in May or June -- I should look for an obit again -- and that represents the final closing of any connection with Grandmother on Earth ... well, there is her family, so I am being melodramatic.  But everyone else I know and love are still alive.  I risk that streak in 2024, but I don't want to think about that right now.

Work is good.  I think my boss's discouragement of me having overtime may grow to be a problem, but it hasn't been more than an occasional pain-in-the-ass.  As another person gets trained in, I will be working in The Fourth Department fewer and fewer days.  I will see how I feel when that finally happens.

Family is good.  Parents and I didn't fight as much while they were here.  I still get annoyed and sometimes get into arguments with Mother, like last/Saturday night, over being diligent over bills and stuff.  But hey, as long as they're on the other side of the world, they can't touch me.  And really, as long as they're over there, I like them more.  Because they can't hurt me while they're in the house.

I continue to try and maintain relationships with my stripper girlfriends.  I don't go out to strip clubs anymore, and I realize now that the ones I have made friendships, and friend-with-benefits-ships, with, are basically the ones I've got.  Going out to new strip clubs is an expensive venture, and maybe I'm happy with who I have.  Or, maybe I will get restless and see if I want to see other women.

I love the stability 2023 gave me.  But I wonder if I am, or am going to get, restless, and not just with seeing other women.  Eating and getting fat remain an issue with me, for example.  I feel very obligated to eat everything my parents made for me in the freezer -- I still have, I think, more than half of it left -- and to drink all the alcohol I have bought.  That's a lot of pounds I'm packing.  And after tomorrow/Monday/New Year's Eve, I don't have the excuse anymore of indulging for the holidays.  I should be watching my weight regardless, but I really, really should start taking care of my body starting in 2024, specifically slimming my waistline and lowering my cholesterol and high blood pressure.  (I honestly think that I now weigh more than most of the people I know.  I was a rail all through college.  Swear I was 125 pounds when I graduated with my bachelor's.  Humbling and sad.)  You know, I should work on my temper, too.  I fall into a violent dream and my heart starts racing to the point my chest hurts.  Maybe I should do things to stop that.

That requires change, and I hate change.  But there are some things that I can do and be better at, and I wonder when, or if, I will get sick of the same old same old.  Should I go back to school and upgrade my skills so I can get a better-paying job?  Should I make a more concerted effort to find someone to spend the rest of my life with?  The more things stay the same, the more I fear things get staid.  And the world won't stay the same for me.  If things change around me, what will happen, and how will I fare?

You know, maybe this time next year I will be doing the same damn thing I've always done.  And maybe I will be fine with it knowing that, deep down in my heart, I am who I am.  But there might always be a chance that I will do something different.  Will I reject that?  Or will I embrace that?

Happy New Year, everyone.