Disappointing Son Didn't Do What He Said He Would Do!

So Mother had surgery Tuesday.  Sister went with her.  They had to stay at a hotel overnight and be seen by a nurse who was also at the hotel tending to Mother and another patient.  Never heard that before. Anyway, that meant that Tuesday night offered up a situation I dread: Being alone with Father.

Dinner was fine because it was quiet.  He brought up stocks.  His portfolio is doing blockbuster.  Me ... I work and am tired all the time, so I'm not doing as well.  He asked me what companies I have.  I don't remember.

What I hoped he wouldn't bring up he brought up after dinner.  Of course he said, "Hey, every night you take a shower, right?"  And while trying to hide my frustration that he would belittle me with this same bullshit again, I go, "Yeah, yeah, yeah, sure."  "You brush your teeth too, right?" he replied, and I can't fucking believe he asked me if I brush my teeth every night.  I don't, but that's none of his goddamn business.

Just there and then, while I was also yeah-yeah-ing as to whether I brush my teeth, I resolved to leave the house.  Since I worked early I came home early, and that gave me the opportunity to exercise.  I then thought I wouldn't because I didn't want to leave My Fucking Father at home.  He's healthy, and as you can see he's as goddamn insufferable as ever.  But My Fucking Parents have pretty much been attached at the hip.  My Fucking Mother has taken girls' trips in the past, but Tuesday was the first time they've been away from each other longer than a trip to the grocery store.  I hate this fucker, but I would be sick to my stomach if I worked out only to come back and see him dead on the floor in front of his computer.  And yet, after he used the opportunity of being alone together to infantilize and lecture me once again about proper fucking hygiene, I decided that fear didn't fucking matter to me.

"I think I'm going to work out later," I said.

"OK," he said.

---

And then I didn't.  The downside to attempting to work out after I started out my day so early is that I might want to catch up on sleep instead.  That was a possibility; I allowed myself a chance to rest once I got done eating at 5.  And I woke up at around 7:30, way too late to go out and work out.

I was curious about whether My Fucking Father could tell.  So I just moseyed out to the top of the stairs and looked at the front door.  It was all locked.  I told My Fucking Father I was going out later.  He may have forgotten.  Or, he could tell I was asleep and knew I wouldn't be going out after all.  And knowing how his negative, derisive mind works, he knew I wasn't going to do what I said I would do.

I have to admit that pisses me off, and I am as angry at myself as I am at him.  He has seen me fail to come through on things I said I would do all my life.  This is a small thing, and again, maybe he just locked the door out of habit and totally forgot about what I said after dinner.  But this one galls me, and I think it's because I lashed out after he insulted me over stupid habits he shouldn't be concerning himself with.  It was I who wanted to, in a really vague sense, "prove him wrong" (even though exercising has nothing to do with getting back at him for asking if I shower and brush my teeth, I know) and then I absolutely did not do it.

I have known for a long, long time that My Fucking Father had dreams for me when I was born.  That's the problem when you ascribe to your progeny your dreams for them; they don't come through for you because they're not their fucking dreams, they're yours.  So yeah, I have a feeling My Fucking Father was disappointed in me just because I didn't exercise like I said I would.  But I am just as disappointed in him as a father, and probably moreso.

Father needed my help with something in his stock account, then once we were done he told me to take a shower and then go to bed.  I thought nah, then I thought I should because, if I shower today/Thursday and I don't trim my nails in time, I'll be cutting them tomorrow/Friday, and that would be bad luck.  But then I kept scrolling in social media and then I got real tired, so nah, I'll shower tomorrow.  I hope I haven't disappointed/pissed off Father.

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.

Sorry, Green Insect

A green insect hopped on to me after driving home from DQ (went to the library first to do some stock stuff for my parents -- after stopping by the gas station for a black cherry Pepsi).  Second one that hopped on to me.  Don't know what happened to the first, but I allowed it to stow away as I drove off.

This second one stayed on my finger.  I took a long time to attempt to coax it on to the hood of my car, and then the garbage bin, any place besides me, but no dice.  Finally, I got it to hop on to a leaf.  I thought it was going to be OK, but at first he had trouble getting all its feet on to the leaf; either it was afraid or it got caught on something.

Then, inexplicably, it swung underneath the leaf.  At first I thought it meant to do that, but then I feared that it felt it was too heavy for the leaf it was on and keeled under.  I tried saving it with the temple of my sunglasses, but it didn't take.  Finally, I bent down to look underneath the leaf.  And it wasn't there.

Probably fell to its death.  Tried searching for it on the ground, though, but I couldn't see anything green down there.  No, I didn't look all that hard.  But I still feel bad.  Should have chosen a leaf closer to the ground, or the ground itself.  Or, considering its probably fate, I should've done what most people did and killed it myself.  Don't know how cruel that would be from what probably happened to it

Sorry, green insect.

God, I Hope I Did My Taxes Right

Maybe it was the fact that I had a lot of stock transactions I made in 2020 (don't regret them; I think my portfolio has quadrupled).  Maybe it was the new wrinkle in the American Rescue Plan where they don't tax the first $10,200 of unemployment, something I only saw almost two weeks ago.  Maybe it was the fact I was drinking this really nice sour from Nordic Brewing named Mango Honey and I was buzzed the fuck out.  Or, maybe it's my old age.

Regardless, I had one hell of a time completing and sealing up the paper copies of my federal and state tax forms.  I started early enough -- I think -- by writing down all the salient amounts I'd need to put on the forms and schedules and worksheets.  But then I got this night job, and so I had to plan out in advance when I was going to work on my taxes.  I was going to file them this weekend, after I got done working remotely during the workweek, but before Monday.  I still have a bad memory of needing to send my forms on Tax Day but not having any postage.  I had to go downtown because they customarily are open into the evening.  I waited in a line for two hours.  From them on, no procrastinating.

Not to say that I felt rushed.  But Friday night was the day to get everything done -- write down all the amounts in a fresh, final draft; check the amounts and the math; and, finally, sign and write down my social security number on everything before folding them, sticking them in envelopes and sealing them shut.  And it was then -- with the buzz of this Nordic Brewing Mango Honey -- that I made a series of mistakes:

• I did not change a line on my state form to reflect an amount that should have had the amount of unemployment I got removed from it.  In other words, the right amount was lower.
• That compelled me to redo the whole state tax form, the M1.  And not to brag, but when I picked up new forms from the library, I picked up two -- precisely because of an occasion where I see a mistake in the "final rough" draft.  I used my first blank form precisely for that reason.  Unfortunately I made another mistake when doing my second blank form: I wrote down amounts on different lines than I should have.  (I was buzzed drinking that sour around this time.)  I did not want to go back to the library to fucking make more copies.  I have sent mistake-filled tax forms in the past, where I cross out wrong amounts and write down the right amount next to it.  I don't like it, but I've done it in the past, and I have yet to be audited.  So I just bit the bullet, said "Fuck it," crossed out the amounts I wrote on the wrong lines and put them on the right ones.
• I then did a final once-over on everything.  And one computation didn't sit well with me on a second look: The tax I determined I needed to pay had to be subtracted by the foreign tax I paid.  But for some goddamn reason the difference I wrote on the form didn't seem possible to conjure up from the two amounts I wrote down.  And so I redid the calculations on my laptop, and sure enough, I wrote that amount wrong.  And I swear I used a fucking used a calculator for it the first time.  This time I MacGuyvered the answer: I needed to turn a "1" to an "8," so I just made an "S" shape connecting the top and bottom of the "1" to make it sorta look like an 8.  Oh, and I had to summarily fix the error of the amount I owed, which I had also already written down.
• Oh yeah ... the day before, Thursday, after work, I went to the library to make copies -- both for the state tax return (you need to make copies of all your federal forms) and for my own records.  And it fucking turns out that I skipped one schedule, Schedule 2, I needed to copy.  How could I forget copying that form?  Fortunately I had a spare Sched 2, plus the only amounts I needed to write on there were zeros.

Through all of that, I think -- think -- I got done with my taxes.  I owe a grand total of ... $26+ to the federal government and $32 to the state government.  Only $58 and change I have to give in taxes?  Sweet!  Now, I assume I did my taxes right.  However, the state's determination of how much tax I owe them is based off of a number on the federal tax form, which in turn was cut down because the federal government stated in March that unemployment was non-taxable for 2020.   Minnesota has yet to agree that up to $10,200 in unemployment would also not be taxed at the state level.  That could change after the fact, but I am not completely certain I did the math right.  But if I did, this goes to show the importance of accurately declaring how many dependents you have when you fill out the W-2.  Before I didn't say I had any and I wound up paying on April 15, and sometimes a lot more.  This way there is no annual shock to the system of sending out hundreds of dollars to the governments.  This seems more even, and even though some people think that owing at tax time is a good thing (it's like having an interest-free loan!), I hope changing the number of dependents becomes the new normal if it results only in two-digit tax bills.

Speaking of getting drunk ... I have been really boozy and not alert writing this blog post, just as I was Friday night.  I should end this blog post and hope that when I'm sober, I can read it and say that I was not drinking when I wrote it.

I Know I Shouldn't Worry About Timing The Stock Market But ... Bad Timing

Since the pandemic lockdown began I have looked at my stock portfolio with a fine- -- well, a finer- -- toothed comb.  I had neglected it for months, even years until a few months ago.  But time, along with the extra $600 in unemployment I got from the government the past nine weeks, gave me the opportunity to look at, prune, and grow my portfolio.  Hey, the stock market has taken a beating these past few months, so this makes it a perfect time to invest.

And I have.  First of all, I have begun to ... I think it's called re-balance my portfolio.  Before the vast majority of my investment has been on one United States-based growth mutual fund.  That was a great engine for my portfolio until the coronavirus hit.  It was high time for me to diversify, and I have.  To what?  Well, that's where all this time has allowed me to look at some cheap individual stocks I could finally pour some money into.  There's a drug company I doubled my shares in.  And, among others, I poured in some money in a second drug company that has shot up tremendously in value.  I invested in four new companies more than a month ago, and they've rebounded from the lows at which time I jumped in with both feet.

My timing with those four stocks was good.  Yesterday, not so much.  For what I think will be my final new investment for a while (I'm back to working full-time so that extra $600 dole money ain't comin' in no more), I finally got around on acting on my idea to invest in Carnival Cruise Lines.  I know it was one of the cruises which had a nightmare situation where the entire damn ship got infected with COVID-19 (I think two people died there?), and with the resulting lockdown, no one was going on cruises and so the entire industry has gone to shit.  But that's precisely when you should invest in it!  I don't think shares will be this cheap for a long time, if ever.  And although I hate being stuck on those floating germ wagons, a lot of people love cruises, two of them being my parents.  So once (not if) the cruise industry rebounds, I'll be raking in the dough.

I just have to invest in it now.  But ... now-now?  Carnival has been well off its highs for months now, but it had seen a slight uptick in price.  So, just before I placed my buy order, I thought about whether I should wait, and also whether I should just buy 50 shares and not the 100 I intended to purchase.  "What happens if the price plummets the next day?" I thought.  I decided to bite the bullet and just buy the 100 shares (I arranged it to be bought first thing yesterday/Thursday morning when trading began) because those shares could go up in value and I would have to pay more for them, and I would hate myself for trying to time the market.

Well, the Dow had its worst day since March instead.  Apparently the zeitgeist is such that the worldwide spike in coronavirus cases made investors think the tourism industry is not going to come back as soon as they thought, so they just sold off their shares of any company in that industry.  And I just checked the current price of a share of Carnival (for some weird reason that stems from an acquisition it made a few years back, there are two separate classes of Carnival stock, each with its own floating price; I bought the cheaper one, which is based in London) and it dropped two bucks from the price I think I bought it at.  So that's $200 I lost.

I time the market even when I don't time the market.

But I have to let it go.  Can't panic now, dammit.

Christmas Thoughts

• OK, so it's going to be a Brown Christmas.  There was, like, a couple to a few inches of snow one time, but temps went above freezing after that, and even though there was a dusting a few days ago, I can see grass.  My initial rule of thumb regarding snow is that it is absolutely necessary to have snow on the ground in order to confirm the image of a White Christmas.  But lately I've noticed how easy it is to get around.  If there were snow, we'd be sliding all over the place.  And I don't miss that.  So maybe I don't want a White Christmas after all.  Maybe I'm a hypocrite.
• Went back to my brother's place last night for Christmas Eve prime rib, and once again, my bro was being an antisocial, antagonistic dick to ... my sister-in-law.  I maybe will expound on this some other time, but I remember him being this much of an asshole to me when we were kids, and the dude's 43 and he's still talking shit, this time to the person to whom he supposedly pledged his heart and soul.  After he starting bagging on him I decided I wasn't going to stay long.  (I left earlier than I did Sunday because Mother wanted me to come home and call her.)  What does she see in him?  Is she blind?  Does she think she can change him?  Or does this insulting form, scary as it is for me to say, the foundation of a flourishing marriage?  If that's the case, she may be as much of a psycho as My Asshole Brother is.  And maybe even moreso.
• Things were all out of whack yesterday.  Sister wanted to WhatsApp in and talk to my brother and sister-in-law and niece, but she didn't reply while I was at their place, and she finally replied once I left.  This is all because Mother seemed really determined to get me on the phone.  I was afraid something bad happened to Mother.  Turns out she was only panicky because she freaked out over me not being able to access my parents' stock portfolio online.
• I was looking forward to a relaxing day of not doing anything but sleep and watch basketball.  But I am trying to make spaghetti.  Plus there are bills to pay and clothes to wash, so maybe I'll be doing a lot of stuff on Christmas.  Dammit.

---

For this year's Christmas song, I chose Hall & Oates' version of "Jingle Bell Rock."  It was first performed by Bobby Helms in 1957, but H&O did their cover in 1983, and it's been a Christmas staple ever since.  I like this most for the way lead singer Daryl Hall punches the "ROCK!" in the line, "To ROCK! the night away."

But when trying to see if there is a video for me to embed here, I came across a couple intriguing facts.  First of all, the person who does the quick guitar solo in the middle (dressed in drag) is none other than G. E. Smith.  Smith played lead guitar for the duo for tours and recordings, and eventually he became musical director at Saturday Night Live.  I remember shots of him soloing; his demonstrative expressions left an indelible impression on my mind.

The other thing about this?  Look at how the video is captioned:



"Daryl's Version?" So you mean to say that there is a "John's Version?" Why, in fact, yes!  John sang lead on the flip side of this non-album single.  And there is a "John's Version" video, too!



I don't remember Oates singing lead for any song they did.  Researching things that don't mean anything in the long run are cool!

Merry Christmas, everyone!

Things Are Just Bothering The Hell Out Of Me Right Now On This Christmas Eve

Alright, so first an addendum on the three family things I'm doing:

1. Didn't talk to my aunt in Hong Kong yet.  Thought I had her number.  I don't know where I put it.  I swear I have it.  I just don't know where it is.
2. Grandmother's best friend was sleeping by the time I got to the nursing home.  I don't like getting woken up, so even though I schlepped my ass all the way there, I wasn't going to wake her up, either.  That means that I need to see her again soon -- probably later this week, when I work second shift and thus can squeeze some time in before heading off to work.  Don't like using up my car and gas for this, but hey, what can you do?
3. Brother wasn't being a dick when I went to their place yesterday.  No, he was a dick to his wife.  I should touch more on that, but let me throw this out right now: I think the sins of our parents continue to live on, and even thrive, in us.  Besides that, things actually were great -- ate, watched football, didn't feel too much static because my brother was looking at his tablet.  And my niece recognized me too, and she was nice to me ... well, after being fussy because she didn't want to get up at 1:30 in the afternoon.

Yep, things went so great with the visit that ... I'm going back this afternoon, for dinner.  I had plans to, uh, be alone, but it's family, and I need to patch things up and be a responsible family member, so yeah, I'm going, even though this won't allow me to just dawdle at the Megamall or dawdle at Southdale.  I'll have to get slices at The Cheesecake Factory a lot sooner and then leave them in the car.  And I still want to go out for a drink on Christmas Eve and I hope to Buddha I still have the energy for it.

And on top of all that, My Father texted me late last night telling me to sell off stocks.  I was going to do that, but his password doesn't work.  We went through this about a month ago, and I swear it worked then, but it's not working now.  And I feel as though this stock is just sinking like a stone now.  But I can't sell it.  And all I can think of is how mad My Fucking Father's gonna be.

Oh, and they still might come home early.  I just bought sandwich and spaghetti food for myself, and it might go to waste because they might be coming home early.  Fucking great.

I need to go now.

Less Than Two Weeks Before They Come Back, Which Means They're Already Here

In a sense, having this week and next week to get my affairs in order (or to hide them) in anticipation of my parents coming back home is a relief because it gives me time.  Then again, they've been gone for more than six weeks and there are a lot of things I could have done and didn't, such as seal up my Entertainment Weeklys or going through my papers.  At least I got my folks' stock purchase records complete; I'll have to devote some time on going to the library and completely typing those out.

It'll get done, somehow, because it has to.  But in worrying for, oh, the past week-and-a-half about them coming home and ruining all I got going on at the house makes me realize that, in a sense, they're already here, you know?  When I'm worried about what they'll think of all their mail on the table, or how I got this new stepladder I was given, or how clean my room should be, I'm not enjoying my time at home with them gone.  And if I'm so preoccupied with getting the house ready to make them happy -- well, really, how different is my life than what it is when they are actually back at home making my life miserable because of all my stuff around my room?  Does that make any sense?

It's kind of like (and I may totally get in trouble with this) a woman with a family history of breast cancer.  I have heard women who have undergone mastectomies preemptively because all the women in her family received and died from a very aggressive and malignant form of it.  I feel as though those women have been burdened by the fear of breast cancer, that they're afraid of getting it even though they may not even have it.  And this fear dominates their thoughts so much that, essentially, they already have breast cancer, you know?  They could not live their lives freely until they had an operation they felt totally unburdened them from this fear.  So long as one is living under this fear of getting cancer, how different is your life than if you actually did have cancer?

I'm seriously about this analogy.  And so me running around worried about what my parents think for the past ten days or so means that, heck, they're already home.  And that may be why I lollygagged so much as soon as my parents left on their trip.  It was only then, during those weeks, where I knew they wouldn't be home any time soon.  I believed then I was without fear, and therefore I was free from worry.

Those days are over now.

Beaten Down By Stocks

It's a ways until they come back -- I should blog about this at some point -- but I'm preparing for their imminent return now.  One of the things I need to do which, in retrospect, I could and should have done earlier is finding the buy records of the stocks they sold last year.  My parents (more like Mother) receive monthly and yearly statements of their portfolio and put them in binders.  These records go back to when they opened up their accounts for the first time.  And before my folks left, Mother tasked me with finding the transaction history of all the stocks they (more like Father) sold for tax purpose.

There are five stocks Father traded in 2017.  I think -- think -- I am done with three of them.  One of them was so hard and mind-draining that it took me two days to figure out.  Not all the way through.  Of course not; I have work and other stuff to do.

These statements, especially the year-end statement, give you information on all the stocks one sells in 2017.  But the buy information isn't there.  One has to figure that out himself.  Now, the easiest way (assuming all the transactions are there) is to go online, but I don't know my parents' login information.  So I have to go through these binders.  Thank Buddha there are binders.  But the two days were spent finding when Father first bought this particular stock and then making sure I find every single record of buying, selling, splitting and/or reverse splitting concerning this particular company so long as it was in my parents' account.

Last night it took me more than two hours to trace the history of this stock.  It was a convoluted history, and I had to stop the first night when I realized that even though the number of shares in this stock did not change month-to-month, my reckless dad had sold and then bought an equal number of shares within a single month one or two times.  Frustrated, I had to stop the first night.

The second night, knowing I have to sift through these statements carefully, I finally got done.  I went from writing the transaction record on a piece of paper (date, bought or sold, how many shares, share price, commission, total price) to typing it on a Word document, and to make sure I didn't miss anything, I calculated the broker's fee on top, just in case my parents' accountant needs it or if Mother insists on it.

I wanted to get done with this last night.  But when I started on the next stock, I stumbled upon another complication I had forgotten about when I helped my folks with something like this a previous year: Companies change names and thus ticker symbols.  I did not see this particular ticker symbol in any recent monthly statement, so I had to look online to figure out that the company changed its symbol some time in 2017.  Knowing its name (and thus its old ticker symbol) before this change led me backwards down a path nearly to the beginning of my parents' portfolio.  That means I probably have to go through all the binders (are there four of them or more?), month by month, to make sure I don't leave any stone unturned.  I was tired already, so I just gave up.

I am everywhere this weekend: Work and stripper party tonight, alumni event and then the boys' state hockey tournament final Saturday, Twin Cities Auto Show and maybe exercise Sunday.  And that's on top of all the cleaning and throwing away I really need to start doing before they get home.  When am I going to find the time to trace this stock?  Ugh, I'm tired!

What Mess Of My Parents Do I Have To Clean Up Now?

I've been putting this claim form off for a while now, but I can no longer.  This isn't about stocks, however.  Apparently the owners of a couple of real estate properties they own in Las Vegas filed for bankruptcy, and there's a chance that we are owed money as a result of it.

Actually, I have no damn clue if my parents can get any money from it.  This is a claim form that allows us (I say us, even though it's my parents' business interests, because, as usual, I am doing this for them) to recoup money, like all of the claim forms I filled out for bad stocks in the nineties that went belly-up under murky circumstances.  But there are no stocks to go back and review transactions for what might be a bad real estate transaction.

I should amend my sentence above; I doubt that my parents can get any money from it.  But the documents that they require for me to send as proof for this claim is available (although it's in an unorganized pile of crap in My Father's file cabinet), and I have until Monday to do this.  I did ask someone on the bankruptcy filing's website live chat feature if I needed to file a claim, and he or she openly admitted he or she is looking at the instructions on the claim form which was sent to my parents when he or she said, "Uh, maybe."  Thanks for the help.

So I'm doing it, as best as I can.  Spent a good chunk of last night hauling out all pertinent information to the properties in question.  I have then spent this morning going through each page to see if I can find the documents that I need to copy and send to these guys.  I'll be honest: These lawyers are asking for a lot of documentation, and I don't think I want to send them everything.  I think I've found the deeds (or what constitutes deeds; this real estate ownership thing is hard), and I'm going to only send them that because I will otherwise be spending hours at the library copying hundreds of papers, and I'm not going to do that.  I'm bluffing through all the information they're asking.  And I hope that's enough when I make all the copies, buy a manila envelope, and send it before close of business today.  At the very least I hope that these guys do the same thing that many of the lawyers for these stock claim forms have done, which is ask for more information for incomplete forms that virtually extend the deadline without completely invalidating the form.  It's the best I can do.

For all of this I think I deserve the blowjob I'm getting from ***a* soon.

I Will Fucking Sleep In My Car If I Goddamn Want To, Father

So, the appraiser came out to see the car this (Monday) morning for hail damage.  I used the old car to get to work.  In my new car the passenger seat is pulled back to almost horizontal.  That's because I sleep there during breaks and lunch from work.

My parents know about this because I have done the same thing with the old car.  They've even bitched about it to me before.  But My Fucking Father decided he was going to bust my chops over it, again, because it's summer and it's hot and it's very difficult to sleep in there.  Too fucking bad he decided to do it when I was having dinner, specifically a nice bowl of pho.  And then he used that to launch into the old "Why can't you find a full-time job?" bullshit I was hoping he would be done with.  So he told me to find a full-time job, to which I told I'm going to go back to school instead.

But I don't want to go back to school anymore.  Not after that piece of shit came at me like that.  For fucking reclining my seat back?  Go fuck yourself.  Now I won't reply to that person that snapped a photo for you anymore.  And I won't fill out those stock claim forms for you to get your money back anymore, either.

(Well, I'll do both of those things, just when I fucking want to.  'Cause fuck him, I'll sleep if I want.)

Making Mother Do All The Heavy Lifting

Last weekend Mother had a request for me: She saw that her brokerage form sent over the, uh, stock tax information and she needed help finding all the information on when and for how much the stocks Father sold in 2014 were bought.  An arduous task, so I asked her if she could give me a week.

That was a damn mistake.  I haven't had time to do it, what with work, coming home, doing chores, being so tired I went to sleep, blogging, preparing for this alumni event, etc.  Moreover, I overlooked the obvious fact that Mother is retired.  I don't have time to do it, but she sure does.  And while she isn't an accountant, she is thorough and dogged, and thus able to pore through records to find the stocks she needs to look for.  In other words, she should have just done it from the get-go -- and she has, all this week.

I told her she needed to remind me to do it, but honestly, I have been only mouthing that I'm going to do it this week when I know I'm not going to do it at all.  On Monday she mentioned that she started working on it herself, and subconsciously I just thought, "Hey, if she's doing it, I don't have to!" and I kind of checked out after everything I had to do once I got home.  Over the course of the week she asked for the piece of mail with the stock tax information back, and then she probably surmised that she was doing all of the work and by last (Thursday) night she basically said, "Fine, let me do it, you just check my English."

That's all I have time for, assuming Mother wants this all done by Monday.  (She said Monday because she thinks their accountant needs time to look it over or something.)  Maybe in retrospect I shouldn't have said I could do it, because I now feel guilty that I said I was going to help, and even though there are technically 48 hours left until her "deadline" I won't have time to help her at all.  I hope she doesn't feel burdened; after all, I think it's quite apparent that she at least had the time to do everything.  But I said I would and we both know I'm not, and I have this thing tomorrow and I have to go to the auto show on Sunday, and I'm going out Saturday night ... you know?

I'll just assume she did a good job and hope this all blows over.

Say Goodbye To 2014

I think I usually do these year-end retrospectives just before the year's over.  That kind of indicates how 2014 was for me: Busy.  If there's an overarching theme to the year, it's that I was able to, with the exception of one week, not have full-time work.  It had nothing to do with the journalism degree that I went to school for, but with this life not going the way I planned, chaining together steady work in order to bring in a paycheck every week is what I consider progress.

Just checked my account.  Only in the last month or so have I actually seen it grow.  I am spending a lot of money, because I would rather not plan for a future I have no concrete plans for.  Instead I've sent out all the money I brought on mainly on three things: eating out (which includes going to Buffalo Wild Wings after I blog this to take advantage of Boneless Thursdays and maybe watch the Gophers in the Florida Citrus Bowl/exhibition), my car, and strippers.  If I make a resolution I should cut back on the first.  The other two?  No, I like spending money on my car and strippers.

Maybe another resolution I could make is to tend to my stock portfolio a little more closely.  I have been busy, nevertheless my nestegg there has grown with the burgeoning fortunes of the stock market.  But I liken it to an untamed bush: Precise grooming could make my portfolio grow even more and stronger and could prevent any correction that comes in the future.  Honestly, one of the big reasons I don't think I've done more with my stocks is that I don't know how to compute the capital gains tax on the mutual fund that has grown out of whack compared to the rest of my holdings.  Once I do that, or once I decide that I don't care, I think I'll be braver in making choices.

I really can't complain about 2014.  My parents suck, but they have every year.  I lost one friend, but thank Buddha I still have everyone else.  Still get to live in this house, and the club, while having a slumber right in the middle of the season, really picked up Saturday.  And I went to the doctor's on Tuesday; even though I feel like my stomach's really big, I've actually continued to lose weight.  And I haven't worked out in a week.

So I guess last year was a good year.  I just wasn't able to really enjoy it.  Now 2015 ... well, there's one potentially huge decision I wont' be ready for no matter how much time I get.  And that might dictate how the rest of the year goes.  Let's cross our fingers that I'll just dodge that question.

Happy New Year.

And Now I Am Broke -- I Mean It

When I leveled enough of my checking account down to $2,000 so I can pay off as much of my credit card bill this month I could, I braced myself for the time I would come face-to-face with how little money I had.  That day came Saturday before hitting Caffetto.

There's a gas station right across the street from the coffeeshop; it's the place where I took out a donut I decided not to buy because I thought the price was different.  I figured that I would need some cash in the next several days, and since my bank's ATM is right there, I might as well take it out now.  And it's only $20 these days; I usually take $60, but I am far from being able to take out so much money now.

This ATM always shows me what would be left in my account after I take the requested withdrawal out.  And that's when it hit me: I have just over $2,000 now in my account.  I remember at one time it was above $10,000.  This time two years ago it was above five grand; this time last year I was fretting about how I was going below four grand.  I have been below two thou before, but I immediately was able to deposit more money.  I know I won't have that to save me this time.  But I want to see a movie Tuesday, so what can I do?

There were extenuating circumstances for this new low.  I overlooked an ESPN The Magazine automatic subscription renewal that's still charged to my other, American Express card; I did open the mail of that statement, but I just plain forgot, and I was charged a late fee of $35 (and will suffer from a worsened credit score if when I go to the bank for a college loan).  And I still automatically take money out of this account to put into my stock portfolio; seeing as how the Dow Jones Industrial Average continues to do very well, this is something I should not change, for the sake of my long-term future.

Nevertheless, that stark figure killed the dreams and altered the plans of what I want to do in the future -- for real.  This isn't a case where I bitch about not having money and then spend the money I have, even though I shouldn't.  When that checking account shows a "1" for a first digit instead of a "2," I will freak out.  Because there are tangible charges that, added together, could finally kill off whatever cash I have in there.  I don't have a cushion, and that scares the shit and frustrates the shit out of me.

I had dreams, for example, of going to Detroit in three weeks to see the Central Collegiate Hockey Association's Mason Cup playoffs.  This will be the last year of the CCHA before it is dissolved, the worst casualty of realignment happening to college hockey.  It would have been a hell of a thing to see.  I planned to the point where I asked the conference's media contact for a credential, and I checked the Megabus and Detroit bus schedules to see how I can get around.  But I knew that these big bills were coming due, and I had no choice but to pay them down.  And with such little money left, I don't think it's prudent to take a trip to Detroit to see and write about it.  (I will add that one of the test reading companies signed me on to a project that begins the day I wanted to leave for Detroit.  Not only would taking this trip take money from me, but it would also prevent me from making money.  That was not something I could do.)  I had known in the back of my mind I just could not pull it off.  But seeing my remaining account on the screen and in the receipt, I came face-to-face with it.  That carcass of that dream is now real to me.  I'm not going to Detroit.

You know what else I can't do?  Porny stuff.  The house parties I like to go to are kind of overrated anyway, especially if I have to pay ten or fifteen bucks to cover the cover charge.  But I have such little money nowadays that I can't even go to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Division) anymore.  I did after my first three "classes" at the U., but I kept seeing that I had no money in my wallet after I left, and I knew I didn't have much in my checking account, so I stopped going.  And after seeing how small it is now, I still have to stay away.  Hopefully it won't be so long that the girls there forget my name.

This could all go away, and my checking account could fatten up, if I had a job.  But goddammit, it's still very hard to find one.  I have a feeler for one job, but the details of that keep getting pushed further and further away.  There was one that was perfect for me, and one at a health care company I used to work at over a decade ago, but unbeknownst to me, my contact gave that job to somebody else.  And now there's another iron in the fire, this one that requires a phone interview with the person who will be supervising me.  That was supposed to come Friday, but when I called Friday afternoon to ask what's up, I was told they haven't heard from them.  Temp jobs are frequently taken away from me, and I'm not sure I have one until I literally get there and start working.  Those will last longer than the test reader position, and I should take them in a heartbeat.  I just don't know if one will ever come through.

I have more worries down the line.  My huge credit card bill, the result of me paying to get new shocks and struts for the car and Christmas gifts, is not fully paid off yet.  My meager "salary" from unemployment may not be enough to counter all the stuff I charge on a monthly basis.  It sucks balls if I fail to spend less than what I currently take in now, but I might now have a choice.  Then there's this $300 satellite radio bill that's on my AmEx card as of last week; I'll have to pay that off.  And then there's taxes; even though I didn't make a lot of money, I'm certain I made more enough not to qualify for the Earned Income Tax Credit.  That would've helped; without it, I am facing paying taxes upwards of, no joke, $1,000.

And then there's the trip to Kansas City I'm taking just before Memorial Weekend.  I canceled a trip to St. Louis planned for late September for reasons I can't remember.  And I think Southwest said I would have to take it as credit towards another flight, but the trip had to end by June 3.  I was spurred on to making a decision after seeing Southwest hold a sale a couple weeks ago, and after seeing that St. Louis wasn't really on special but there's a new non-stop flight from MSP to MCI (Kansas City's airport code), I decided I had to make my move.  So I have to plan for hotel and rental, plus I had to charge the difference in air ticket price of about $21.  These days every dollar that goes through my hands leads me closer to financial ruin.

I don't know what to do, besides continue to look for work.  I'm already spending my days working out, but that's getting boring, and besides, I still have a gut.  The next drastic step for me is to liquidate my Certificate of Deposit; it's making shit interest, but I didn't want to kill it for this purpose.  But I might have to, and it still might not be enough to pay all my bills.  Up next are the stocks, and after that, I have nothing.

So I have to hunker down.  And not eat out.  And not have fun.  And wait for my fortunes to turn.  Meanwhile, my stomach is in knots and my heart beats loudly from all the stress and I feel empty all over, just waiting for something to fucking go my way, and being afraid that living, truly living on The Knife's Edge is something I'll have to do for the rest of my fucking life.

Epiphanies In The MRI

So my car's still shaky.  It runs, but it continues to leak like a motherfucker, and it's making more weird noises than a haunted house.  Just this morning I looked underneath to see as big an oil spill as I have ever seen on the driveway.

But then, driving to Robbie Stadium there was only a small oil leak.  I didn't check when I was running around to two coffeeshops so I could get on my online auctions (two of them, staggered only half an hour apart) in time (I just missed the first two picks of my first one), but going from the second coffeeshop to the free parking lot for the State Fair, I didn't see a big leak, or a leak period -- although I admit I wasn't looking all that closely.  Finally, even though it drove fine all day, I heard the "second noise" frequently, and even though it was absent on my cool night drive home, when I made that final turn onto the driveway, that turn felt really, really hard.

And yet I am feeling somewhat happy, or at least not as down as I was a couple or few days ago.  Why the fuck is that?  Am I lying to myself?

I probably am.  But the main issue of this -- the fact that I am now convinced I have car problems that need to be fixed now, and I don't have the money to pay for it all -- maybe, maybe covered.  And I came to this realization while "working" at the U. Sunday.

This was another of these incidents where I was stuck in the MRI tube for 5 1/2 hours even though I thought I would be there a lot less, thus breaking my promise to my parents that I would be home to have dinner with them.  Usually I complain about my sore back and stiff muscles after such a marathon session doing nothing, but I actually felt good.  Weird to say this, but I could've pulled, oh, 8 or 9 hours in that machine.

It's possible I felt this secure, even euphoric, not because of this realization, but because my car was on my mind the whole time I was in there.  You know how you ruminate on something, and then all of a sudden you think of something?  That happened to me.  Wish it happened more often.

To help pay for the car repairs (and, incidentally, shore up my dwindling accounts), I decided to finally go to my stock portfolio, something I look at only from time to time and have done nothing to (besides continue transferring $100 from my checking account into it every three months) and finally pulled the plug on Petrobras, the Venezuelan oil company I thought was going to hit big.  Maybe I neglected it, because I think it was trending higher when I first purchased shares in the company.  But now it's cratered to (I think) a third of what I bought it for.  Fact is, I should have sold the whole stock before the end of last year.  But hey, more than half of 2012 is over, and Labor Day is a good time to sell, and the Blue Moon was on the 31st, and that denotes changes, so ... yeah.

But that only gives me $140 -- more than nothing, but nothing like the hundreds of dollars that sealing the oil leaks will cost, not to mention the transmission leaks that, according to my current mechanic, take first priority.  But where will the money come from?

Well, it was finally in the MRI that I finally paid attention to another underperforming part of my portfolio: An international mutual fund.  I bought it, I think, at the nadir of The Great Recession, when I thought that overseas economies would come back before America's did.  Well, it turns out that with a few exceptions, no country's economy has come back.  And so even though the loss is not as bad as it is for Petrobras, the mutual fund, Scout International, has taken money from me.

Now, I thought about immediately selling it along with Petrobras (and another small company called WasteMasters but is now known as Environmental Services, which I think I bought 100 shares of for $100 and is now worth, uh, 10 cents -- how the fuck do I still have money in this company, and why the fuck is this company still being traded?), but I just made a quick look of its history, and even though Scout International has been volatile, it's kind of battling back.  So instead of making it a quick kill of three stock properties, I think I'm going to hold off on Scout International.

And you know what?  I think I'm OK with the option.  If I sell entirely, I get over $900 back.  That should be enough to cover all the necessary repairs on my car.  And, if it's not, reality sets in and I can go ahead with the certainty that there is no reason to spend more than that on my car, or at least not all at once.  I can baby it and check the levels frequently to make sure it doesn't die on me, and in the meantime I look for another car.  The thing that puts this over the top: Selling these at a loss helps with my taxes.

So I can now go ahead and live my life knowing that I have not only money, but options.  And thank Buddha my parents are going to Vegas next week, which means (I think) I can use their van in case anything happens and I need to go somewhere.  That somewhere isn't some place I can spend money, but I still have my freedom to go places -- such as the Minnesota History Museum in St. Paul, where I want to check out the New Deal artist program exhibition; I did not know FDR spent government money to pay artists to do art.  Who da thunk it?  So I have about three, four days to shop around and ask for price quotes, or give it to my mechanic and tell he has time and do it right, or take it back to the guys who replaced my transmission and ask them if they can look at it again for cheap.  Or I can do nothing.  I have options and, if I need it, I can tap money.  I feel good, almost too good.

And it'll just be my luck that tomorrow, as I go to the U. and enjoy their (free) festivities for The First Day Of School, I will see that all the oil has dripped onto the driveway and I can't turn shit.  We'll see.

You know, I thought everything was going swimmingly today.  My Father and I weren't fighting; in fact, we were getting along, talking, all that shit.

And then My Fucking Father says tonight, "You are not smart when it comes to money and stocks."  And then he asks me if I have a job waiting for me when we get back from Europe.  And when I tell him the truth, he again tells me go to back to school, with this goddamn insult: "You slept 15 hours once."  That was a decade ago -- those were the days -- and it was only 13, asshole.

I am beyond hurt.  I just quietly say "Okaaaaaaay," in that same whiny voice he uses when he says it, then not do it.  That's very pathological, I know, and it means I have some deep issues, I know, but it's the only defense mechanism that works towards my objective: To get back at him.

Fuck you, Father.

I Am A Pathological Liar

I think I have given my parents the impression that I have found steady work.  It's not that steady because, even though I thought the lab would put me on sabbatical (because my "boss" said she doesn't have the time to find more experiments for me to listen to) over the holidays, I've been told that for sure it'll end later this month.  And even then it was only two or three times a week; I think my folks believe I work five afternoons, and thus 20 hours, a week.

I've said I'm "at work" many times when either of my parents call me in the afternoon.  Sometimes I am the U.; sometimes I'm watching a movie, or writing something at my Favorite Coffeeshop.  I have to lie because they'll get on my ass, again, for not finding a real job.

In the past 24 hours came a double assault to this pyramid of falsehoold from my parents.  Even though it wasn't planned, the cumulative effect was pretty incredible to behold.

Last night, Mother asked me if I needed to work the next day, which was today.  Instinctively, I said yes.  So she tells me that I have to go to the bank to cash some checks for her before "going" to work.  Dammit, I have to stay up after administering Grandmother's insulin shot now, don't I?

And then Father asks me about some shit about some stock he's looking into.  He's only doing that because he no longer has Internet access at work ... and that's because he didn't want to pay for it anymore.  He says he never uses it, and now he's asking me to do his work for him.  Whatever.  Anyway, since he's such an asshole for me doing things in the morning, this is another thing that I'd have to do before I go to "work."

Still, that didn't stop me from plopping back into my bed as soon as I was done helping out Grandmother.  But I couldn't get back to sleep because I mentally went through my to-do list for the day: Call this guy Father wants to bother regarding Vegas real estate ... print out this coupon ... call the bank to see if there's money for the checks Mother wants me to cash, etc.  And finally, I get a call from Father, about a half-hour after falling back into bed, asking me to check the stock now.  Sigh.  No use falling back asleep.

Good thing is that all the tasks on my to-do list that I needed to drive to I did before 1, and so I went back to bed.  But at around 2:30, I get another call on my phone.  Shit, it's my Father again!  He asked me where I was.  Well, I told Mother I was going to work, so that's what I told him, too -- even though I was in my bed.

And now I'm panicking.  How do I make sure he doesn't find out I lied to him?  I was OK with sleeping in my bed for a little while longer, but now I had to make sure I was out the door in case, for some damn reason, he was coming home right now.  I had to ask Grandmother to lie to them and tell them I was out all afternoon when I was sleeping in my bed.

Glad that they haven't suspected anything -- yet.

I think I get my lying from My Father.  Whenever I saw him enter a pressure situation, he would get all nervous and stammer out something not true just to get away from it.  Maybe I'm copying him, or it could be genetic, but I have his way of just pulling shit out of my ass.  I've tried to stop, but I don't think I ever can.  I hate this about me, but it's a part of me.  It's who I am.

My Latest Obsession: The Garage Door

I spent most of the fucking day today trying to fix the goddamn garage door.  I have no idea how to fix it.  I'm still kind of peeved Father is making me do it.  He thinks I can just make Chamberlain send an entire new apparatus because we have a ten-year warranty, whatever.  But if he's making me do it by my damn self, I'm gonna do this my own damn way.  And that damn way consisted of calling the company twice this afternoon to figure out what the hell is going on.  I'm not close.

Here are the things I could, and should, be doing instead of fixing this garage door:

• Filling out my PCA timesheets.  I was sent new ones because of the new year, but I can't find the packet they came in.  They're in this bedroom somewhere. ...
• I need to call this guy back.  Not a friend -- he was a guy I stared talking to.  He seemed cool ... until he told me about his business where he gets to set his own hours and still makes boupcoup bucks and I should totally tell you about it so you can get in on the ground floor, and at no money down!!!  Well, he didn't say the no money down part.  Anyway, I owe it to him to give him at least a meeting.  That was about a month ago.  I had time this week ... until the fucking garage door went to shit.
• I haven't been able to fill out a to-do list in my Franklin Quest this month because I haven't been able to swap out my sheets for the months of December still in it, and I haven't been able to do that because I haven't filled out that month's expense sheet yet.  Today or tomorrow would've been a good day to do it.
• Write, gotta write ... well, I'm doing that anyway because I have to.
• I could clean up my room ... oh, who am I kidding, I wouldn't've done that anyway.
• Ah, yes ... letters came in a few weeks ago stating that the stock settlement claim forms I helped my parents fill out have been partially and/or completely rejected, and that I have to appeal or else those findings would stand.  I totally forgot about them till yesterday, and the due date for mailing back any further information supporting my parents' side is ... uh, was Thursday/yesterday.  If I recall correctly, and I do hope I recall correctly, I sent those claim forms in knowing that I did all I could, and I just didn't have the complete information to give the law firm handling this settlement.  I might have to go to my storage space to see if I have any of folks' old statements there.
• I could send in My Father's winning sportsbook tickets.  He had a lot of winners his last trip to Vegas.  I called him with some picks.  I didn't see any of them in there, so I think he's the one that has a handle on this betting thing.  Anyway, as soon as I'm able to write down the amount of money I expect the casino to return, I'll send them.

At the end of my second call, the Chamberlain customer service representative told me that what I should do is a short-wire test.  Didn't get all the details, but I think I was told to take out the sensors, cut some wire, strip some wire, hook them up at the motor and see if they work then.  But what if it does and I can't put the sensors back where they're supposed to be?

I think I'm over this.  Or I will be very soon.

Today Was A Bad Day

• Snowed today.  Not the pounding blizzards we've had, but the soft, fluffy, even pretty flurries that introduces Christmas scenes in our mind.  They're great if you don't have to drive in them.  But I did, and I had to shovel it off our driveway, too.
• Woke up early because I needed to talk to my Grandmother's diabetes counselor that she's just not understanding how preparing the shots work.  I'm glad to get the counselor to switch to a different vehicle, but I was still tired.  I slept for only, like, 2 1/2 hours (although before then I slept for about another 2 1/2 hours around midnight ... hmmm, five total hours the day after I didn't have a particularly long sleep -- what happened to me?), and I needed sleep.
• But, like yesterday, everybody seemed to want to talk to me when I didn't want to be bothered.  One final call from someone I left a message for about 20 minutes before I wanted to wake up convinced me my time would be better spent cleaning off the driveway of the dusting of snow we had.
• Grandmother wanted me to fill up her meds, which was cool because I was going to Target anyway to fulfill the wish of this Playboy model.  But because of various reasons, I was unable to refill her prescriptions, which means I'll have to go back tomorrow.
• One of the calls I got was from a woman representing a drug study.  They say I'm eligible and want me in as soon as possible ... but I can't because I'm in the middle of another drug study.  I knew I couldn't, but I wanted to make sure, and my contact in the experiment I'm currently in said hell to the no.  Chance for money: Gone.
• Dropped by my aunt, which became a comedy for two reasons: The money Grandmother asked me to give to my aunt became an issue with her because I forgot what Grandmother told me what the money was for; and my aunt still didn't tell me which nursing home my uncle's in.  Oh, now I remember I promised you how I may be losing some family members this year: I learned from my cousin (my aunt's daughter) that he suffered a stroke over the summer and is now incapicitated somewhere over the river.  I want to visit him, but this means I'll have to wake up in the morning this weekend and visit him with my folks.
• Finally, while dashing out to give a movie pass to a former co-worker of mine at a coffeeshop before heading to the Wolves game with a friend (also former co-worker, who I met at the same place of work as the guy I gave the free movie tickets to), I'm backing out of my driveway.  I hit my garage door opener ... and it doesn't close.  Goddamn, of course it has to happen now!  I spend the next 20, 30 minutes trying to figure out what the hell happened to the garage door opener and then helping My Fucking Father figure out what happened.  And that means moments of him telling me to bring the ladder "up to this spot," then yelling at me for wanting to rest it against the Mercedes even though he didn't tell me not to.  Or, whining at me for not knowing off the top of my head that his hand motions meant he wanted me to pull up the garage door.  Fuck you, Father, because of this I don't think I want to help with your appeal of your IPO settlement rejection.  Disrespecting asshole.