Hottest Babe In The Hooters Calendar: October 2025

It's almost the end of November and I haven't had time to research October.  But, even with a quick glance, I find this month to be quite underwhelming.  I might call it The Worst Month In Hooters Calendar History, but that wouldn't be fair because if this is not the first time I perused the month, I don't remember it.

There are only ten girls this month, and I will single out four of them.  The top two are on top based on a technicality I should revisit.  Without further ado:

In fourth place is Anna, out of Grand Prairie, Tex.  Pure blonde whose hair reaches down to her belly button, she is sporting a deep blue two-piece bikini.  Her top hides her small boobs, but I love her posing with her left wrist on top of her head while she is leaning against a wall.  Her bikini bottom is tied up with what looks like 70 feet of string, what with how it's tying up her bikini bottom.  But that hair, man, that hair ...

In third place is Anastasia, hailing from North Arlington, Tex.  She is wearing a pink/salmon one-piece that is cut out on one side, if that makes any sense.  But she has very light and wavy red hair, and I am a sucker for redheads.  Also, she has a beautiful face.

In second place is Fort Worth's Ruby.  She's wearing either a dark green or black (yeah, maybe I'm weird for not being able to distinguish between those two colors) two-piece bikini, and her wavy brown hair reaches her hips.  She's posed with her left side to the camera.  I don't see her ass, but I can see from the angle of her bikini bottom that she is showing ass while wearing that swimsuit -- not a whole lot, but technically, that's nudity, and so I am ranking her above all others (except one).  I am not seeing her ass, though, I'm mostly projecting, so I might have to rethink or make more exceptions to my "ass = #1" rule.

And that rule applies to the Hooters server in first place, The Main Girl, Chyna, out of Fort Lauderdale Beach, Fla.  The reason there are only two women this month is because her photo takes up the top half of the month.  She is lying on her front.  She is wearing a black two-piece dotted with white ... somethings or other.  She has piercing light brown eyes, though.  Also, she too looks as though she is exposing her ass from what little of her bikini bottom I can see by the way she is posed.  Moreover, I can say with confidence that she is more ass, and that is why she gets the top spot.

Like I said, I might have to revise my rule so that I need to see a Hooters woman's ass in the picture before I elevate her above everyone else.  Till then, congratulations to Chyna and to the other three women.  I ... might have the time to beat off to y'all, but if I do, it won't be any time soon.  Sorry!

My Goddamn Meddling Fucking Mother

Mother volunteered to mix the mixture I need to drink today.  I told her she didn't have to, that I could do it.  She told me how much Gatorade I need for my mixture.  I told her wrong.

I was chilling in my bedroom trying to listen to Stephanie Miller.  I was going to show her the instructions as to how much Gatorade I need for this initial mixture.  I was afraid she was going to ignore me, and sure enough, when I went out to the kitchen to show her that, uh, I was wrong, and it's 16 oz. of Gatorade less, I saw her wrapping up these measuring cups.  She did.  She fucking did it.

Yeah, I made a mistake.  But I told her I was going to do it after I check the instructions.  She fucking meddled again.  My Fucking Father does this all the time and now My Fucking Mother does it.  Why can't they meddle on shit I need them for, like money?  I have six hours in which to make up this mixture, and because she "loves" me, she doesn't do what I say?

Oh yeah -- when I told her the mix is wrong, she said that she was right, she knew how much Gatorade to use, but "I don't listen to her."  Get the fuck outta here.  That might be more triggering to me than the fact she did what I asked her not to do.  The projection is such a trigger to me.  Fucking hate it.

I have to tell the nurse about this, as much as to blow off steam as to make sure this isn't a fatal mistake.

Pre-Election Day Tension

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

---

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

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

Nightmare -- And This Is A Weird One

I don't remember much of the details; I don't remember details of nightmares, plus this one happened at least a couple weeks ago.  All I can recall are a couple of guys in business suits literally being walked down halls and in buildings by a group of men fully enshrouded in tactical gear and with a lot of weapons on their hands, including one pointed right at the people they're kidnapping.

The thing is ... I noticed that the flies on the two business people are open and in fact -- I can't believe I'm blog posting this -- their hard dicks are protruding through those flies.  No, they're not flaccid penises just jutting out of the opened pants zipper.  These cocks are fully erect, and they are big, and these huge shafts -- but not their balls -- have proudly crossed that tonsorial red line for all the world to see.  Except that the world isn't getting to see these guys' dicks ... because one of the kidnappers in both groups is grabbing that businessman's cock.

Again, I don't understand why that is the detail I remember.  Shit, man, I don't know why I'm having a nightmare featuring hard and out dicks.  Maybe I'm projecting.  Maybe I'm secretly gay.  All I know is that's a weird fucking nightmare to have.

Killing Two (Or More) Birds With One Stone

Had a call-in session with my shrink today.  It was after work, and since I came in Sunday evening to work some overtime, I saw that I would be filling in for someone who works a half-hour earlier than me, so I could move up the tele-session by a half-hour.  And yet, because of some driver who went over two or three lanes to take the cloverleaf ramp from one highway to another right in front of me, I tried keeping up with her, accelerating and decelerating at dangerous speeds very close to other cars.  Sadly, I couldn't keep up with her (and I only say her because a decal, "You just got passed by a girl!" set me off).  Alas, road rage insults inflicted on me by fast, dangerous cars go unanswered by me because of slow cars ... well, slower; they're the ones obeying the speed limit, not me, or that chick.

But I got to the grocery fast enough where, after I purchased food and a Coke, I made it to the parking lot and I wasn't too late to receive the call from my therapist.  Turns out, driving that fast did get me to almost on time with him, but I could just be rationalizing my bad driving, driving that seemed to have taken some miles off of my car's transmission.  It's been going funny ever since, I think.

It's that aggression, one that may or may not have been intentional by that other car, that was my first subject with my psychologist.  I then went to talking about the other passive-aggressive dudes I ran into at work.  At the end of the hour, my therapist asked me to reflect on these run-ins as well as my aggressive driving before the call and try to delve into why I did those things.  He noticed an "irritation" in me, and he thought that I have had a negative reaction to those dealings not because of something deriving from those dealings themselves, but rather they're a connection to either something else at work or something at home.

I have done a little reflection, and although I could be wrong, I think I know what it is: My sudden weight gain.  I talked about it at a glance here, but I'll rehash it: On Friday, I went to a screening that my company uses to, fingers crossed, give me the cheapest insurance rates.  I go through the whole metric rigmarole -- blood panel, blood pressure, height.  And then I weighed myself, and by God, I am the heaviest I have ever seen myself on a scale.  It didn't help that I went to see Black Widow and got a popcorn and large Coke (that came free!), then went to the Gopher soccer Match and got a hot dog and a medium-sized Coke.  I went online at work Sunday night and checked past screenings: My weight, and thus my Body Mass Index, was much more manageable the previous two years, and that includes one in the thick of the pandemic, when no one was doing anything except stay home and eat.

Ever since I could feel the weight around my waistline -- which, by the way, according to the quick but not customer-friendly tech who took all my measurements, is at a record 38 inches -- and I have been obsessed with, and enslaved by, my rotundity.  That deluxe sandwich, with several slices of deli meats packed into two delicious pieces of bread?  I was throwing the wrapper away while speaking to my doctor.  The trash can was across the parking lot.  I walked over there, and every step I took I felt my belly shifting to and fro.  I was mentally adding "doooonk, doooonk" sounds in my head as I sauntered.

I think getting fat has been really weighing on my mind.  And as I noted in the blog post linked above and linked here, I have been meaning to work out, but I haven't had the time.  Last night, for example, I was going to a stripper party to get wanked, and maybe more, by this woman I have been in contact with for several years now without having any intimate contact.

But maybe there was divine intervention that has steered me in the right direction.  By the time I got there, yesterday evening, it looked like it was cancelled.  While I drove slowly down the street and saw the house, I saw a guy get out and walk up to the side door.  When I came back to park, he was already going back to his car.  We locked eyes in a way two whoremongers could identify each other.  He started the car and drove my way, but when he got up to my parked car, he stopped and told me no one was there.  Must've all cut the party short or something.  Thanks, fellow strippermonger.

I texted the host who invited me and drove off.  I literally had my best laid plans ruined, so now what?  I thought I could go to Target to buy some creamer, then walk around a park somewhere ... but ... it then hit me ... why not go to the gym?  Sure, I wasn't wearing any underwear, but that's a small price to pay for trying to burn off some calories and jump-starting your metabolism!

So even though I had to drive 13-4 miles in a car I don't quite trust nowadays, I put in about 75 minutes on the elliptical, the yoga mat, and the bike.  Four-hundred eighty-eight calories used, according to the displays.  I don't know if I have made a dent on my belly at all.  But I like to think that any exercise is good.  More importantly, right now I feel as though I have finally done a good thing to get in shape.  Mentally thinking I am doing the right thing for myself has done wonders for my psyche, and it has lightened my mood.

So, maybe this is the projection my psychotherapist has been talking about.  Maybe my frustration over my weight gain has been the reason I tried to race that crappy car, and why I take such umbrage and these worker's micro-aggressions.  I didn't get a piece of ass, but I finally was able to exercise and lift a self-imposed mental burden off my head.  And I got to save a lot of money.  Sounds like a win-win-win to me.

Now to wean myself off of pop and other added sugars. ...

Bad Driver: AFS 655 (Dark Camry ... Young Woman)

I'll be honest with you: What you did, speeding up to get in front of me so you (well, we) could take the right-turn lane, is something I've done often.  And it's not the most egregious of offenses, especially since you did turn on your signal.  I appreciate that.  In retrospect, I do.

It's just that, when someone cuts in front of me like that, I am absolutely dreading that you are going where I am going.  And goddammit, we were both going to the bank.  And on top of that, you went to the same entrance, and the same side of the building where I usually park.  So that's what I parked next to you.  Well, that and I wanted to show you up.  Passive-aggressively, of course.

Now, did you stay in the car because you were afraid of me?  See, the way you were driving, I was afraid of you.  Maybe that's why neither of us got out of our cars.  But then it dawned on me: If you were seeking a confrontation, or if I got triggered if you stepped out of your car, then what?  What would be the purpose of us going into the bank at the same time after your provocation?  There is no purpose.  So I left to end this awkwardness.  I had to get your license plate in case you want to come for me, of course.  But hopefully you'll never pull that bullshit on me again.

Whiny Mover Guy (Scheduled Post)

Spent the afternoon and evening helping *****e* move.  I and about seven other guys pitched in.  Man, that's a lot of handjobs she'll need to do to make up for it.

I got really tired near the end of my stay helping to move shit for her.  In fact, I got a little tirangry.  It may have come out as I was helping this dude try to pull *****e*'s treadmill up from downstairs.  I don't know if you've ever tried moving a treadmill, let alone pulling it up from downstairs, but trust me, it'll ruin you -- as it did me, who was helping pull that goddamn thing up 14 stairsteps when the other guy said it won't through the threshold unless we go all the way back down and rotate the treadmill so it's vertical, not horizontal.  That's when I dropped my head and reached for my back.

And I think it got around that I wasn't really projecting a positive image because a bit later *****e* checked up on me: "Are you OK?  How's your back?" she said, and even though I appreciate her concern, I know that she was concerned -- that she even knew about my quick tantrum -- because the guy who I was pulling that treadmill with told her.  And I'm not sure if he was actually being helpful, or if he said it like, "Dude, that handsome guy in the white t-shirt?  He's got a bad back, and he's dragging all of us down.  You've got to get rid of him!"  Again, I was getting so exhausted that I really wanted to leave.  But I don't know to be badmouthed behind my back, please.

And now I've got the reputation as the prick who whines a lot.  Great.

At Some Point, Getting Caught Means This'll End, Right?

Yesterday my boss caught me on the Internet three times when I was supposed to do the mail.  One time she said, "Are you bored?" to which I said, "A little."  But I don't know if she was being sarcastic or passive-aggressive.  At some point, she actually took the mail away from me and had me do something else.  I did it so fast that she gave me the mail back to finish, which I did; I get the feeling that I thought she thought I would be done with the mail a lot sooner, instead of dinkin' around the Internet.

See, a part of me thinks that because she caught me on the Internet (and why she was over at my cube three times yesterday I don't know), she actually wanted to help me by making me do tasks that I was actually engaged in.  I appreciate that sentiment, if that was her intention, but I want to convey the notion that I will do anything that is asked of me.  And I want to say, above all, that I like this job, and I like her, and I like working at this company.  But beyond that, a part of me believes that she is disappointed in what I am doing compared to the projection I gave of myself when I interviewed with her.  I don't know if she's cool with what I've done or if she's secretly roiling inside.  Then again, I don't think I know the intention of any person.  Hell, I don't know my own intention many instances.  In any case, if she is truly not liking me just dinkin' around the Internet, maybe it's best if I don't stay.

---

I am to look for another job.  The guy who's been helping said last week that the job he thinks I'm perfect form will now pop up this week.  I thought it was supposed to pop up last week, which makes me wonder whether this job will appear at all.  And I barely know the specifics of what this position entails, so I don't know whether I'm good or even appropriate for it.  I want to stay positive; this guy is looking out for me.  But I have to know whether or not I'm a good fit.

However, my recalcitrance over leaping over to this new job, potentially, has subsided a bit.  What happened yesterday is a part of it; just in case, maybe I should leave because my current boss thinks I'm slacking.  I'm also worried that these tasks I'm flitting about doing means that eventually there won't be any work.  This job I have has already morphed away from its original purpose.  While I have been kept busy doing other things, my boss mentioned that I will be jumping from job to job "as long as I am here."  Well, I would like to be here permanently, which means I may have to go look at this other job.  Hope she understands.  Then again, if she doesn't like me on the Internet, maybe she isn't totally loving my work ethic either, in which case maybe I should leave.

So something weird happened this morning.  My Father bellowed out to me after dinner to help screw in an overhead oven light.  While helping him, he told me that Mother fell in the bathroom in the morning, and he even yelled out to me for help.

Had no idea, none.  Didn't hear any screaming from downstairs.  And when I left, I looked around, didn't see either parental unit, grabbed a banana, went downstairs to the front door, looked downstairs, saw no light and heard no commotion, and I left.  Nothing was amiss, and I certainly didn't feel as though someone got hurt.

You know, this reminds me of the time the siding of the house was being replaced.  They were working on it from sun up till end of the work day, and I would just be sitting in my room watching TV and shit.  (This is when neither I nor my parents gave a shit I was at home during the day, mostly because they were still working and I was taking care of Grandmother.)  One morning I heard a siren, and then it stopped.  Didn't think much of it until I left the house; at the front yard one of the guys working on the house said that his co-worker fell from a ladder while working on some upper-level siding.  The siren was the fire truck EMT taking him to the hospital.  I think he was working just outside of the room I was lolling around in.

So what I'm trying to say is shit happens.  I didn't hear this contractor fall to the ground from two stories up, and I didn't hear Father ask for me while I was sleeping.  He told me that Mother at first wanted to go to the emergency room, but then after a while she said she was fine.  I wonder if I should bring it up, but I won't, because they haven't given two shits about what I'm going through, and if I do show concern, I think Mother is going to launch into yelling at me for something else that is a projection of her anger that I didn't help her in her time of need.  See, she didn't talk to me at all last night, so that means that she could just launch into some bullshit accusations at me from out of the blue.  Could happen during dinner tonight, which is a couple hours before I have to pick up my sister and brother-in-law from the airport.  And shit, there's no knowing whether My Fucking Father would hold me not heeding his cries (like a loyal son should) either.  Both of those fuckers could really come after me for something I didn't even realize happened.

A Father's Day Dilemma

Uh, Happy Father's Day and all that shit.

So, anyway, I went to sleep at 1 and woke up at 8:30 -- full night's rest, which is good.  I woke up knowing what today was, and for the past several days I thought, to "honor" My Fucking Father, I would mow the lawn.  But should I?

See, I am not sure if the grass is high enough it to be mowed.  Now, there are a ton of things back-and-forth about whether or not to mow.  I have heard that even if it's not that high, you should mow it anyway because it helps "train" the grass and will make it stronger.  But my decision on whether or not to do it falls, as it always does, on how My Fucking Father will think.  On the one hand, I thought about doing it because he might like the gesture, since it's Father's Day and all.  But on the other hand I can see him coming back and complaining that it wasn't that necessary because the grass wasn't that tall, and all I'm doing is wasting gas.

My parents awoke; Mother actually called me when I was using the shitter that they were going out for a walk, and if you're going to leave, remember to set the alarm.  So basically, if I could avoid mowing the lawn, they gave me that chance.  I get out of the bathroom and look at both lawns.  The backyard's grass isn't too long, but it is long, and you could see a difference if it was mowed.  Same thing with the front yard with one notable exception.  There is a quadrant of grass that is not protected by shade from the trees or the house most of the day, therefore it is perpetually dried out.  That area is very low, and there really is no need to mow that part.  If that part doesn't need to be mowed, then should I mow any of it, at least until it grows a little bit taller?  And at this point I hear My Fucking Father's nagging voice -- "That's unnecessary, son.  Now are you going back to school yet?"

Fine.  I took off, for Five Watt Coffee, to see all the hot female talent.  That's where I'm writing this.  My Fucking Father can decide when it needs to be mowed.  He has all day, every day, to mow it.  Not my decision, and that's fine by me.  I'll feign going back to school to make up for it.  That'll please him.

Now I'll come home this afternoon and see that he mowed the lawn.  Fuck.

---

Have you Googled today?  For Father's Day the second "O" is replaced with short animations of father animals interacting their children; the vignette ends with a son dropping onto the shoulders of his dad, and his dad grabs and embraces him.  Very tender, very sweet.  And I don't remember many times, if any time, My Father and I interacted like that.  And I don't remember the last time I had feelings towards him like the feelings invoked by the Google Doodle.

I like to think it's his fault.  Could it be mine?

JUST GIVE THEM THE GODDAMN REPORTS!!!

OK, this is a dereliction of duty, in my informed opinion.  For the past 1 1/2 days these two guys I've been training have had to use my computer to print out reports, even though they should have them on their own computers.  That wastes their time as I have had to load up the reports for them, and also ties me up because I could instead be working on my own stuff on my own computer instead of making sure they're still working by pushing their stuff along.  There was a point Thursday morning where each of them was using the accounts of two of the guys were fired (including the one who blew up at me Wednesday), but by noontime or so they were closed down.

And the guy who closed those fired guys' accounts is also the person who my boss said would give these two people access to the reports on their own.  And he's The Asshole.

So I may be overreacting, or maybe even wrong, but seriously, this inability for these two to do work on their own and have to bother me to get their shit going is really starting to piss me off.  I can't get to work, and neither can they.  Meanwhile I told my boss on Monday -- Monday! -- that these two couldn't get on, and for some fucking reason they still can't get on.  It's possible he hasn't told The Asshole.  But for the sake of my sanity I am going to project my hate towards him through a belief that he already did tell him (my boss is The Asshole's boss) to put access on those two computers and he just done it -- not just because he's busy, but also because he hates me and disregards everything I'm there to do.

If that's the case, my perception of him as a guy who talks tough about getting things done, only to be revealed as someone who doesn't really give a shit is 100% true.  The last time I saw this dick he was carrying what looked like his lunch to the break room.  Hey, we have people who can't run reports here, where the fuck are you?!  All he seems to care about is himself -- not even his work, himself.  And if that is true, my fear of him suddenly abates.  Why the hell should I be scared of some shiftless old fart?  I was hired to make sure this company gets paid for flu shots, and I think I'm doing a hell of a better job than he is.  I and the other temps can't work as well as we're asked to because this prick wants to eat instead?!?!  Fuck this guy and his five fucking minutes!  I will not be disrespected by some loafing piece of shit who can't spend those five goddamn minutes loading up reports -- reports, by the way, he should have been able to put up before these guys started.

My fear of this guy is quickly turning into unadulterated, justified hate.  These guys damn well better be able to load up reports on their own today.  I don't give a shit if we're temps, we're owed the ability to do what we need to do in order to work.

Saw Dick Fur At Barnes & Noble

Yeah, so I was drinking this Cool Lime Refresher from Starbucks that was created not with love but indifference from this bitch at the counter (I don't know why this continues to bother me; it wasn't like she was rude, but she gave no eye contact, and that pisses me off -- you don't want to even be cordial, find a fucking desk job!) and I'm just looking at some magazines to sneak-read before I have to come home for dinner.

What do I see but Men's Vogue International.  I don't think I've ever read one.  I don't even know if I ever knew there was a magazine of Men's Vogue International.  But no joke, here is this month's cover.  Yes, that is a guy whose pants are unzipped to the point he's showing his dick fur because he is not wearing any underwear.

And the first thing that's going through my head is: Why the fuck is this magazine cover just laying out in the open of a Barnes & Noble for everyone to see?  What's worse is that this magazine, or at least this issue, was sitting on top of a pile of magazines on the bottom shelf, at foot level.  In other words, precisely where little kids can see.  Now, I don't know if that is the place where this Barnes & Noble bookstore usually puts their copies of Men's Vogue International.  It's possible that it's usually put up high and in the back of the shelves, and someone took it out (the magazine, that is), read it and just lazily threw it down in a place where everyone can see without giving a shit about decency.  I would have, however taken another step further: Even if Vogue Men's (or Hommes) International isn't usually put into a sealed plastic bag that's covered in black or blue, like the Playboy, this sure as hell should have been.

Why am I up in arms about this?  I show my cock hair all the time, right?  Well, no.  I like to think, or at least rationalize, that there is a time and place for those things.  I will hang out with my wang out in front of strippers, women who knew what they're doing.  But at a Barnes & Noble?!?!?!  Fuck that, that's just gross.    There is totally a difference, and if you don't know that, maybe you're the crazy one.

Saying that ... I must confess that I couldn't help but stare at it.  (The guy, by the way, is an Australian model named Jarrod Scott.  And in the same issue he goes all the way: Here he is with not only his pubic hair but his uncircumcised penis exposed.  Have fun, ladies and gay males!)  That's partially because I could not believe I'm seeing such indecent exposure at a decent bookstore.  But also, when I saw this guy's pubes, I was on the flip side of one of my strippers seeing my pubes.  And I have to be honest: Through that process of standing in my many ATFs' high-heeled fiberglass stripper shoes and imagining them seeing me in all my glory (and not, not! just seeing a guy's cock hair), I kind of got turned on.  Forget this Jarrod Scott dude -- seeing his hairy crotch I saw my hairy crotch, and I got kind of hard, I will have to admit.  It's kind of how straight guys justify seeing naked men and their dicks in porn, or at least how I think they justify that: They are projecting themselves as those guys, fucking hot women with their long, big dicks.

Does this make me gay?  I hope not.  Or maybe I am, who the fuck knows.

August 14, 2012: The Day I Saw Grandmother For The Last Time

I promised that I would talk about if we got Grandmother to Hong Kong.  It's been a long time; I wanted to take a break from blogging about her, and then Life intervened.  But now I can write about her.

She did make it into the plane without incident and with the help of my sister, who was accompanying her.  But it wasn't without its hiccups.  For some reason, the flight out of MSP to Tokyo-Narita (there are no direct flights between here and Hong Kong) was delayed by six hours.  So we spent the time, the three of us, just hanging out in the bowels of the airport, sitting, eating comped Starbucks and waiting.

Grandmother was fine, if a bit docile.  My sister told me that the wait was going to get on her last nerve because she was afraid that Grandmother would be so needy that she would expend all the energy she needed tending to her on the plane tending to her at the airport.  Grandmother continued her nasty habit of blurting things out of the blue, but I shushed her so as not to bother my sis.

So she wouldn't have to walk all through the airport, we got her a wheelchair, which allowed her to cut through the TSA line.  Being pushed by an airport helper and with my sister supervising things, I kissed Grandmother and said goodbye.  Typical of her state at the time, all she responded with was a grunt.

Standing at the edge of the ropes I could still see them go through security, my sister put her and Grandmother's valuables on the conveyor belt, and walk to the gate.  At the conveyor my sister looked up and saw me and waved, either to say goodbye again or to shoo me away.  I didn't budge until they were clear out of sight.  Later, while I was loitering around waiting for my sis to call and say they're boarding, she called and ask me to get the belt she left at security.

I may never see Grandmother again.

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My sister gave me the numbers of the contacts Grandmother is now living with, her real son (home and work) and the maid he supposedly hired to take care of her.  I tried calling her once, a couple months ago, but the language barrier was too great and frustrating to overcome.  I haven't tried since.

About a month ago my sister e-mailed the family saying that not only is Grandmother fine, she says she's doing even better.  Hopefully that is a result of her being weaned off the anti-anxiety and sleeping pills the nursing home put her on in order to control her.  But I can't completely believe it because I don't think she witnessed this herself.  More likely she just spoke on the phone with Grandmother's real son and that's why he told her.  She could be worse.

But what can I do?  I've been incredibly busy lately since I found work, and putting off attempting to call her again out of fear I now do easily because of fatigue.  And I feel incredibly guilty.  Maybe I can ask my parents to help me (by the way, I don't think they've even tried to call Grandmother, even though she is the woman who helped raise them when they were young), or my sister.  But then I'm tired, and I figure I'll do it some other time -- pushing away from my mind the possibility that half a world away, something bad could happen to the person who raised me when I was young.

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The last day my sister was in town (this is after she came back from Hong Kong) we were eating at Dairy Queen and she said something that has stayed with me: After hanging out with her, she believed that Grandmother could not have stayed at home.  I protested then and I still protest.  All we have to do is continue to take away things that could harm her, us or the house and make sure she stays home, and we could continue to be a family, like we always were.

It's still clear to me that my parents didn't want to remain a family unit.  But I wonder what my life would be like if she were still with us.  I probably wouldn't have this job, for example.  I might have to tend to her every need and thus stay home instead of wriggle away every afternoon.  Or maybe I would leave her alone because I couldn't stand her, and maybe I would find a job.

Maybe my sis is right.  Maybe she had gotten so mentally degraded that she would need care 24/7.  It could have been so overwhelming that I wouldn't have been able to handle it.  But because she is so important in my life, maybe I would have considered myself up to the challenge, and I would take my PCA duties seriously.

Maybe, maybe, maybe.  And my guilt grows.

Yesterday I was picking up dry cleaning and eating at Subway. I got out of my car and saw two ducks on that island with all the rocks that you park your car next to, you know? One of the ducks was lying on those rocks, obviously dead. The other was slowly wandering back and forth on the pavement next to this duck.

It may be dangerous to anthropomorphize an animal, but I looked at it for a minute before going out my business. That duck looked so helpless as it walked in a circle. What could I do, call 411? But my heart went out to that duck. I should do something, I thought to myself. What if that were me and all the strangers I saw around me didn't stop and ask me what they could do or even what's wrong? I'd be screaming out in anger and rage: Why won't someone help me?! My mother/friend/fellow duck I love is dead! Does no one hear my cries!!

After I got done with lunch I went back to my car. The alive duck was gone, nowhere to be seen. After I got to "work" at the U., I just had to call 411. Since this was on strip mall property, it is the responsibility of management to take care of the deceased duck.