Weird.  Needed to talk to my folks about some bills, but Mother, who is really attentive in calling back, didn't.  I texted her Wednesday night, but it wasn't until the day yesterday/Thursday that she replied, and she said the bills, for which we usually talk about, she will handle.

Honestly, I have tried avoiding talking to them, only because I fear the date they come home.  Not ready for that.  Still, I need to be sure they're alright, and not being in contact with them for more than a day after I said I need to speak to them sets me a bit on edge.  The text is fine, but it's something to monitor.

Teeth Things

Yesterday/Tuesday I went to the Fair.  Great time to go, especially since 1) work so non-existent I left an hour early and 2) the forecasters says it is going to be as dry and cool as it will get the rest of the Fair.  (I thought about going today/Wednesday, but, even though the air temperature today/Wednesday will be a few degrees lower than yesterday/Tuesday, the dewpoint today/Wednesday is higher, so that will make it feel hotter today/Wednesday than yesterday/Tuesday.  And I enjoyed myself (more than five hours!!) to the point of exhaustion (that's why I am blog posting now) and getting a stomach ache eating all that I could.  Too bad I started yesterday/Tuesday biting my tongue so hard while eating oatmeal before work that I could feel it my entire time at the Fair.  Shit, man, I feel it now.  Sucks to bite your tongue.

---

Just woke up.  Took my guard out.  It's been two days and already the pads that are supposed that keep my molars from touching and grinding each other are beat up and flattening.  But I also noticed that the right pad seems more worn out than the left.  That's not the case, not usually.  I use them to the point where I break through one of the pads; I replace it only when, like, almost half of the pad is torn through.  That's usually the left one, like I grind more on the left side of my mouth, for some reason.  But looking at the pads, it looks like I'm grinding more on the right.  Maybe something is changing?

Zynga Poker Ain't Fun Right Now

Just got burned by Zynga Poker.  This player, or "player," beat me with a straight when I had a three-of-a-kind, then beat me even though I had a straight because he got a flush.  I've suspected for some time that I'm not playing against real people, only bots.  This is not the first time I've lost good hands to the same "person" either, so what happened just now only confirms my suspicions.

Some time ago, I played with someone I'm convinced is real.  That's because the same raw deal that just happened to me happened to him, and he was using the chat feature to vent about losing -- "See, this guy's not real, he's cheating!"  I wanted to say I agree with him, but he left before I could talk back.  I feel for the guy.  I imagine he quit Zynga Poker not too long after.

I've also noticed that people are getting "better" in Zynga Poker.  After reaching ... I think it's called Elite Level 1 (?), I've dropped two levels in the past two weeks, and I'm in danger of getting relegated again this week.  Try as I might, I am not winning pots, and the pots I am winning don't zoom me up the leaderboard like they did before.  In the meantime, lots of other "players" are winning and making big "money."  I don't know if it has to do with Zynga Poker leaving Facebook in the fall, but I don't like how everyone else seems to be doing well all of a sudden now.

I have thought about leaving Zynga Poker once I can't play it on Facebook.  What is happening now is making me think that decision is a wise one.

Three Things From Yesterday

All I wanted to do is wish Father and Happy Father's Day yesterday.  And sure, it's innocuous, but dammit, he reminded me that they plan on coming home some time.  When?  Who knows.  But he launched into this story where he was told by some guy who called him that there was a hailstorm here, which there was, and do you want us to check the house for any damage?  These shady, fly-by-night shakedown jobs always are on the make, promising to replace the roof quickly and for cheap.  Not to say that the roof on our house doesn't need at least a once-over.  But if it is, I'd rather go to a reputable company and not some half-ass dimwit who are just cold-calling people in the hopes of suckering them out of their money later.  Anyway, they're coming home, and that day is getting closer, and I am not ready for that.

---

On a brighter note, all day yesterday/Sunday I hung out in downtown Minneapolis.  MNUFC and Brit's Pub held a joint soccer celebration where, for free, you can watch World Cup Matches.  During the last Game of the quadruple-header, Egypt-New Zealand, I looked up from where I was at the sunken Peavey Plaza.  There were strangers of all countries and background watching the Match from a huge TV screen.  Meanwhile, the setting sun managed to cast its rays on the tall buildings downtown.  And I felt happy and safe.  Downtown Minneapolis being dangerous is absolute bullshit.  What I experienced downtown yesterday?  That's the real downtown, and don't let any MAGAt make you believe otherwise.

---

Even though Michael Boxall, who's MNUFC's longtime Centerback, was playing for New Zealand, Egypt fans overwhelmed Peavey Plaza.  I swear there were about four dozen Egyptians and Egypt Fans at the Game-watching party, and that is four dozen more Egyptians and Egypt fans than I believed live here.  Oh, and there are some fine-ass Egyptian chicks, I tell you what. ...

Left Pinky Toe Twitch

So for the past, oh, week or so I have noticed that my left pinky toe, and maybe my left ring toe, has been twitching.  I notice this when I'm at home.  Wonder if all my sitting down at work has anything to do with it.

I also wonder if it's Parkinson's.  If I recall correctly, Michael J. Fox noticed an uncontrollable twitch in one of his fingers while he and his wife were being driven by limo to some awards ceremony.  The finger was shaking so violently, and Fox was so spooked, that they had the limo driver drive around the block in the hopes that it would stop twitching.  Don't know if it did, but I think it was the first time Fox felt something was very, very wrong.  He got the diagnosis some time after.

Yeah, let's hope it's not Parkinson's.

Where Are The Lilacs?

Just noticed, while I was eating frozen pizza in the dining room just now, that I didn't see the lilac trees in my backyard didn't bloom.  They usually bloom some time in late April/early May, if I'm not mistaken, but only for a week.  Now, I've been hella busy, but I want to think that I would have noticed if the lilacs bloomed because they are pretty and fragrant, and I would've gone to the backyard to see and smell them.  I have yet to do that ... or did not do that, one or the other.  So it's possible I didn't notice, but it's more likely it hasn't, or didn't, bloom.  If not -- damn, what's going on?

You know, the big drawback to going out all these days is my disincentive to brush my teeth.  Sure, I have plenty of time after I get home to do that, but I'm tired and there are other things I need to do.  For example, I got home from gorging myself at the Kickoff To Summer At The (Minnesota State) Fair, and I had to buy chocolates online, then I had to watch intently the last episode of The Late Show With Stephen Colbert, and then I had to blog post, so now I'm too tired and I have to go to bed!  When will I ever have the time to brush my teeth?

They Stay The Same Age. But Me Getting Older Might Be A Problem After All

So after work last/Saturday night I went to this roast beef place just south of my company.  I was on my way to the Black Hart to see MNUFC play (and lose -- goddamn, what a fucking shit pass to give up the Game-winner).  I really, really wanted to see The Preakness Stakes, but because I decided to stay a bit over to grab even more overtime, I thought I resigned myself that I probably wouldn't make it to the Black Hart to see the race, especially since I had my heart set on getting this place's legendarily good roast beef after work last/Saturday night because it will be the only time in the foreseeable future 1) it would be on my way to doing other things and 2) I would naturally be hungry right after work.

I get there and the cashier taking my order is a beaut.  Fuck yeah, she is gorgeous.  But young.  I think, and hope, not teenager young, but she could not have graduated from college.  Seeing a hot young woman speaking to you, even only because she has to, brightens my day, so I order a roast beef sandwich cheerfully.  And what do you know -- this restaurant actually has a TV.  (I've been to this place before, but it's been years since the last time, so maybe they didn't have a TV then.)  I could relax and let go of my stress because I could see the horse race after all (well, the reception was poor, but at least I saw Napoleon Solo outrace the other horses at the stretch run without the feed cutting out).  I had an excuse to talk to this babe again; this time, I requested the TV be turned on to the Preakness, and because I had a reason to stay beyond eating my sandwich, I ordered french fries too, which I had planned to order until I decided to stay late at work and calculated that even though I couldn't catch the race in time, I should still make an effort to get to the Black Hart as quickly as possible ... which makes no sense now that I typed out that thought.

Anyway ... have no complaints with her service.  In fact, when I ordered fries, she just skipped past the tip screen, which I guess means she likes me ... ?  But it's not as if I could chat her up or anything.  She served me my roast beef and fries, and that was it when it came to interaction.

Still, she is fucking hot.  And as I finally left after eating and watching the race, it just so happened that three young women entered and immediately began speaking to that cashier.  They obviously are friends with the cashier from school who dropped by to chat or eat or both.  They were fucking hot, and unlike the cashier, who had to dress for work, these friends dressed for the hot weather we had and, well, dressed like young women, with their goddamn boner-inducing midriffs hanging out and shit.  If I didn't have to go -- and if I were younger and less savvy -- I would sit down and steal looks at these three babes.

And then I realized that it was most important for me at that time to go because I had plans.  I can say that my younger self would've dropped everything I would've done because ogling these chicks would be an urge I could not get over.  And beyond that, the age gap was so apparent as to be instinctive.  Even if I could assume these women were of college age, they still would be less than half my age.  Could I even think to have small talk with them?  What would we even talk about?  TikTok?  The new Olivia Rodrigo album?  What they're studying?  Finally, from the quick glance I took of the faces and bodies of these three hotties (do people say "hotties" anymore, or am I cringe saying that?) I think ... well, that they all look the same -- with each other, and with the cashier they said hi to.  Maybe if I sat and looked at them for a longer, creepier period of time, I can discern distinct differences.  I mean, they can't be quadruplets.  But am I wrong to think that all young women these days look alike?  I don't think I can say yes, but I'm going to stick to my guns and not say no.

Not going to lie; if I were a lot younger, I would be masturbating to the memory of these four babes.  That feels ... wrong now.  So maybe Matthew McConaughey was also wrong in Dazed And Confused -- even though what his character is saying would now be construed as Trump Disease:

A Sign -- Leaning Against A Dumpster, But Maybe From Above -- Told Me To Not Dump Illegally

Saturday I had a few things I needed to do.  Before scooting over to the bank to grab some money, I was going to take out the trash because the can is full.  Now, because I create such little waste (thank you very much for your applause) my parents cancelled trash service because it wasn't necessary.  We figure instead that I can just go to a gas station and throw it in one of their garbage cans, right?

But inattentive me drove past the gas station.  I saw the bank when I realized I forgot to dump the trash, but I was too exasperated to drive back to the gas station.  Not knowing what to do, what appeared before me, like an oasis in the desert, was this huge, industrial-size dumpster just outside the local clinic, which is right next to the bank.  Score!  So I didn't have to double back at all; I just parked and tossed the bag of trash into the dumpster.  Problem solved!

It was a long day for me, but it was a day filled with fun.  After attending the MNUFC Loss (I'll talk about it in the WMNSS), I went to a local brewery now known for showing Timberwolves playoff Games outside on their parking lot.  On my way from where I parked my car to the brewery, I noticed in a parking lot (this is located in an industrial area) a huge dumpster, one much bigger than the one at the clinic.  And there was what appeared to be a giant whiteboard or poster board leaning against it.  It has words on it.  I like to read things, and I had time before the Game started, so I broke off and walked down to the parking lot to read it.

Paraphrasing, it said, "Do not throw your trash in here.  That's illegal dumping.  We have cameras all pointed at this parking lot.  If you do dump your trash here, we'll find you, and we'll catch you.  So smile, you're on Candid Camera!"

Oh, shit.  I didn't think I would get in trouble, but a part of me thought while I was tossing in my bag that I wasn't absolutely sure I wouldn't get in trouble.  This may be serendipity or pure dumb coincidence, but I took it as a sign that I shouldn't throw my trash where I guess I'm not allowed to throw it.

So, once the Game was done (the Wolves won!), I went back to the clinic.  I was able to fish out the bag of trash, and, come to think of it, the gas station was on the way back home.  So I put it there, where I initially intended to toss it.  So, to use a basketball phrase, no harm, no foul, right?  Well, I'll see if the local police knock on my door in the next week for something I made right.

I Make Bad Choices

So I was at this bar last/Monday night for the WNBA Draft (the Lynx will rue that they chose Miles over Fam Thiam, book it).  I wanted to stay for the whole thing, but the wings I got weren't enough for me.  So I got these "Chicken Dunkers," and when the server asked me what else I wanted to go with it, I realized I may have gotten myself way over my head, or stomach.  And lo and behold, I got this small but bountiful basket of chicken ... well, they're smaller than tenders but bigger than nuggets, put it that way.  And there were tater tots, which I chose, interspersed with those.  I finished, but barely, and now I feel fat.  Because I am fat, and I make bad choices when it comes to eating.

I was so tired after coming home I went to bed after the news.  As I was falling asleep I realized that there's a bruise on my left knee.  Have no idea where I got it from.  I didn't bang something hard at work or at the bar.  Maybe it happened spontaneously.  Maybe my body's breaking down.

I make bad choices.

Hottest Babe In The Hooters Calendar: March 2026

I have to admit that since the last Hooters in the state closed a few weeks ago, I haven't looked forward to reviewing the Hooters calendar as much.  It seems kind of pointless to point out which Hooters babes are the hottest when I can't see the real thing at the Mall Of America.  But I am duty-bound by my OCD to do this until the end of the year.  And you know, it's gonna be a bit funny to not do these breastaurant calendar reviews after this year ... unless Twin Peaks moves into the Hooters space, like I'm guessing it could.

Anyway, I have looked at all baker's dozen waitresses, and I'm very, very aroused by this month.  And I'm not saying that just because March is my birthday month.  OK, maybe I am a bit.  As you could probably imagine, because it's the month of St. Patrick's Day, many of the girls here are dressed in green, which happens to be my favorite color (probably because March is my birthday month, also granted).  But with all those caveats, I will list eight Hooters servers who caught my eye.

In eighth place is Erica, hailing out of St. Peters, Mo.  Long blonde hair, in a two-piece green bikini (you know, just to save myself some time and finger strokes, assume the Hooters woman is wearing a two-piece green bikini unless I describe what she's wearing).  Nothing else striking about her, but she's directly facing the camera.  Also, since she works in the St. Louis area, I want to think I would be able to have her sign my calendar if I went down there on vacation -- "if" being the operative word since I don't plan on going anywhere big or far on vacation until this current administration is deposed.

In seventh place is Haley, from Hialeah, Fla.  Long, dark brown (maybe black) hair.  She seems to be sitting between two walls made out of logs.  She's also posed three-quarters to the camera, which deprives us of her whole body.  But she's pulling up the sides of her bikini bottom, plus I just noticed that she has (or seems to have) thick hips.  Don't see that every day on a Hooters girl.

In sixth place is Mia, of Weston, Fla.  Curling, dirty blonde hair reaches down to her small tits.  She's also doing the bottom tug thing.  (Come to think of it, most of the waitresses here are doing that.)  Like I said, she's got a petite body.  She looks 18.  But that youth and innocence -- assuming she's of age! -- is really cute to see serving you wings.

In fifth place is Mia, hailing from Mesa, Ariz.  Think Zendaya.  With curly dark (probably black, possibly brown) hair, she is not wearing a green bikini.  Instead, she's wearing a light blue/periwinkle two-piece.  She's facing almost directly at the cam.  She's got that vertical slit on her stomach, a sign of a slim, lithe body.  Also, she's tugging a bit on the right side of her bottom down.  Forty years ago, that would mean a glimpse of her pussy hair.

In fourth place is Cass, from Buford, Ga.  Light blonde hair that cascades halfway down her body.  Don't know why in the hell she's holding a life preserver.  But she is sporting a red, one-piece, old-school bikini, and it's slit so low down to her stomach that you get a good shot of her left sideboob.  And with her hair thrown over her right shoulder, she looks absolutely gorgeous.

In third place is Karli, out of North Charleston, S C.  Long, jet black hair.  She's directly facing the camera.  She's not so much tugging her bikini bottom so much as pinching the right side of it with her fingers.  She's wearing a belly chain, ooh-la-la.  And you can tell that her tits are fake, but frankly, those bolt-ons look so good on her, I don't care!

Before I proceed with the top two, I want to remind you again that March is the month of St. Patrick's Day.  St. Patrick obviously is from Ireland, and Ireland is known for its redheads.  Thus, you would figure that Hooters would put redheaded Hooters girls in the calendar for March.  And I am a sucker, if not a whore, for redheads, so the two gingers in March '26 complete this list.  Ironically, though, neither of them are wearing anything green, even though that would make sense for the month.  That green and red would also provide, in my humble opinion, a sexy contrast (or would they be complementary to each other?) that has powered many of my sexual fantasies.

In second place, also hailing out of Mesa, Ariz., is Brittany.  She is knee-deep in a pool.  She mostly has her left side flashing toward the camera, which isn't great, but I see a tiny shot of her bikini bottom, and it's cut enough that I think I would see at least half of her ass.  She too throws her long hair over her right shoulder, and that combination, plus her slight grin, makes for an unstoppable picture.

Finally, in first place is The Main Girl, Emma, from ... oh, what a coinky-dink, she's from Mesa, Ariz., too!!!  She is wearing a black, cut-through Hooters tank top and black Hooters bikini bottoms, the left side of which she is grabbing.  Most of her right side is facing the photographer, but that means you can see her left sideboob.  You can also tell she is wearing a (presumably Hooters-themed) bikini top, which is a bummer because I would rather not see anything underneath her tank top.  But she is arching her back to emphasize her hot torso.  She looks sexy posing with pursed lips.  And she has thrown her long hair over her left shoulder.  This photograph is just fucking sex personified, not gonna lie.

So congratulations to Emma, and the other seven hot women comprising an excellent March 2026.  And don't worry -- I already jerked off to y'all!!!

RIP, Taco Bell Near Me

So two weeks ago, after seeing my alma mater fall to South Carolina in the NCAA Women's Basketball Tournament, I drove home.  Sometimes I take a path home that takes me past the closest gas station to my home.  Can't complain about the gas station.  It has a Taco Bell there that I go to all the time.

Well, had.  I think it was the weekend where I actually went to this gas station because I wanted to get some Taco Bell.  And it shocked the shit out of me when I saw one of those industrial-sized dumpsters.  I then noticed that all the Taco Bell signage is gone, completely.

This was coming.  The gas station was a Holiday, but several years ago (I don't know exactly how many), it was sold to Casey's Retail Company, so the Holiday became a Casey's.  They are well known for making and selling their own food under their own Casey's brand.  But even after the changeover and makeover, the Taco Bell was still operating in the left half of the building housing the now Casey's.

I heard the story of how this happened shortly after the changeover when I grabbed some Taco Bell by eavesdropping on a conversation between a Taco Bell worker and a customer who may have been his or her friend.  Taco Bell had a lease for this location.  When Holiday Stationstores or Couche-Tard, the company that acquired Holiday Stationstores, sold this particular gas station to Casey's, they did so on the condition that Taco Bell would be able to stay through the life of its lease.  The Taco Bell employee did not know how long that lease lasted, however.  Well, I guess that lease ran out two weeks ago.

This closing seemed fast.  I got home late that Monday, and Taco Bell drive-thrus are usually open late every night.  So I want to think that late Monday night (technically Tuesday morning) was the very last day they were open.  Casey's then shut everything down and cleaned out the entire Taco Bell (including appliances and tables -- seriously, I went into the gas station yesterday/Sunday and there's absolutely nothing there).  I absolutely marvel at how fast they emptied the place of any and all Taco Bell life.  But they can also completely replace that space with Casey's restaurant just as fast, at least I am convinced they could, and it's been completely empty for two weeks.

Is there something wrong?  I would think that Casey's was biding its time before the lease ended so they could then sweep in, clean house, and put up their own signage and equipment.  So, where are the tables and chairs -- and breakfast pizza Casey's is known for?  In the meantime, I am going to miss this Taco Bell.  It is the closest fast food place to me, so I relied on it for dinner and lunch many, many times over the years.  And now it's gone, just like many other places I believed would continue to exist.

Rest In Peace, TB.

Yellow Poles? For Me?

Weirdest thing when I got home from work last/Friday night.  I noticed that the screen door was opened.  Then I saw a bunch of plastic thin yellow rods propping up the door.  And no, I didn't buy them from Amazon.

Freaking out at this "gift" left for me, I ran to the door.  It was a half-dozen stakes -- you know, things you would put in the ground of your front yard to let you know where your gas and water lines are.  But why in the hell would they piled up against my front door?  And backing up here, what the hell are they?  It looks like the closest thing they could be are like these reflective driveway poles.  I think a part of each rod, close to one end, is painted white, and it's that white part that is supposed to reflect light from a headlight to guide a driver onto the driveway.

Or something.  I didn't take a close look at them because I didn't know why in the hell would someone leave those for me.  It's not like they were lying around my front yard.  Who would even think to give these to me?  That's why I'm still suspicious as hell why they're there.  And yet ... well, these things might come in handy.  I don't know for what, but they might.  So I threw them over my side door.  I'll get around to them when I have the time and if I am no longer scared as to why and how they got to my front door.

Seriously, though -- who would give me these ... yellow poles?  Is this a set-up of some sort?

Have I Still Got My Libido At 50?

So after our volunteering event we hung out at a nearby restaurant to watch our alma mater play in the tournament.  And swear to God, there were so many hot women there with bazoombas underneath tight shirts (with bras, boo) that you know were so big they would go "Blammo!" as soon as they were unleashed.  And it probably was the one-off 75-80-degree weather that day that encouraged these hotties to look their hottest.  Damn!

I think I touched myself three out of the last four days.  Probably the aftereffects of feeling hot and horny for the first time on Saturday.  But it also might be me trying to hang onto my youth by convincing myself I could still get it up and unleash my splooge by jerking off as much as I could.  That might also be the reason I am going to try and see ****e this weekend ... or, it might be that I really, truly want to fuck her.

Oh, and there was the hot young thing (but old enough to be legal, trust me!) at Culver's, where I decided to spend money yesterday/Wednesday when I planned on not spending money yesterday/Wednesday, thinking that it's probably the best way to spread out all the free food birthday offers that are about to expire.  Glad I changed my mind, because this blonde was well built, had a huge chest, and wore a tight wifebeater that still showed off her gorgeous belly.  I think I got hard.

Yep, I think I still have a libido at age 50!!!

Goddamn, Car Trouble Fucks Everything Up

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Joys Of Buying A Robe

It's not as if I don't mind wrapping a bath towel around myself when I leave the bathroom after taking a shower.  And hell, right now I could gallivant around the house stark naked if I wanted.  Well, maybe not; I can't dry the curtains at the back door.  And that's when I thought about buying a robe.  And you know, it gets cold when I gallivant around the house stark naked.  Now, it's just a robe, and I'm not wearing anything underneath it.  But it would be enough for me to wear, and I could do things like do the laundry or make myself dinner while wearing it, and I wouldn't be either cold or embarrassed.

The problem is that the best robes are so expensive.  I rely on The Wirecutter for best products, and I was amazed that all the robes they recommend are at least close to a hundred bucks!  Really?  Are good robest that pricey?

I had been looking at the article in The Wirecutter for a few years now.  They update their list annually, so I kept looking just in case they found a budget pick.  Well, about a month ago I saw that listicle again and, miraculously, there was a sale going on with one of their robe picks.  That discount ran around 30%, and going from almost $100 to less than $70 was the final incentive for me to finally buy a robe.

And you know what?  I love it!  I can walk around the house now after I shower without worrying if any neighbor catches me naked.  It is still new, so the deep and plus hairs of the robe nestle and comfort me.  It keeps me warm as I put-put around the house.  Finally, it solves the reason I wanted a robe in the first place, a reason I let slip from my consciousness frequently: I hate sitting up on my bed waiting for my hair to dry before I could put my clothes on and gallivant around the house.  With a robe, I don't have to pull my shirts over my wet hair and thus making my chest and back sweaty all day.  Instead, I can walk around the house and spend my time doing productive things as my hair dries.  Plus, I don't have to pull a robe over my wet head.

The only dilemma is where to stash the robe once my parents come home.  I can't leave it out in the bathroom.  I think it'll have to be put in a closet, right next to my civilian clothes.  But I don't have to really, really think about this issue until I get a fixed date of when my folks are returning.

My Gas And Electric Bills Seemingly Mirror Each Other

Just paid my electric and gas bills now online.  As I think I've said here before, my gas bill is mortifyingly high.  But, my electric bill is manageable.  And I know it's the exact opposite come the summer -- my electric bill is gargantuan but my gas bill is tame.  I don't think I get why those two bills are ships passing in the night, but I just came up with a possible explanation: My house uses natural gas to heat itself, but electricity to operate the central air conditioning.  Makes sense, right?

Anyway, off to bed.

I blog posted about thinking about bringing in my parents' minivan to look at exhaust that appears to be coming out of the passenger side.  Well, I have driven it a few times since, including this morning, when I used to drive to the bank and then to get my face shaved, and after the initial start, I don't see any exhaust coming out of any place it ain't supposed to.  When I got home, I left the vehicle on while I got out, and while I saw smoke coming out of the exhaust pipe (I just checked; it's 19 degrees now), I didn't see it seeping out of the side of the car.

Maybe I don't have to bring it in.  Maybe I will bring it in and ask the mechanic if he sees something, and maybe I'll pay for repairs other than the exhaust system that may or may not need repair.  Who knows?

Simple Syrup Is Seeping

I thought putting the full cup of simple syrup, which I made by boiling a cup of sugar in a cup of water, into a smaller plastic container instead of the larger one, would suffice.  All of the simple syrup fit, but when I put the lid on, I could see the syrup push up against the bottom of the lid, you know what I mean?

I put it in the fridge and didn't think anything more of it.  But when I opened up the refrigerator door later to get something to drink, I saw that there were droplets on the side and all around the container.  The syrup was seeping out.  I don't think the container was leaking, but I surmised that the lid pushed the syrup through any opening between the lid and the container, and if it didn't drip over the side of the container it was, um, solid enough that it could travel to the lip of the lid and then drop onto the glass shelf.

Darn.  I'm not one to clean the fridge, and now it's all sticky.  I actually poured out a little simple syrup so it wouldn't push up against the lid.  I also used, like, 15 mL of it on a, I think, gimlet.  But it continues to leak out.  I have put a paper towel underneath the collect the drops, but that's too late for the simple syrup that had dropped onto the shelf.  Meanwhile, I thought I would have used more of the syrup by now, but it doesn't look like I'll be using it at all this weekend.  So the simple syrup will continue to seep.

Happy Chinese/Lunar New Year!

It feels as if the older I get, the more I hew to Chinese/Lunar New Year superstitions, as cockamamie they may be.  As I have gathered on the Internet, these are things one is not supposed to do and the time periods in which you cannot do them:

• For the first three days of the Chinese/Lunar New Year: Do not sweep, clean the house, shower or wash your hair
• For the first five days of the Chinese/Lunar New Year: Do not clean the dishes or do the laundry
• For the first 15 days of the Chinese/Lunar New Year: Do not take your car in for maintenance and/or repairs or use sharp objects
• For the first 30 days of the Chinese/Lunar New Year: Do not go to the doctor or dentist

That all seems silly, I know.  But I cleaned out the garbage, did the dishes, showered and trimmed my nails before midnight.  I also avoided meat and instead ate Culver's two-piece walleye dinner, bones and all.  Then again, I just realized that I used a knife to slice open oranges so I could make myself a tequila sunrise that I am drinking right now.  Welp, I guess I just damned myself to a year of bad luck.  Happy Chinese/Lunar New Year!!!