The Most Cursed Business Address In Town

So I came home from exercising tonight/Sunday night.  (Aside: This finished up a long, yet productive day for me.  I filled in for work yesterday/Sunday, then I donated my golf clubs, no questions asked, then I went to an industrial complex to drop off all my old glasses but they were closed because it was an early Sunday evening, then I went to my storage unit to drop off the rest of the stuff I need to hide from my folks, then I ate dinner at Taco Bell, then I exercised for the first time in a while.  I put a hell of a lot of miles on my car, and I was afraid I would be too run down to even do all of this, but I made it.  And frankly, giving away the golf clubs and glasses lifted a burden off my shoulders.  Maybe I'll blog post more about my feelings about that later.)  Oh, yeah ... so I take a left at this intersection to get home from the community center.  But shortly after I finish the left, there are train tracks, and sometimes, and especially around 10 p.m. on a Sunday night, a train comes through, and it'll take a while for it to pass.

That happened, so what I do is drive to the next left, where I pass under the elevated train track.  (Sometimes I wonder it would take less time just to wait, but I am a man in motion, or a shark.)  On my way, I see this business to my left, right next to the gas station at this intersection.  It has signage for a restaurant.  This is different signage from the last time I drove past it.  In fact, this piece of real estate has gone through, and I am not kidding you, at least four different restaurant concepts.  It served hoagies a, long, long time ago; it advertised, so I went there to use a coupon (it was an NFL Playoff weekend, I remember that), and the guy fucked up my change and so I vowed never to go back there again), it went halal, and it was Vietnamese before it became Mexican, which is its current identity.

I am 100% sure that the Mexican restaurant, and no offense to the owners of it, will fail, and this building will undergo yet another transformation.  It will fail because I don't know of a worse place to have a restaurant in my hometown.  We have a couple of main drags in our city, but the street this is on is not one of them.  It's quiet and mainly residential when there isn't a park.  It's really dark.  There is no active business close by beside the gas station (even though there are active businesses up and down the street).  Finally, I don't know how often cars drive down this road, and you need some foot traffic to at least let people know there is a spot here who want to feed you Mexican food.

That footprint should be a small park, or housing, or just a parking lot.  Anything besides a money pit into which people chasing the American Dream throw their hard-earned savings.  And yet people continue to buy the property and try to make it succeed on their terms.  Well, OK -- good luck!

I got the news that my parents' accountant has had a sudden downturn of health and is no longer working, effective immediately.  My parents told me.  They in turn learned about it through a text sent from their accountant's phone, although the person who sent the text is his son.

It's not like I really know the guy.  But as long as I have lived, he has been the one who has prepared all my parents' tax affairs.  And we have talked from time to time if he needed me to relay some message to my folks because either they were overseas or they didn't understand.  My parents (well, Mother in particular; she's the one who handles all the financial stuff) have always badmouthed him.  Mother only talks to me about their accountant when she wants to complain about him.  It's not incessant, but I have never heard her say a good word about him.  So I feel bad about how my folks bash him without him knowing; I know the feeling.  Add that he apparently has suffered a very serious health emergency, and I sympathize.  In fact, I grieve for him, even though he probably will never know my sentiments.

And in the meantime, I might need to help my parents find a new accountant.

HOAs Suck

I should ruminate on this more, but I have to go.

Mother needed my help with some homeowners' association stuff.  In particular, she needed to register for an account online for one of my parents' properties.  This property, however, they have owned for a long time, and I know that there was a different HOA, or at least a different website, to which they registered an account online.  This may not have been the first time for this property, either.  Plus, I know that other properties they own have gone through management changes whereby, suddenly, a brand-new company announces they are the new HOA/manager.

This is, frankly, ridiculous.  There is no reason to continue to change websites or management companies or HOAs for the same property.  I don't know what it is, but it absolutely screams scam.  And unfortunately, they have dozens they have to deal with.  It is beyond annoying.

Won't Miss/Will Miss/Both

Things I won't miss about my parents:

• Having them tool around the house when I want to tool around the house, usually naked;
• Being asked by them for things, in particular the way Mother asks for me: "Nee hauw, nee hauw!" (that stands for "needs help," if you couldn't decipher that);
• Being force-fed so much food that I have ballooned in weight (even though I probably will balloon in weight if I find food for myself; this is more a complaint that I don't want food forced in me)
• Being force-fed that I have never tried, or even am able to describe;
• The questions about where I'm going, why are you doing this or that, etc.;
• Mother criticizing me -- I haven't really understood how much that has affected my life;

Things I will miss about my parents:

• If something in the house breaks, Father usually can fix it;
• I'll have to do all the chores around the house;
• I now have to worry about the house -- it'll be empty now for a part of the day;
• I now have to worry about my parents' real estate ventures;
• I have to open up all the mail and, if necessary, act on them;
• I need to look at my parents' e-mail in case there's something they will miss now that they're globetrotting again;
• How it'll get too quiet around the house;
• I'll be scared if they get hurt while they're travelling;

Another thing I won't and will miss about my parents that I have to worry about as soon as they leave:

• All the food that they have left me.  I need to quickly triage the foods I need to eat immediately and what can wait.  It looks as though I have to worry about the bananas and the lettuce first, followed by the leftover rice and the egg.  But it'll take weeks to get through everything they have left for me in the fridge that is in danger of spoiling.  And that's not even taking into account all the stuff in the freezer.  Hey, I love them, and I appreciate them leaving all this food for me.  It'll save me money, no doubt.  But I will be spending money today/Monday and tomorrow/Tuesday because the former is Cinco de Mayo and the latter is Game 1 of the Timberwolves in The Western Conference Semifinals vs. The Bastard Philadelphia Warriors.  A-wooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!

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.

Helping Mother Over The Phone ... Yeah, Kind Of A Time Suck

One of the things that, well, annoy me about my parents leaving for Las Vegas is that, if Mother wants something from me, it sometimes takes a lot of time.  The last two times I spoke to her, Tuesday and just now, I spent many, many minutes trying to help her -- and I just realized it's basically about the same issue.

On Tuesday she needed me to go through her records to look for a company associated with her real estate holdings.  I couldn't find what she was looking for.  We even Facetimed so she can direct me to where in her office she thought this information was, to no avail.  I think that was 45 minutes.  I was trying to watch the finals of the NBA Cup.  I think she called at the start of the Second Half; by the time I was done with the call, the Game was over.

Apparently, however, Mother found the info she was looking for.  Unfortunately, she had an issue talking to this company, who sent her e-mails she didn't understand.  So her English-speaking son had to boot up his computer to check out these e-mails and see what he can do to (and I think this is the problem) correct mailing information.  But I couldn't; anyone who could help doesn't seem to be there on the weekend, and even worse, next week is Christmas Week.  There might not be a chance this issue will get fixed until after the New Year.

Meanwhile, that call took about 15, 20 minutes.  Felt longer than that, and with my chores of, um, shopping at Target and at Total Wine, I feel wiped out.  I want to have fun tonight; I plan on going to a stripper party, then shopping at the Megamall and probably eating at Hooters.  But because of this call -- and don't get me wrong, both calls were important, even though they were also both futile -- I think I need to take a nap first.  Hopefully I will still have time, if I do conk off.

The Clusterfuck That Is Paying Homeowner Assessments

I don't like the fact that my parents have, like, two dozen properties they own because that means there are two dozen paper trails to follow and the potential for up to two dozen problems to crop up at any time.  Yeah, I think the money is good enough to justify the investment, but I don't really know that because my parents are the ones who made the decision to buy these properties but, as time goes on, it has become my responsibility to track all the costs.

Those costs include assessments, the fees you have to pay because nearly all of these properties fall under the purview of a homeowners' association (HOA).  The biggest goddamn problem with them, as I have learned after dealing with this issue year after year, is that they don't tell us if and if so by how much do these assessments increase for the new year.  Around December Mother always gets into a panic over which properties haven't sent their coupon books (with the new and usually increased assessments) before the first monthly installment is due, usually around the middle of January.  So, like I think it has been in years past, after waiting till after Christmas, Mother tells me to just write checks for some amount that she thinks will cover, say, six months' worth of HOA fees to these properties.

I have been trying to track these checks that I sent early last month.  There were four of these problem properties, and after checking my parents' account online, there seemed to not have been a posting for three of them.  So I have been calling this HOA customer service line off and on the past couple weeks trying to see if they have received them.  In the meantime, I went to the bank to see if they could track them down from their end.  Of the three outstanding checks, I know that two of them were endorsed.

So, I had to go back to the HOA.  After leaving a couple voicemails, I finally had time at work yesterday/Wednesday to call them during business hours.  The first call took so long I had to cut it off to get back from break.  I was able to complete my investigation with a second call after I got off from work -- early enough because I was working (and will work today/Thursday) in My Main Department.  The bad news is that this second call took so long that it ruined my plans on picking up my laptop, which finally got done yesterday/Wednesday (I'll pick it up today/Thursday).  The good news is that I think the person I spoke to straightened out the checks and will finally get them posted to their respective properties.

Well, there are two downsides to that, actually.  One, these mistakes will take at least a week to correct.  Really, a week?  These HOAs are so not on the ball; this is really disappointing.  And another, one of the checks is still "missing."  I'm getting the sneaking suspicion that Mother told me to send that fourth check to an address different from the other three.  Moreover, the bank told me that check hadn't been cashed yet.  I have to go to the bank after work today/Thursday.  If it's still not cashed, I think I can stop payment on it.  I received the coupon book for that property last week; I can write a new check for the right amount and send it to the correct address.

But all of this bullshit could have been avoided if these goddamn motherfucking HOA vipers would have gotten their shit together and sent their coupon books before the end of last year.  Then, there would be no guessing, and no potential for mailing payments to the wrong address.  This is tiring and maddening.  I hate that my parents are making me do this, but these fucking HOA people are not helping by dropping the ball like this.

Immigrants' Son Riding To The Fucking Rescue Again

I love my parents.  I love them most of all right now -- when they're half a world away, and I don't have to be near them.  They can hurt me emotionally, but it doesn't hurt as bad when I know I can just end the call and be at peace at home.  Now, when they are physically at home, I get uneasy and count the days till they begin their winter sojourn around warmer places on Earth.

Still, they can reach out and touch me, and when they do, they can ben annoying as fuck.  And they were last/Wednesday night, when Mother wanted to see if I was home.  There were a couple of photos she wanted me to snap of bills she's kept from a couple of their rental properties -- kind of a pain-in-the-ass, but understandable as to why she would want them.  But then Father chimed in and asked, as he has done all my life though not lately, to write another complaint letter.  This time it's about other rental properties they own from which they believe they haven't gotten enough income.  He asked me to write to the Better Business Bureau about it, and he has asked me to write to them before, and it's gone nowhere.  And then Mother gets back on the horn and asks me to call the property management company and ask them why they're not getting as much money as they think they should get.

This, in essence, is one of the main reasons why I hate my parents: They are permanent drama queens.  I have had to deal with and live under their anxieties and their misplaced sense of entitlement.  Moreover, they add a patina of helplessness to these demands: Since I can speak English like a native, I have always been asked to write, and in this case call, and ask for what they want on their behalf.  I've always been sent out to do their dirty work, oftentimes when they have only half an idea as to what they're mad about, sometimes when they have no proof that they're getting screwed.  But I have to do it anyway because I'm their son, while they go relax or fucking gallivant around China or somewhere.

With that being said ... I have looked over these income statements, and they may have a case.  It appears as though both rental properties in question were rented out for most of the month.  Yet, I see fees here and there, and they add up to a vast majority of the income both properties supposedly generated in income.  They're getting money, but it's a piddly amount.  Now I don't know what questions I can ask this management company, and there might not be anything I can do because my parents supposedly signed an agreement.  But I still call bullshit, and if my parents are right, this management company has reneged on any promises to get back to them when one of them has called asking why these fees have taken such a huge bite out of the revenue.

I think I need to call.  If these fees aren't mistakes, maybe they need to find a different management company, or even sell the properties.  But I'll call them Friday.  I have time then.  I need to formulate questions to ask.  Also, I don't want to call before then; I want to go out for a bit tonight/Thursday night.  If they can party, I can fucking do the same.

This poker game is RIGGED!!!

So I was playing Zynga Poker through Facebook at the library this afternoon.  (I was there to print something out for my parents' real estate stuff.)  I'm on this "tier" where, if I don't play and/or win by the end of the week, I drop a tier.  Not dropping a tier is now the most important thing in my life, so I snuck in some time to play.

Very first hand, I get pocket 10's.  The dude/bot/AI algorithm went all in on diamond 10-A.  He had way more money than I had, so if I called and I lost, I was done.  But my pair of 10's can beat diamond 10-A, right?

And Jesus fucking Christ, off the flop there were three diamonds.  I was drawing dead.  It's like this ... thing knew he had a flush from the jump.  He/it probably did, for all I know.

Now, it's not real money.  But it's a lot of fake money.  And even though it meant that I could do other things I needed to do at the library, I wanted to devote a hell of a lot more time to playing poker.  And I was wiped out after just one hand.  Bullshit.  This poker game is RIGGED!!!  RIGGED, I TELL YA!!!

If That Yappy Bitch At The Library Gave Me COVID I'll ...

So I went to the library Wednesday after eating.  I didn't have to, although it was time to print out my parents' LLC stuff.  I was just kind of sick of being around my parents in the evening, plus I wanted to just go out in the evening.  But mostly, it was because I have this "tradition" where, one night before Christmas, I get a mocha from the Caribou Coffee in the Lunds/Byerlys Uptown and walk around to enjoy the winter and the Christmas season.  Killing two birds with one stone.

I eat dinner, then get to the library.  I was there for just about an hour.  I looked for a computer that is as far away from other people (even beyond the cordoning-off of computer to ensure people were sitting six feet apart) as possible.  I went into the Teen Section of the library, and the only person there was this young girl at a table, seemingly doing homework, with a mask on.  Cool.

So I find and print the forms and then, just because I thought I had time, I surfed around the Internet.  Mostly shopping for gourmet chocolate and then burning through my e-mail.  And then, beyond the computer, I hear: "So what does the textbook mean about finding the vein. ...?"  (I have no idea what she said, I totally made that up beyond thinking that she said something that maybe a nursing student would say.)  And she was talking loudly, louder than library level.  I look past my computer at her ... and goddamn her, she's screaming into her phone with her mask pulled down.

Being the paper tiger I am, I now feel as though I should have said, "Pull your mask up, cunt!" or at least, "Shhh!"  But I didn't.  And worse than that, I didn't end my computer session and leave right after that teenage bitch started acting like a teenage bitch.  I stayed because I wanted to go through the 100+ e-mails I had in my inbox, and I think I had, like, 40 left, and I wanted to go through them all before I left.  I stayed 10-15 minutes, even though it might be my white-hot anger thinking I "had" to stay longer than I really did and it was only five minutes or something.  Regardless, that fucking dilettante was spewing her fucking germs into the same corner of the library I was in.  And me wearing a mask when she fucking didn't have the decency wasn't going to protect me from much.

So now I'm really worried I got it from her.  A new rash of people I see and hear on the TV and radio appear to have gotten it since Wednesday evening, and I'm freaking out.  I plan on getting tested Saturday, but knowing the high-risk situation that bitch put me in (and, to be honest, I did not immediately get myself out of), I need to get tested again about 5-7 days after Wednesday evening, and then a week after that.  But I feel really, really scared about this time around.  The coronavirus noose is tightening around the world, and this time, I think it got me, goddammit.

Dodging Bullets

As I thought, my brother and niece were not there "for a bit," like Mother said they would be.  (Aside: As I did not think, my sister-in-law didn't come over.  Hmmm. ...)  They got there almost precisely at noon (I don't know because they came through the door while I was in the backyard cleaning up the lawnmower after I just got done cutting grass) and my niece was playing with blocks (after playing with the ice shaver before that and enjoying Mother blowing bubbles in her face in the back deck before that) when I left at 2.

I left at 2 for the thing I indicated to my parents I had to do, even though I never told her what that thing was: A taste test ten Minutes away.  I got there in plenty of time.  In fact, the main proctor cycled us through the test(s) and I was out of there at 3:15, 45 Minutes after we started, when we were told that the session would take 75.  Could have gotten Pizza Hut and been home around 3:30, but instead I went to my storage unit five Minutes north of the session to read an old issue of ESPN The Magazine until it was time to get the pizzas at 4:30, the time I said I would get the pizzas when I placed my order online.  (Actually I got there at 4:15, after I stepped into a gas station to grab a Pepsi.)

But back to the taste test.  It was held at a meeting room in a church.  I've never been to this place before, so I postulate that the company administering the taste test needed to find a space big enough for the sample size they need (I say there were 20-30 people) to be able to spread out when sitting down to take their samples.  From the description of the test, the company was going to comply as stringently as possible to standards to protect against COVID-19 while trying to get this done.  For the first time in my life I got my temperature taken with a forehead scan.  (I think I got a 97.9.)  I got a spot in the back of the room, six feet away from the closest desk (sat on by an anti-masker -- I should talk about these people, for they piss me off).  Tablets are used to compile our answers registering our thoughts on these samples, but this time they were put in plastic pouches.  Usually workers give us samples, but this time we were supposed to get up, walk on pathways marked by tape on the floor to table, pick up the samples from there, then walk back to our desks.

Well, there's one exception to that.  Most people had a walkway where they had to follow to get back to their desk, but since I was in the very back, I was allowed to just walk directly back to my desk.  I followed the pathway four of the times I was up, but for the first and last samples I picked up, I decided I wanted to be a non-compliant rebel and scooted back to my desk against the flow of participants and the airflow they generated.

Yeah, about that.  I kind of regret that.  I was told that what I did was OK, but I did see that I was going against the flow of "traffic," and as such I was crossing paths with strangers who had to, at least theoretically, breathe in the air I expelled.  (Oh, we all had to wear masks when we were getting these samples, but could take them off once we sat down.)  Also, I noticed that although we were sitting down more than six feet apart, this was indoors, and I didn't hear any loud fans circulating the air around.  So, when it comes to assessing risk for getting the coronavirus, the setting this afternoon is a lot better than being crowded next to each other, as we usually would be in non-pandemic times.  Could we be farther apart?  I guess.  Would this be better if it were done outside?  Never seen it before (besides this one time where I got paid to try out lawnmowers), but yes, it would.  Should I have not done this?  Well, let's see how I feel between now and two weeks from now.

But shoot, I have been in several situations where I suddenly realize I might, maybe should be scared that I might contract the virus.  A few months ago I was stacked up at the Wells Fargo drive-thru and this car full of dirty people were the only people around me not wearing masks.  I went to a bar a couple weeks ago to watch an NWSL match and stayed there for more than two Hours.  And then there's work five days a week.  Now, I haven't gotten the virus, at least I don't think, and yes, I use my prior experience to re-assess my risk in thinking about doing anything.  I'd like to think I'm not being complacent.  But time moves on, and at some point I will find myself walking into a situation not even thinking about catching the 'Rona when I would adamantly stay away before.  And the conditions of that situation will be far from 0%, and therefore, if I don't get the virus, I should, beyond anything else, thank my lucky stars that I keep dodging bullets.

And yes, tomorrow I will dodge a bullet in a situation where I am happily walking into: Going to ****e's house and fucking her.  Close contact?  Yes.  Close contact for 15 Minutes, the standard of time in defining "close contact?"  Well, I wish, but that has never happened.  And we don't cuddle.

Toilet Bowl Cleaned, But Not From My Own Hands

The toilet bowl was getting a little grody, and I thought I would finally take some time this weekend to clean it.  But I really, really wanted toilet bowl cleaner, and we didn't have any, so I thought I would swing by Target to buy one ... after: Eating Blue Barn food from The Local (ate it in the parking lot), Visiting Grandmother (oh, shit, I didn't say goodbye to her -- dammit, I forgot!) at Lakewood, getting Glam Doll (but couldn't; they sold out), mailing my taxes, printing out the Minnesota state amended tax form for 2018 so I can re-do it and get some of my money back, and dropping off my cum towel at storage.  Did that all in about 4 1/2 Hours -- very long hours because it's so goddamn hot outside.

But I found the toilet bowl cleaner at ... Wal-Mart, which is where the FedEx was where I could print out that form.  And when I came back, at around 3:30, my parents were home renovating that home they own.  And I go to the bathroom and see the toilet bowl all sudsy.  Father apparently also saw it was getting a little grody, and he cleaned it himself.  With what, I don't know.

Don't want to return the cleaner because ... well, it's Wal-Mart, and the place made me feel oogy, and there were too many people not wearing masks and a group looked as though they wanted to pick a fight with people who were wearing masks and I think I picked up the coronavirus.  There, I said it.

Oh, and even though I don't have to clean the toilet now, it puts pressure on me to clean something else, like the bathtub.

Assessing The Week Ahead

Well, I did not get in an evening nap -- had all morning Sunday to sleep in -- but I felt real tired around 10:30, so I turned the light off and laid in bed and if I fell asleep, I fall asleep.  And I did.  Alarm just woke me up.  Got seven hours of sleep in, and if it wasn't for work, I would have slept even more.

Nothing bad work-wise coming, I don't think.  Am getting re-trained at What Used To Be My Favorite Department for a couple hours this week.  Taking a half-day on Friday just because.

Actually, even though I'm already looking forward to the weekend, helping my parents mow one of their properties Saturday is something I'm not looking forward to.  Getting up, schlepping the lawnmower to North Minneapolis, mowing in an unfamiliar environment, being under Father's watchful eye, then expecting to come home and do more things instead of going out ... stressful.  And Sunday a stripper girlfriend (the one I missed seeing at the Floyd Memorial, actually) is organizing something at a park.  Might go, but only to see her, and if she's too busy to talk to, why go?

Something looming: Need to talk to the county about jury duty.  Just re-read something and, uh, I might need to let my boss know about it.  Sheesh.

Gotta go to work.

Wait -- Mowing What Lawn Now???

Got home from work just now.  Earlier than usually because I was filling in for someone who comes in and leaves a half-hour earlier than I usually do.

Second thing I hear as I burst in the door (the first thing was Mother saying, "You're home early!") was Father saying, "Oh!  You don't have to mow the lawn in Minneapolis tomorrow.  You can mow it next week."

Last weekend Father asked me to mow the lawn this weekend.  That sounded weird to me, planning to mow the front and back yards a week ahead.  But I appreciate the advanced planning.  I was hoping I would be able to dodge the raindrops and do it tomorrow morning.  But ... now I don't?

I looked outside; sure, the grass in the front yard isn't tall, but it could use a cut.  Maybe I'll have time to just fuck around this weekend, one which, as I was working this week, I was looking forward to as much as I have looked forward to a weekend, for some reason, in a long, long time.

But that's not what Father was talking about.  He kept saying mowing "Minneapolis."  You mean, like, the entire city??  Finally I understood what the hell he was talking about: This weekend he wanted me to mow both our lawn and the lawn at one of their properties, the about which they were bitching to me about last night.

Yeah, I can do that.  And again, thanks for letting me plan ahead.  But there is no way My Father told me last weekend that he wanted me to mow that property's lawn.  He did not make it clear last weekend.  I don't think he even said anything about mowing somewhere else.  And yet he was acting as if he told me this specifically.  He is either delusional or he is having difficulty with English again.  And I shudder to think if he still wanted me to mow there when I had no clue what he was talking about.  It would have blindsided me so fucking hard.  Goddamn language barrier. ...

Oh, I'm Inheriting Your Properties? Bullshit!

So, My Fucking Mother just freaked out after dinner.  She wanted my help deciphering an e-mail she got from her property manager -- again.  (Sometimes she says her English is good, and sometimes not.  Whatever.)  This e-mail was just a reminder to send ... well, something to the now-former tenants of a property my folks own.  This e-mail was the latest in a chain of back-and-forths, the originating message of which came from the prop manager stating, among other things, that the owners of this property, aka my folks, need to cover their legal obligations by sending an itemized bill in the wake of cleaning up said property to the tenants.  It's important to note that they don't know where these tenants have moved to, but legally, all my parents have to do is send this bill to these people's last known address.  The reminder reminds my parents to do it soon.

And My Fucking Mother basically went, "WHA-WHA-WHA-WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAT?!  I didn't know this!!!"  Even though I told her two weeks ago about this ... when she showed me that e-mail, the beginning of this thread, because she didn't fucking understand that e-mail either.  This should not comes as a surprise to her, but it did because she refused to pay attention.  So she told me to e-mail her saying, basically, that ain't my fuckin' problem, I pay you to do this shit.

But My Fucking Mother wasn't letting this shit go.  I was sticking around the living room so My Fucking Father could hand me that day's garbage that I would take out to the trash can.  It was (and is) thundering, but I was thinking I could get that garbage out there before the rain came.  I never got that garbage.  Instead, Mother started asking me again about that fucking e-mail.  I tried to explain to her that not only was her (as the "owner") supposed to send this mail, according to the e-mail the property manager sent to her, but that I told her this two weeks ago.

And then she started jibber-jabbering.  "I'm educating you!" she said.  Educating me?  You're the one asking me what you need to do!  And then she really laid the guilt trip on me.  "What happens if we die?  What are you going to do then?"  Anything that's better than the "advice" you're giving me, Mother.  Finally, after more bullshit came spewing out of her mouth, she tells me, in less-than-uncertain (?) terms, that all these properties are going to be mine some day, and I'd better get serious about running these properties.  This was a revelation timed for maximum psychic damage (and one I had already figured out, even though I put it out of my mind a lot), even though I have rarely seen any of these properties, even though these interests were and are my parents' and my parents' alone, even though the only exposure I usually have to these come in the form of problem e-mails my parents toss onto my lap because they play the victim because they say they can't understand any fucking English.  I'm not going to fucking care about this just because you tell me to fucking care.  And really, if they die and I inherit running these properties, goddammit, I'm selling them the first goddamn chance I get.

I had to retreat into my shell, again, just to shut both of them up.  (Oh, My Fucking Father got in on the yelling, too.)  All I could do was go back to the e-mail; they are going to follow up by dropping by the property manager's office tomorrow and tell them that, for all they know, they as owners just pay them to do everything, including mail these bills to cover their asses.  Seeing that nothing else can be done for the issue at hand until tomorrow, they quieted down.  And I find safety in my bed, and in this blog, and put out of my mind that, once again, I will need to clean up a mess I had no hand in making -- in the short-term and the long-term.

Don't Mind Me, I'm A Hypocrite

These pandemic weekends, when I hear my parents bickering outside my bedroom, all I can think of is either, "Dammit, I wish I had the house all to myself," or, "Dammit, I wish I could just go out!"

This weekend, yesterday afternoon and now, my parents have left the house -- taking care of one of their properties, I think.  I have the house all to myself.  But do you know what I'm now thinking, and doing?  Going out.  I have reasons; I went to the Floyd Memorial on 38th and Chicago yesterday because I was curious, and today because my friend at USC wants to interview me about Floyd tomorrow on his podcast.  (Oh, and there's a stripper girlfriend I want to meet there.  She was there yesterday but I couldn't find her.  I'll try and again this afternoon, but she hasn't told me if she was going to be there.)  But I should be happy that I have peace and quiet in the house all by my lonesome, and the only urge I have in my mind is to get out.

So don't mind me the next time I bitch about this.  I'm a hypocrite.

Mother Gonna Be Mad? (Can't Live Like This)

Mother insists I renew my parents' LLC right now, even though I have till the end of the year.  Then again, it's understandable because I have a tendency to let things slide.

She thought I would do it last night after dinner.  I thought she wanted to see me do it, so I waited.  But, when she just showed me where the password is written down and insisted that she didn't have to be there next to me when I renewed, I just went to my bedroom and took a nap ... for three hours, if I'm correct.

Then I finally get around to renewing ... then I realize I can't because the password that I have doesn't work.  I really can't make a new one without Mother knowing, so that just stopped that chore in its tracks.  Besides, even if I could sign in, I couldn't renew because I don't have a credit card on which to charge the renewal fee.

Given that she was too eager to get this done right now, I'm afraid I have to wonder whether My Fucking Mother will be quick to anger that I didn't do this last night.  She'll probably understand because of the old password -- but will she?

This should be NBD, but with her, I don't know.  I can never know.  I can't live like this.

House Insurance? Not This Week!

Mother dropped another favor to ask of me, and this one is, well, a mother.  She wants my help deciphering a questionnaire from an agent regarding home insurance for my sister.  Home insurance?  What the fuck do I know about home insurance?!  My parents are the ones who know about home insurance, and yet they need my help?

This seems pretty damn important to her, but after looking over the questions I still don't fucking understand it.  Worst of all, I can't deal with this shit right now.  Next weekend I can deal with this.  Last weekend I could've dealt with this.  But fuck no, not this weekend.  I have an event I have to plan for!  I have to work today -- and tomorrow before the event!  And now she expects me to give her the answers to something I've never ever done before?!?!  That's bullshit!!!  And I know she'll fucking melt down on me over this.  Goddamn her. ...

Expenses Without Receipts

Starting from Memorial Day, aka Monday, May 27:

• Didn't even go out on Memorial Day, after all, so let's go back to Sunday the 26th.  I was planning on getting an HJ from this chick, but she never texted me her address.  So instead I spent my time in the afternoon helping out Mother with some real estate stuff.  And I had to print out a couple things for her at the library: 20 cents.
• Saturday the 25th: After work I never felt so free.  It's Memorial Weekend!  It's The Official Start To Summer!  Like last week and two Saturdays before, I went directly home to dinner, ate quickly, then went back out.  I had once said I had a movie to catch at 7, but the last two Saturdays I said I had to go to the test scoring job.  That is a lie: There were MNUFC matches held both nights.  (Wonder why I lie to my folks about that.)  Anyway, I had a hot dog and a Loon Juice.  Total: $17.
• I then went to Glam Doll.  Charged my first donut and the pour-over.  Got the second donut for free, so I threw in my usual tip: $1.
• Friday the 24th: With my day job shifted for the day to second shift and with the night test scoring job finishing up the previous evening, but still feeling as though I need to act like I was working in the morning, I got out of the house only a half-hour after I usually leave the house.  I went to Caffetto for the morning.  Had a discount for a free drink waiting for me, for which I used for a large mocha.  Also bought a peach cobbler, presumably made by someone local.  The price for that cobbler plus tip: $5.05.
• Thursday, May 23rd: At work I picked up a dime and penny from the floor.  No one else claimed them, so they're now mine.  An Infusion of: 11 cents.
• On Wednesday the 22nd I skipped the test scoring job and instead went to the MNUFC Friendly loss to Hertha Berlin.  (Those guys have a sweet kit, by the way.)  Hot dog and a Loon Juice, which is becoming my go-to meal: $17.
• Afterwards I figured I had time to go to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Version).  Once I spend enough time there, I would be going home around the time I usually get home from the test scoring job.  Kirah I thought would screw me over, again, but this time I was firm with her.  I got a lap dance from her -- just one -- and I didn't buy a drink for her.  I like growing my balls around her.  With a Bud Light and stage tips: $32.
• We go back to Monday the 20th, where I wanted to go to the U. softball Regional games, which were delayed from Sunday due to rain.  But when I woke up I was hearing Mother downstairs on the phone and having difficulty with someone about something.  So I stayed at home 45 minutes longer than I wanted to.  While she was stumbling around, asking painstaking question after painstaking question, I spent time finishing reconciling my monthly expense list.  She took so long that I finished, so I have to admit waiting for her and eventually missing most of the Georgia-Drake game wasn't time totally wasted.  Afterwards she wanted me to go to the library to print and scan some documents related to this call.  I did that after I went to Dinkytown to watch the last two Outs of the Bulldogs' elimination of the ... uh, Bulldogs (for free, by the way, thank goodness).  I had to redo a couple of the scans because they were too dark, so the total comes out to: 50 cents.
• At the night test scoring job, one of the enticements is that they offer pop in their vending machines for just a quarter a can.  I don't remember in my lifetime cans of pop being that cheap.  So I took the opportunity to drink a can of Coke and a can of Pepsi during the course of my eight-hour day there.  Total: 50 cents.
• Back to Sunday, May 19 -- I had the entire day out, and frankly, not much productive to do.  I was holding out for a chance to watch the U. softball Regional.  The Golden Gopher softball twitter said that they were going to play that afternoon.  But it felt as though I left the library for Cowles Stadium right after they tweeted that all games were postponed till the next day.  I walked all the way to the stadium in a gently pelting rain to see the tarp on the infield (sigh).  Well, that gave me a reason to go to Wonders Ice Cream close by.  They are the first and so far only place where I've had Thai rolled-up ice cream, and it's really cool.  I have a receipt (and I hope to Buddha I still have it), so this EWR is only for the tip: $1.
• Somewhere I found a penny, an Infusion of: 1 cent.
• There was a fun thing happening on Sunday: A food truck festival at the condos of the North Loop.  Sure it was raining, but for the weather there was good turnout.  The front door to the condos was open.  Still not sure if this was organized by the condo association as a de facto open house, but if it were, well, maybe I should have taken a tour.  Anyway, of all the food trucks that were there, I chose one of the few non-Asian ones: Mama G's (is that the name?) Pizza.  Slice plus tip: $8.
• Saturday, May 18 -- after the match, there was still a food truck outside, Los Ocampo.  Heard great things about them, so I got a single taco from them because I wasn't too hungry.  The menu said a single taco was $4.  From the change I got, the taco apparently was $4.25.  I don't get it, but I was so surprised that I did not argue.  Maybe I should have.  But I didn't see a tip jar, either, so I guess that makes up for the lying sign.  So again, the total was: $4.25.
• On Friday the 17th I got a booty call from ****e.  She had said that she does not do one-on-ones anymore, but she now needs the money.  Well, if she just thought of me out of the blue, I can't help but think this is something I needed to cash in on.  So even though this was last-minute, I got some money and went up to her new place where, after catching up, we 69'd.  She had mentioned she hadn't had sex in a long time, and now after thinking about it, I feel bad I couldn't give that to her.  I should think about the needs of my partner a little more often.  I paid: $140.
• To Monday the 13th, where I went in earlier at the night test scoring project to get eight hours in.  I have Mondays free; I might as well make some money and get out of the house.  Did my best to avoid coffee.  I don't know if I did that, but I did grab a dirt-cheap Pepsi from the vending machine: 25 cents.
• This project is at an office building that is part of an office park just south of the Mall of America.  I have seen it a ton of times while going to MOA.  It has a hotel and restaurant next door.  On the other side of the building is another hotel with a TGI Friday's right next to it, and I ate there after work on two Mondays.  On the other side of the TGI Friday's is yet another hotel, and I think it is attached to an IHOP.  This particular place I have been to once when the restaurant was serving free pancakes and I just happened to be in the area one morning because I had to drop off my parents at the airport.  Anyway, I went to IHOP after work this night for an early breakfast.  Turns out, eating at this non-alcoholic place is a lot cheaper than eating Happy Hour at the alcoholic TGI Friday's next door.  Total with tip: $20.50.
• Sunday, May 12 ... only EWR was at My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Division).  No dances.  Did buy a beer, a Budweiser.  With stage tips: $10.
• Apparently I need to go back to Saturday, May 4 now.  After the MNUFC game I was just rooting around.  I had nothing else to do, but I was hungry.  And then I remembered that at Rosedale, where I parked, a Portillo's recently opened up.  Bought an Italian beef and a Coke.  When I retrieved my change, I saw that someone left his or her change at the dispenser.  Sure, I'll take the free money!  So with the defraying change, the total is not what it says on the receipt but actually: $7.95.
• Oh, I decided to go to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Edition) after Portillo's.  Bud Light, tips and a lapper from the sweet Willow all comes out to: $34.
• Back to Monday, April 29.  Went to my old Caribou for old time's sake.  With tip: $6.55.
• And then back to Saturday the 28th, when I went to the United match in the afternoon.  Hot dog and Loon Cider: $17.
• I then went to Caffetto at some point (morning?  Afternoon?  Evening?).  Raspberry croissant, large hot chocolate and tip comes out to: $8.29.

I Have Become What I Mock (Scheduled Post)

I actually got out of this week-long work at a decent hour, 6:30.  I could have stayed, but I really, really needed to go to the library to do two things: Print out the tax forms I'll need and to start writing this real estate letter for my parents.

I printed out a total of six pages of tax forms.  I put in a dollar because, I think, I put all my coins away because this week-long job entails going through security multiple times a day.  I got my printouts just as the library was closing for the day.  And only on my way from the library that I realized that ... I did not take the change from the printer.  FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK

I have my reasons: I was tired from a long day at work; I was preoccupied with figuring out how to do these new tax forms (have you all noticed that the tax forms are now shortened?  It's gotten more complicated this way!); I got blindsided by the fact that the home builder is no longer at the address Father gave me; it was closing time at the library and I needed to get out of there.  But let's face it: I didn't pay attention, and so I pissed away 40 cents.

And that is the great irony.  I have occasionally noted on my Expenses Without Receipt(s) blog posts that I regularly check the change dispenser at the printer and am surprised at how many times I have found change that was just left there.  It had become an almost-reliable source of income.  I have ridiculed people for being so forgetful as to leaving their change there.  And now I have been the stupid one for doing the same damn thing.  Yeah, it's only 40 cents.  I still hate myself.