What Would I Do?

Maybe I have to face the truth.  Maybe the reason I avoid venturing out during the day, or fear getting stopped by these assholes while driving, or run through my mind what I would do if I see someone getting abducted, is because I am scared of what I would say and do ... or not say or do.

I have proof that I am a citizen.  But it looks like these motherfuckers don't give a solitary fuck about that.  If they don't, and they decide to haul me in, what would I do then?  But there's something way more sinister than that.  It sounds as though these pricks insult you to your face in an effort to get you going.  I have a temper.  Could I be baited into saying something or doing something that'll be justification for getting taken away?  Absolutely.  Now, I have to remember that these pieces of shit have guns and therefore hold all the cards.  It might not matter what I say or do, or don't say or do.  They'll do whatever they want, at that time, just because they fucking want to.  And yet, I wonder if some of it would be "my fault" if I lose it.

And then there's the other side.  What if I get stopped in my car or on the street, and when they ask for proof of citizenship, even though I don't have to (and I have heard conflicting advice on this), I give them that proof?  And let's say they let me go.  Frankly, I would be relieved I wouldn't be kidnapped.  But what I did in order to remain a free man is to knuckle under this fascist régime's orders.  I would be complicit.  I just decided to give them what they want because I didn't want to get my ass kicked.

So what kind of a man, what kind of an American, what kind of a patriot would I truly be if I did what these Republican shitstains tell me to do?  And am I going to look the other way if someone gets spirited away into a plateless SUV to points unknown?  I'm afraid the answer to that last question is yes.  That murder Saturday morning really frightens me.  The first one here a couple weeks ago was bad enough.  But I am a big believer in that once you do something unfathomable and heinous, doing it again is much easier.  I'm afraid I can see a rash of killings by these racist government thugs.  Hey, in for a penny, in for a pound, right?  And it's that backdrop of these goddamn bullies threatening your life if they don't get their way that makes me scared that I will not be courageous when the time comes for me to be brave.

So, who will I be -- or maybe more to the point, what side will I show -- when these sons-of-bitches come for me -- the chickenshit too meek to do anything so he can go home in one piece, or the dead man who had to stand up to someone because it's the right thing to do?  I don't think I want to know.  And that's why I stay home as much as I can.  And that's why I hate myself right now.

OK, So We Have A Date My Parents Will Finally Leave ...

... and it's about a month from now.  Oh, well. ...

Thing is, they wanted to leave next week.  I would've loved it.  It just so happens, however, that was the same day of the memorial service for the family friend who died a week ago.  I asked my boss before I left work yesterday/Friday if I could take that afternoon off; even though it was short notice, he said yes.  And so I assumed that my folks would want to pay their respects, too.  Besides, it was going to be short -- an hour to mill around and say hi, and then an hour for the service, and I guess there will be stuff to eat afterward, but that's when we could just go home.  But Mother was looking for flights on that day because they were going to be as cheap as they would be before prices went up for the holidays.

Honestly, this was a dick move by them -- and not surprising.  They don't want to be here, especially in the cold.  And when Mother got the all-clear from the physician who performed knee surgery on her, I knew it was going to be a matter of time before they were going to skedaddle.  And still I thought they were going to listen to the angels of their better nature and go to the service.

Was I going to push this?  No.  Technically, the flight Mother was looking at was going to fly out around noon.  I could take them in the morning, come back, get dressed and go to the service by myself.  That would have been fine.  I think that if my boss let me go for the afternoon, he'd let me go for the whole day.  Also, I think it's important that someone from the family go to the funeral.  Ideally it should be all of us, but if my parents' friendship with her was fake, whatever.  What mattered to me was that I go to the service to pay my respects to the lady who lived just a couple houses down from us and who was always nice to us.

Now, I guess I could have headed this conflict off if I knew before yesterday/Friday that next week was the service, but I kept forgetting to check the date.  Also, it is a bitter irony that the day they were going to leave just so happened to be the same fuckin' date of the service.  If the service were the day before, it would've been perfect.  Alas, I am trying not to be angry.  This is about saying goodbye, after all, and this neighbor's death has me thinking about how my parents are still around, though not forever.

So, my ever-parsimonious Mother decided she would look for the next date with tickets as cheap as the one next week.  And that date is ... the first week in January!  Because of the funeral service, my parents will be here for another 3 1/2 weeks!  Like I said, I'm trying not to hate God for this.  There are some plusses to them staying.  For example, even though Mother has been cleared to get on a plane, her doctor advised her to continue walking because the threat of blood clots is still there.  However, the doc also said that risk decreases over time, so I want to think that the chances of her getting a blood clot will be notably less in January than next week.  Also ... well, I guess it's alright that I can be with my folks for the holidays, even though that wasn't their initial plan.  (When Mother bought the tickets, she said Father wanted to spend the holidays with me.  That's ... well, bullshit.)

OK, I can't think of too many upsides to them being here for the holidays.  I would like to them to be gone.  With my parents out of the state, I could go out to this bar on Christmas Eve, but that would be too weird now.  And I guess there are 3 1/2 more weeks of us starting a fight over something or other.  Whatevs.  They've been here since April, I think, so what's another month at this point?  Besides, and I hate to say it, I'm scared that another member of my family is going to fall ill this month.  If that's the case, and if they're off wintering, they'll just have to fly back home.  They might as well be here and save themselves the trip.

Oh, by the way, it looks as though Father will accompany me to the service but Mother won't.  That ain't her bag or some shit.

And what the fuck is My Fucking Father doing with the shower curtains???  I have opened the shower curtains all the way.  It's what you're supposed to do to air it out and let it dry after showers.  But for some goddamn reason, for the past week or so I see the curtain tied up, or touched in a way that is obvious that My Fucking Father came into the bathroom.  Why?  I think that's his way of telling me to make sure I shower every day, like that's any of his fucking business.  If that's why he's doing that, well, I just faked taking a shower just now.  I know it's petty, and you could say I might as well shower for real if I'm going to do that, but seriously, fuck him, it ain't any of his goddamn business why I don't shower every goddamn day.  How fucking creepy is that bullshit?

Oh, every day he straightens out the bath towel I use, too.  That asshole doesn't have anything else to do in his doddering old age, does he?

No Home To Come Home To

I say all of this while I am sitting at home.  Irony, hypocrisy, I'll own up to all of that.

I'm afraid of coming home every day.  I just am.  Ever since My Fucking Parents threw all my shit out the house, ever since they gave me ultimatums to clean my room and myself, I don't feel welcome at home.  I just don't.  I guess I have felt this way before, and I might be repeating myself when I say this, but I'll say it anyway: This time feels different.  Them tooling around outside my bedroom door -- My Fucking Mother working on her sewing, My Fucking Father working outside doing God knows what -- was annoying before all this but now feels kind of threatening.  It's like they own the place.  Which they do, but I've never felt threatened that my stuff or I will be thrown out.

This past week has been relatively mild at work, and that lightening of workload could not have come at a worse time.  Because that means I have to go home, and I absolutely did not want to.  I was afraid to go home.  Back on Wednesday I went to the library to be a part of that fantasy football auction that no one showed up for, and I made a point to stay out as late as possible.  Because I knew that once I got home, I'd have to look in the trash bin and the recycling bin to see what else of mine they tried to throw away, which meant I had to retrieve it, throw it in my car, then make time to get to my storage unit.  One day I looked and saw that they tossed my old New Orleans Saints hat.  The fuck you are.  Then I have to see what else they moved inside my bedroom.  Did they throw anything away from here?  Did they move things around thinking that, like, hanging up my hats this way is best for me?  And what would they say, goddammit, how will they threaten me directly?

I shouldn't be feeling this way.  No one should.  Everyone should have shelter where they can relax and feel secure.  I don't care that I supposedly have a place here.  I don't have a place here.  My folks have made sure that they run this place and if they don't like something of mine, it's gone, and if I don't like it, then I'll be gone, too.  These are my fucking asshole parents, by the way.

---

I have thought about needing a new place to store my stuff -- not just because my place is changing ownership, but because there is more and more stuff I have had to move from home.  I have checked prices for my current size unit and the next step up, and the difference in price is so great that I have initially balked at it.

But after feeling that I won't be safe at home, I have largely stopped being resistant of getting a 5" x 10" now.  Part of it is the realization I just don't have enough space (and that does make me think I really have to go through my stuff).  But I'm starting to think I that I should spend some time in a larger spot ... not to go through my things, but to relax.

I'm serious.  I have had this fantasy (for lack of a better word) that I have moved all my things into a 5" x 10" but have enough floor space to open up a folding chair, close the door behind me, turn off the light ... and just nap.  I can't nap anymore at home because of all the damn racket those two do out there.  And I have no idea when, or even if, they're leaving.  So if I need real peace and quiet, I think that I might spend the extra money for a bigger spot, buy myself a folding chair, and make that place my new, and real, safe space.

Pathetic?  Probably.  But I need peace, man.

Democracy Has Died; We Are A Broken Nation

So after I blog posted my previous blog post I got a push notification from my phone that Wisconsin went to That Fucking Guy.  That he won, as soon (remember that Biden took Pennsylvania and thus the presidency four days later, on Saturday) as he did overnight, makes me suspicious, frankly.  Hey, it all depends on the conspiracy theories that are true.  Fifteen million votes fewer for Harris than for Biden?  Did they all not vote for her?

I cannot believe that this fucking asshole, who was convicted of 30+ felonies, who is a rapist, who broke the law to steal the presidency back in 2016, and who is a stupid asshole who can't even get through a speech without going into a demented fugue state, "won" again.  Don't even believe he won fair and square here, either.  There were bomb threats in polling places in Georgia and Pennsylvania; they were traced to, duh-duh-duh, Russia.  That Fucking Guy had meetings with Netanyahu; I will totally believe he made a deal with Trump to not agree to a ceasefire in Gaza just to make Biden look bad.  And from 2016, the Original Sin of foreign election interference and conspiracy, the people who were brainwashed into voting for him then voted for him again.  That's still foreign election interference in my mind.

But the overriding takeaway from this election is that this country simply is not willing to make a woman its president, especially one of color.  It is not a surprise that America remains deeply sexist and racist, but the ramifications of those deep-seated prejudices on such an important event, when the other choice is that piece of shit, is still shocking, and sad.  Harris is immensely qualified, smart, diplomatic, and doesn't dance like a bobblehead for 30 minutes.  But Trump's a white guy, so he has to win.

We can't forgot the media apparatus surrounding Republicans.  There is a behemoth of a cable station, several radio networks, and now goddamn podcasts all supporting that gutless cult of a party.  It's scary to think that Joe Rogan (who has daughters, by the way) may have played kingmaker.  The guy from Fear Factor played kingmaker?

With that being said, commenters who are doing post-mortems unanimously believe Biden would have done worse.  I will not agree.  If America is so sexist and racist and selfish and hypocritical that it would reject an accomplished Senator such as Kamala Harris for a guy in his eighties who gave a blowjob to a microphone, isn't there a possibility that pushing out a White guy, Joe Biden, for Harris was a mistake?  Hey, this move backfired on us.  Maybe Biden should have stayed.  I think he could have won.

I need to end this or else I'll start throwing things.

Detente ... Or De-Taunt?

OK, so that guy I know who went psycho on me when I said that the violence Trump incites came back to bite him in that shooting Saturday?  Well, out of an abundance of caution, I went beyond muting to defriending him.  Couldn't take the risk.  However, we are members of a Facebook page, and I haven't and probably won't throw him out of there, even though I can since I'm an administrator.  It's my concession.

I had posted something on that page, something about tickets to a Game.  Yesterday/Tuesday, he posted on it.  Tagged me, too.  And I thanked him, and I tagged him.

Look, I don't want to go around making enemies.  But I said what I said, and I stand by what I said.  I do not condone political violence on anyone.  But someone who spews violence as an answer cannot be surprised when it's done to them.

With that said, I didn't like how I acted when we got into this argument.  However, I didn't like how he was acting, either.  And once he got accusatory -- and he did -- he got real threatening, and real crazy.  That's why I closed myself off to him.  If we ever, ever have a relationship of any kind, we cannot talk about politics, at all.  And I think he needs counseling.  Hey, it's working for me.

So I ... want to welcome his comment as an olive branch.  Does he mean it that way, though?  I can't think how it would be, like, some twisted way of letting my guard down so that, uh, we meet in real life to bury the hatchet and instead he tricks me and beats the shit out of me.  Don't want to think that, but I'm paranoid.  It's possible.  And hey, I'm running into this guy at some point this year, either at the Game, or at a concert, or hell, at a fast food restaurant tonight.  Yeah, I'm kind of scared of this guy.  But I don't want to live my life being scared of this guy, either, especially if he's willing to put what happened on social media behind us.  So, who knows?

Don't Give A Fuck About The Debate -- I'm Still Ridin' With Biden

So I hear Biden lost the debate last night because he looked old and enfeebled.  DO I HAVE TO FUCKING REMIND YOU THAT TRUMP IS A CONVICTED FELON?!?!?!  It doesn't matter if Biden's eyes rolled up into his head and was just blowing up spit bubbles.  No, I didn't watch the debate because I don't want to blow my head off, at least not yet.  But Trump was just spewing bullshit for 90 minutes.  And he "won" because he looked confident while Biden looked weak?  There are times when spinning chicken shit into chicken salad is a good thing.  Trying to become President isn't one of them.

This is a crisis point for Biden, unfortunately.  Apparently there is a lot of pressure on him right now to step down.  That ain't gonna happen because who's going to replace him at this point?  Anyway, however he is now reflecting on what I guess is a consensus ass performance, he shouldn't step down.  Let cooler heads prevail.  Think.  Understand that Biden has a positive record.  Also understand that Biden isn't an asshole ... AND THE NOMINEE FOR THE REPUBLICAN PARTY IS A CONVICTED FELON, AND AN ASSHOLE.

Don't make any rash decisions.  I remember when that stripper lied to me, and as I approached the house she was who I didn't think she was, and I drove away, but not before she threatened me through text.  I had a thought that she was going to "get" me, and so I thought about just wandering into oncoming traffic to end it all.  But I didn't, because I didn't want her to "win."  So I didn't do anything rash.  I breathed.  I slept on it.  And I survived, both the incident and, myself.  (Have I blog posted about this?)

I suggest we all do the same.  Republicans are still fascists, and I'm not going to agree to give up my country because Biden sucked one night.  He can suck in the next debate and I'll still vote for Biden because I won't vote for Republican cocksuckers like Trump.  People who give a fuck about this country had better think the same way.

How In The Fuck Does This Happen?!?!?!

I just sent a dispute letter on behalf of my fucking parents regarding a rental car they may or may not have reserved.  It was from September.  They say they didn't do anything.  I think they fucked up somehow.  But once again, the middle child has to clean up his parents' goddamn mess.

I sent a sternly worded e-mail.  Second time.  I tried to be polite the first time, but they have kept sending invoices once a month.  I am no longer being polite, not after I saw My Fucking Mother's credit card statement stating that that charge is considered resolved.  So why in the hell is this rental car company still bothering them?

I poured out my displaced anger in that e-mail.  (It's mostly about my mom, for whom I writing this e-mail, but hey, irony!)  I attach the image of the credit card bill, which I scanned at the library.  I send it.  Just in case, I go back to the sent e-mail and click on the attachment.  The credit card statement is there ... and so is the eyeglasses bill I scanned in order to send it online to the company that handles my vision insurance.  Now, this goddamn rental car company has both.

How in the fuck does that happen?  Yes, I scanned both the statement and my receipt at the same time.  But I made sure that they didn't get saved together.  I'm sure of it, goddammit!!!  And now I sent my receipt for fucking eyeglasses along with the credit card bill???

I'm worked up about it because of the tone of voice I injected into the e-mail.  I wasn't just not being polite.  I accuse them of harassment, and threatening legal action if they don't stop with these (truly) bogus bills.  And so the person handling this will be threatened (like I intended), and then they'll see this superfluous receipt which contains all my contact information.  If they can fuck me up, they now have the means to do it.

HOW IN THE FUCK DOES THIS HAPPEN?!?!?!

Damn, Bitch Is Now Cray

So, I was dithering as to when I wanted ******a to come over and rub me down again.  On the one hand, her last massage was great; she ended it by sliding her hands around my perineum (the area between my dick and my asshole), which gave me the idea she's this much closer to touching my pee-pee.  On the other hand, she was in one of her paranoid moods again, talking about how the phone is listening in to her conversations and shit.  Eventually, my little brain prevailed.  Also, I have felt burned lately by the other strippers in my life, promising me handjobs but then ghosting me, or going all crazy and spitting all over my cock for some goddamn reason.  For the most part, ******a has delivered, and I need that realiability right now.  So, even though I planned on seeing this porn star late last/Sunday evening, I woke up from my #DoinTheQuad World Cup marathon viewing-induced nap earlier in the evening to call her up and tell her to get her sweet ass over here so she could soothe me.

Her getting lost, again, could have been a warning sign.  So too could have been her complaining that she couldn't find her weed.  She went back to her car to try and find it; I encouraged her, because she was high when she massaged me last time, and she, you know, almost touched my pee-pee.  Unfortunately, her paranoia about being followed not only has persisted but intensified; she kept talking about how her ex-boyfriend from about two years ago was, like, able to open her phone remotely to track where she's going and to trace her phone calls.

This time, however, it was a hell of a lot worse.  She's living with her sister and her family, and she believes they stole her weed.  She then asked if she could place her phone at my bay window so she could record her car as it was on the driveway.  Then, she wanted me to take out the batteries in my CO detector; I didn't know how, so ******a just told me to put it in the living room.

But worst of all was her behavior as she asked me to change the settings on my phone.  I don't know what the fuck she wanted me to do, but she was so goddamn scared that her phone would somehow manipulate my phone into recording us or something that told me to go through a lot of my settings and turn them on, or off, or something else.  She wanted me to turn on my data plan, then turn it off, then turn it on again.  She told me she wanted it on airplane before she told me to turn on my data.  And then, she told me to turn off my phone and turn it on, to "reset" my phone.

But by God, the strangeness didn't end there.  She was vaping because she had no weed.  ******a blew the plume of vape smoke my way, to which I coughed.  And she said, "What was that?"

"A cough," I replied.

"It sounds like a cough of someone who's trying to tell me something," ******a said.  And then she told me to do all these fucked-up things to my phone settings again.  I got so fucking sick of this bullshit that I made her do it.  I just held up the phone while she tapped and swiped and everything.  And by the way, it didn't look like she knew what the fuck she was doing, either!!!  We spent a good 15 goddamn minutes on fucking with my phone, for all I know, what she did and/or undid got my phone to start spying on her.  Finally, out of nowhere, she said, "Pretty soon, I will take all of my enemies down.  And I hope you're not one of them."  Dafuq?

But you know what?  The massage was fucking fantastic.  The massage, the real deal, was great.  She kneaded my knots and busted the fascia all out of my muscles and stuff.  But also, maybe because she was at least self-aware at how bonkers she sounded, while she didn't actually touch my pee-pee, I think she knocked up against my cock more times than at any previous session.  And when she did this thing where lightly tapped all over my pubic hair, I think I got a semi.

So I think I'm working on ******a ... no, wait a second -- she's insane!!!  For all I know, the next time she comes over, she's going to accuse me of spying on her!!!  That is the next logical step ... by using her logic, of course.  At her next psychotic break, she will find my house while I am gone and try to break in to see where all the cameras are and shit.  How do I explain that to my parents?  Man, the things I do just so I can be naked in front of a hot chick, I tell ya. ...

I Like Crazy Only When I Am Crazy

This idea of these two women, *****n and ****e, double-teaming me like they did last time (have I blog posted about this?  I don't see it), was a bad fucking mistake Friday.  First both of them talked about money, money, money when I already gave *****n money for her kids' school supplies.  And then ****e started spitting water onto my junk.  I know you didn't my suck my dick -- why are you making my pants all wet with water?

And then they told me they were done even though I didn't cum.  If I'm giving both of them $140 (and I'm being generous because *****n owed me a freebie and ... oh, I'll talk about that later), I'm cumming.  I finally did, and then ****e tried to suplex me into the light for some goddamn reason.  And then I put my pants back on and it's so fucking wet with all this water.  It's like she poured an entire bottle onto me and my pants.  It's freezing outside and I have to deal with a wet ass?

Oh, and finally, *****n asked for money.  And you know what?  I gave it to her.  Stupid fucking me, thinking with my cock, gave her money, even though I already gave her money for her kids' school supplies and she said she owed me.  I'm paying her more money.  Why the fuck am I doing that?

What a goddamn disaster.  Pro tip: All sexual encounters are ruined when you talk about money right then and there.  It should be settled beforehand.  Or, in the case of these two a month or four months or whenever the last time I got DT'd by these two, just enjoy the crazy-ass ride they wanted to give you and then show them you only had so much in your wallet.  All the dick-sucking they did was their fault because they didn't arrange the cash beforehand.  Similar to it being my fault for caving in and giving those two more money when the arrangement was, uh, not.  It wasn't settled mostly because those two shook me down for even more money, and they weren't going to drop it because they were withholding services if I didn't meet their demands.  It's an understatement, but that's a mood-killer.

But also -- and maybe this is less of an issue than the money thing, but it's kind of the point I'm holding myself to just based on the subject line -- ****e was nuts.  Not just crazy, not even good crazy, but nuts.  She was just a fucking whore the last time, but this time, she was ... psychotic and not in a good way.  Besides the spitting water, she was talking a lot of fucking gibberish; whenever she wasn't demanding that I give the both of them money, she was mumbling about some dumb shit I didn't understand.  But telling me they were done when they didn't finish me off -- well, that was what ****e said, and I had to jerk myself off onto her to get my fill.  I would've came, easily, if she weren't so ... dumb-crazy.  And yeah, I guess I get a little ... crazy when I want sexual stuff.  Maybe I'm being a hypocrite, but I feel like I'm focused on getting what I want; I'm just really, oh, intense when I want it.  I don't know what the fuck ****e (and by extension *****n -- she wasn't talking like she was having a mental breakdown, but she was there and she was money-grubbing too) was talking about or doing, except that she wasn't physically pleasing me, which is what I want.  Where was the ****e that just pulled my dick out of my pants and gave me a blowjob at the kitchen?  Without asking me for money??

See, I want sex when I go crazy.  I sure as hell don't want it when the girl is crazy.  This ... OK, double standard was confirmed on Friday.  And what I thought was going to be another fantastic night wound up being another instance where I got fucking ripped off.  Fuck ... uh, to hell with them both.

Put In Ads Or Else!

So Blogger sent me an e-mail Monday (I think) saying that they're tracking ... thingamajig told them that I wasn't getting any impressions, which means no money.  They threatened me that if I don't get any in, like, the next month ... uh, something happens.

To prevent that from happening, I have to cut-and-paste this HTML code ... somewhere.  I did it -- I think.  Can you guys tell?  Are you seeing ads?  Are you making an impression?  Am I?  I don't get this.

Oh, Piggybacking On Choosing Not To Go To A Concert ...

... I wanted to go to a concert last Friday, July 29.  Gary Clark, Jr. and Cold War Kids were the top two acts at a concert being held in, of all places, Plymouth.  Not downtown Minneapolis where all the known musical acts play -- Plymouth.  Great suburb, one of the test scoring sites I work at (still?  Kinda?) is there.  But ... it's a suburb.  It's where people maturing past their twenties move to once they start raising families.  It's safe in the suburbs.  It's quiet in the suburbs.  And therefore nothing exciting happens in the suburbs.  That's what the downtowns of large cities are for.

Anyway, the city of Plymouth has for years been punching above their weight class when it comes to bringing in well-known bands and acts.  They seem to do it once a summer, maybe a weekend, but people I and many others have wanted to see -- Trombone Shorty, Big Head Todd & The Monsters -- have veered west of downtown and played in Plymouth.  And now Gary Clark, Jr., a guy I haven't seen but want to, and Cold War Kids, a band I've seen twice (once at First Avenue and once in Boulder, Colo., believe it or not) are playing in a city that has free parking for all?!  I'm going!!

But then my parents said they're flying back home the next night.  I thought really, really hard about going anyway -- either I would finish cleaning up the house so that I would be able to go with a clear conscience, or say to hell with it and try and clean up like crazy all day the next day before they return home.  But I couldn't do that.  I went home, did some light tidying up, and moved all of My Stuff to my storage unit.

There was another thing that made me think twice about going.  My stripper friend lost her mom over the summer, she was willed the family home, and she was getting evicted from her place.  July 29 is the end of the month, so she was busy packing everything up and leaving the Twin Cities for good to move back to her hometown.  She actually asked for help a week or two before, and I wanted to help, but my parents threw a wrench over everything.  Nonetheless, she was in bad shape: Only one friend came over to help her, her boyfriend recently left her, and apparently her neighbor was psycho and threatened both her and this friend all day Friday.

I will say this: Things were copacetic enough at home that I could have gone over to her place -- she didn't live very far -- to help her pack and load stuff onto her truck.  But I couldn't get ahold of her.  Actually, her friend got ahold of me, but I didn't see his text until a couple hours after he sent it, and I saw it just as I got home from work.  I replied and it took an hour or so for him to get back to me, and then I sent another text and it took another hour or so for him to get back to me.  I was doing nothing but waiting, but eventually I just got bored and decided to eat at Culver's ... at which point my stripper friend called me and asked if it would be a good idea to throw her cats into a box to make the four-hour trip out west overnight and be done with moving -- and this asshole neighbor -- for good.  She sounded really happy that I listened to her, but I really don't know if my time wouldn't have been better spent if I just went to the concert.

One more thing discouraged me from going I knew well before either above obstacle got in the way.  I was filling in for someone in My Favorite Department.  That shift doesn't end till 5:30.  The concert started at 5, and it would have taken me at least half an hour if I went to Plymouth straight from work, and I had designs of at least stopping by home and changing clothes.  There were two local acts that went onstage before Cold War Kids and then Gary Clark, Jr., so I figure I had time to park and buy a ticket well before CWK went on.  But ...

... yeah, that "but" kind of escapes me now.  There was my parents, and my stripper friend, and work.  But, as I felt leading up to my parents coming home, my energy was at a low.  Maybe I wasn't as enthused about going to the concert as I initially was.  Yeah, it's probable that all these other circumstances played a part in dampening my enthusiasm for it.  However, if I recall correctly, there was a part of me that didn't mind not going.  And so I didn't.

Hey, maybe next year.  I could leave work on time, my parents won't be coming home the next day, no strippers need help moving and getting away from prick neighbors, and, like, Billie Eilish will come and play at Plymouth.  That'd be a concert I'd go to!

After it happened last night, I was so afraid to be outed that, honestly, I had an idea about wandering into ongoing traffic and ending it all.

Right now, as I type this, I'm still thinking she could out me.  All the criminal texts. ...  I want to go out and enjoy the day, but I'm scared as hell she'll find me.  So should I just stay cooped up inside, in my house ... where she could still find me anyway?  I fear a knock on the door from her, or her druggie boyfriend.

I calmed down a bit after walking, which I needed.  But I still sent out a bunch of messages, casting about for safety, for approval.  I regret some of them now.  There is one who is a lawyer, for example.  But, just to cover my ass -- again, who knows how she'll get to me -- I think I'll disclose some things to him.  Oh yeah, I should talk to my therapist, too.

Maybe I should have just went up, told her she misrepresented herself, gave her money, then told her never to talk to me ever again.  She's been a pest for a long time, and this way would have told her not to contact me anymore.  But if she wanted money -- well, that would have been a small price to pay in order to get her to leave me alone for good.

Shouldn't have deleted her texts, either.  I regret that now, too.  But she was threatening me!  That's my go-to defense mechanism, and now I have no way to offer proof of my side.  Meanwhile, she has all the texts I sent her.  She has my license plate, too, and I'm scared to death she'll find me.  Bitch is fucking crazy.

Maybe not giving her money is better.  If I did, she'd just ask for more ... or else she'll tell on me.  Maybe that's why I need to admit the truth.  Truth will set you free, you know?  That's what I told myself last night.  And even though I came to the quick realization I was fucked no matter what I did, I stopped having the idea I should run into the street to escape it all, either.

---

I'm being vague about this, I know.  Let's just say that my, uh, hobby has blown up in my face.

Called Out For Being Late But Not Tardy ... Or Tardy But Not Late

This is so fucking stupid ... last week, out of the blue, I get an e-mail from my boss scrutinizing when exactly I punch in to work.  You're allowed leeway, like five minutes from when you're supposed to start (although I also was once told ten, but whatever).  Swiping in after that grace period raises a red flag with bosses.  You allowed only so much before you're called in for, uh, "remediation."  If you're really bad and do it frequently enough, that's grounds for getting fired.  But it rolls over every 365 days, so if you've been really bad for, like, a week, after a year it's off your record.  Besides, they have made exceptions for tardiness when there's been, like, a huge snowstorm that makes it difficult for people to get to work.

This bullshit e-mail is different.  My boss noted that I have not been "late" or "tardy" (I don't know which word is the one I'm supposed to use, but the two are not interchangeable), but for the past month he noted the number of "late/tardy" punches, and he deemed it unacceptable, even though I technically have not run afoul of company policy when it comes to getting to work on time.  He said some fuckin' BS about "not being an ideal worker for the company" or some such.  And then he said, and this is the thing that galls me, is that he is going to be tracking how many times I am late but not tardy (or tardy but not late) for ... well, from now on, fuck if I know, and he'll track by how many minutes I am late.  You fuckin' kidding me?!?!?!  I cannot help but think of that as nothing but a threat.

That leads to self-demeaning acts of stupidity and oppression like yesterday.  I wanted to try and be "a good boy" and get to work on time.  And yet, I still wanted to buy coffee and a bite to eat, and then eat that bite to eat in my car, before punching in.  I got up and got out of the house early to ensure that I could do this all.  But goddamn me for not building in enough time (and, maybe, for ordering oatmeal) and then thinking I could do all this before 10 a.m.  It got down to the brass tacks whereby I ate the rest, tried to gather up my bag, my gloves, and my mocha, and then march through the front door.  I looked down at my watch just after I closed the door to my car and saw it was 10 on the dot.  I didn't feel like running to the door; that would be demeaning, and besides, I didn't know if I wanted to jump through these hoops for my boss, especially since he usually doesn't come in on Sundays.  And yet, when I punched in, it was 10:01, and all I could think of was GODDAMN HIM, HE'S GOING TO FUCKING CALL ME OUT ON THIS!!!  I AM ONLY ONE MINUTE LATE, FOR FUCKING GOD'S SAKE!!!

There is a part of me that thinks he's only doing this because he has to.  The words he used in that e-mail were boilerplate, as if he was following a template of an e-mail he has to send out to prove to his bosses he is keeping his employees in line by making sure they swipe in when the company wants us to.  And I still think ... well, want to think that he's a good guy.  But I harken back to my co-worker getting pissed off over an e-mail my boss sent to her.  And I'll just reveal it now: She told our supervisor, probably venting but there is always a patina of intention when someone says this, that he wanted to rip my boss' head off.  I'm not there -- yet.  Let's just fucking see if I actually want to get to work on time, and if I don't, what the fuck is going to happen to me.  And in the meantime it might behoove me to polish my resume, reach back out to my temp agencies, and think about going back to school again.

Anti-Masker Fantasy

So there a couple of fuckin' dudes, construction dudes, who refused to wear masks while ordering inside Uncle Franky's Thursday afternoon despite there being a sign on the front door saying masks are mandatory when inside.  The next day, I had to step around an anti-masker asshole to get root beer at Culver's.  I thought that dude had left; instead, he was expelling air around the soda pop machine, and now I'm afraid that prick gave me COVID.

I've been harboring this fantasy for a while, and now that there is resistance from a lot of Republicans Trump supporters dumb anti-masker motherfuckers out there to Gov. Walz's mandate to shut bars and restaurants and gyms down for a month -- yeah, like those guys could stand a second taking care of people who are dying from the coronavirus -- I'm going to let my fantasy loose.  It's a revenge fantasy, one where a smart yet docile person -- me -- finally can't stands no more and takes the law into his own hands.

I step into a situation where some person totally freaks out over some employee of a store for telling him or her to wear a mask.  He or she chooses to escalate the situation and begin yelling at and threatening me.  He takes out a gun.  I take out a knife and use my ninja skills to slit his or her wrists, then I break his or her arms, then I take out my gun and shoot him or her until he or she is lying on the ground, unable to move, gasping for air as blood rushes out of her or his mouth.

Then, I grab him or her by the head, shove my pistol into his or her mouth, and I say my catchphrase, something Arnold Schwarzenegger would always say in the movies: "You shoulda worn a mask!"  Then BAM! I kill the anti-masker.

Emboldened after finally popping my killing cherry, I start going on a killing jag, offing all these anti-maskers.  And I'm known for my "You shoulda worn a mask!" catchphrase I yell when I do it, and I come to be a folk hero to all the smart, correct-minded people tired of following the rules and science while other people take it as their birthright to put other people in danger because to them, putting a mask on is tyranny.  T-shirts are printed with my name and likeness on it.  There are memes about me.  The costume I make (oh, I have to make a costume) inspires kids and adults to dress up as me for Halloween.  And my name (yeah, I guess it's too late to come up with a hero nickname, but that's cool) is the one my admirers will name their kids after nine months after all this starts.

How does it end?  Haven't thought of that.  Why do that?  I mean, I'm the hero of my own story -- I'm never gonna die!  Silly rabbit!

Fucker's Eavesdropping On What I Do In The Bathroom Now?!?!?!

Of all the intrusive, rude after-dinner "suggestions" he's offered, My Fucking Father served up the weirdest, by far.  Still pisses me the fuck off.  Offends me, too.  But this is weird.

He asked me what time I woke up tomorrow (which would be today).  I knew this was an in to telling me something stupid as an insult, but because I have to live here, I answered honestly.  So he thinks I should wake up a half-hour sooner to brush my teeth.  "You only turn on the water for like a minute," he said.

"You checking on me while I'm in the bathroom?" I reply.

"I hear things, let's just say."

OK.  He caught me.  I think I let my guard down while my parents were away, and I didn't go through my usual lie of turning on the faucet, getting the toothbrush wet, then waiting around to build in enough time where I would ostensibly wash my hands before I open the door.  I think I got more complacent ever since my hours were cut, and maybe the fact that I actually brush my teeth at night makes me think I could be honest and skip it in the morning.  Also, I have to now worry that he'll make this a big deal -- like, brush your teeth in the morning or I'll throw you out of the house.  Motherfucker will do it, I swear.

But to bring it up ... brushing your teeth ... I don't care that I don't do it in the morning -- who is he to tell me to do it?  Why does he care?  And why in the fuckety-fuck is he checking on me and how long I turn on the faucet in the morning?  Does he actually make it a point to check in the morning?  Is that what he does in the morning?  Is that why he gets up so early in the morning?  How ... fucking nuts do you have to be that figuring out whether or not your son is brushing his teeth in the morning is something you actually want to do?  That's not just rude, that's fucking crazy.

Just to get back at him I'll turn on the water for a good five minutes tomorrow morning.  I'll keep it on even as I pee.  And if he gets to checking my breath as I leave for work, I will punch My Fucking Father in the face.  I will do it, I swear.

Addendum To: Still Fucking Up At Work

Monday I was just as shitty at work as I was on Friday.  Forgot to reset the setting on the scanner before my co-worker used it.  Forgot to print off a page that I needed to attach with a folder I worked through.  And because of the virus I now use a napkin whenever I write with a common-use pen that the department uses, and I left that napkin, filled with my germs, right on that common-use pen for another co-worker to use.

I will offer an excuse: All day I was distracted by the prospect of My Fucking Father coming down on me for not cleaning my room.  I was woken up at 6 this morning by his heavy stomping feet and his incessant, allergy-triggered (at least I hope) coughing.  Fucker's about to throw a tantrum, that's what that means.  (He didn't at dinner, at least not yet.)  Somehow I was able to fall back asleep for another two hours, but all day at work I was worried about what he would threaten.  And then I spiraled down into self-pitying thoughts, situations where I was either helpless or led astray, and through their (Father's and Mother's) decisions or actions or inactions, I was, well, ran over, had my food spill onto the ground, hit by a part of a tree while I was in the middle of rapids, etc.  (I have very weird dreams when I'm feeling sorry for myself.)  All the while I was missing things I needed to do at work.

Hmmm.  Maybe I can now create a list of what I need to remember to do from now on:

• Make sure "those folders" go to the person who does them that day.
• Scan those "special applications" to the sixth and bottom directory.
• Reset the setting on the scanner once I'm done scanning said "special applications."
• Print off those pages you need to send with the folders, get them from the printer, and put them in the folder.  (This is a big one; I've forgotten to do that a lot in, like, the past six months.)
• Finally, take my napkin with me once I use it to write with something.

He said it last week, but once again after dinner Father told me to clean up my room and this time around I am so fucking over it I want to kill that bastard.

My bedroom could use some tidying up, but fuck him.

Man, I need something to do on the weekend, like, immediately.

The Democrats Are In Disarray

I have to tell y'all that I started this draft almost a year ago.  I just didn't know how to talk about all the things I wanted to talk about in a way that made sense.  Since then, a lot of shit has happened that I did not anticipate.  And now, with the results in Nevada -- just the third state to vote, my you -- I fear that I may be too late in blogging about this topic, which has morphed into something else, and much more sinister.  But I'll start from the beginning anyway, and I'll try to make some sense.

When all of ... "this" began, I wanted to think that the ultimate aim, to take down the Republicans and Donald Trump, was something everyone who is of decent character was focused on.  There are a lot of candidates, and many (if not all) of them vowed when they got into the race that they would keep it clean, that they would remain civil towards their fellow party members and aim all their ire (and, hopefully, insults) at Trump.

The sentiment that everyone would be respectable towards each other seems like a pipe dream now.  But, at least before all ... "this" started, I knew this was going to happen.  And you know what?  That's OK.  Look, politics is never civil.  These Democrats are fighting to be The Leader Of The Free World.  Elbows are going to be thrown.  And people need to distinguish between what was once 22 (?) candidates to find the person who is going to face Trump, Republicans, The Stupid People Among Us Who Want To Be Ruled By A Dictator, and the cheating (voter suppression and voter fraud as well as foreign influence and disinformation) that is going to be employed for the general election in November.  Of course this is going to be dirty.  This isn't a fucking tea party.  This is, for all intents and purposes, war, moreso now because of the bullshit coming from Republicans.

With that being said, even I have had my limit of the Democratic primary already.  What I did not take into account, or believe, is that the attacks would get so personal.  And it's coming from the supporters of one candidate -- Bernie Sanders, who has just won Nevada and, although it should fly in the face of all common sense because there are 47 states who have yet to vote, seems like the presumptive Democratic nominee.  Much of the toxicity comes from supporters on Twitter, but I have heard many anecdotes -- anecdotes, sure, but many of them -- about friends and strangers coming up to them and, after trying to discuss doubts and questions they have about Sanders, fly into a seething rage.  I have heard friendships have broken up because of Sanders.

There could be a huge disinformation/disruption campaign going on.  All these Bernie Bros. on Twitter could just be Russian bots.  But the face-to-face in-your-faceness from Sanders supporters is harder to ignore or dismiss.  This bullying is something I could not dream of from the left.  And yet, here it is.  Moreover, Sanders has had ample opportunities to stop it, and his efforts have not worked all that well.  It may be because some of this toxicity has come from his surrogates -- more proof that these haters can't just be chalked up to trolls living in Moldova.

All of this leads me to a scary possibility: That Russia or other foreign entities are helping Sanders win much like how Russia helped Trump win.  Two follow-up questions, in my opinion, are just as important: Does Sanders know this?  And what is he going to do about it?  I thought about these same questions for Trump, and, hopefully without being brainwashed by disinformation on the Internet, the answers to them are fuck yeah, and jack shit.  But I'm not sure if Sanders's answers won't be the same.

Therefore, that leads me to fear the scariest worst-case scenario: That Donald Trump and Bernie Sanders are basically the same.  There are already too many factual similarities that I find distasteful: They are self-styled populists; they make proclamations that they hate "the establishment"; and they have won the nomination of a party they are not technically a part of.  There are other similarities which I do not totally believe, but scare me if they are indeed true: Their supporters are basically cult members who believe their "God" can do no wrong; they don't believe Russian interference exists, or at least it is not a big deal; and they have an authoritarian streak, that they want to get shit done, on their own, without some obstructive "checks and balances" that "centrists" have given as the reason to compromise, which is the reason our country is going to hell in a handbasket.  In political science, there is a concept called the "horseshoe theory," whereby the extremes of the political spectrum aren't polar opposites but are instead analogous when it comes to both values and actions that achieve those values.  It's as if both the extreme right and the extreme left are backing away from their moderate wings (hurling insults all the way) so much that they've butted asses with each other.  Horseshoe theory isn't considered canon, but by God it makes so much fucking sense to me right now.

So I am left in a bind.  I do not want to fall into giving every candidate a purity test.  Fact is all of the candidates have some flaws; you go with the one whose flaws trouble you the least.  However, on the opposite end of that is throwing up your hands and saying, "Both sides do it."  There is a factual difference between what Republicans do and believe and what decent Americans who have brains do and believe, and not searching for that distinction shows one is too lazy to give a fuck about what's happening to our country.  But I do not know how to feel about Bernie Sanders right now.  His meteoric rise scares me.  His about-face on not releasing his medical records and tax returns scare me.  And the continuous insults and threats lobbied to non-acolytes in his name really scares me.

And the thing is, if you substituted Trump's name for Sanders's, those last three sentences in the paragraph above are exactly how I feel about Trump.

Maybe it's not just Democrats who don't want Sanders are in disarray.  And maybe it's not just all Democrats who are in disarray.  Maybe all of us who seek the facts are in disarray.

So, maybe we're all fucked.

Not Making Money Off Of Wailing And Failing? You Don't Say!

I had a dream, once, of making money off of this blog.  Then it turns out that no one blogs anymore.  Also, I'm not good at making money.  And then I was told that I had to turn off my ads because either my content or the ads being generated from Blogger because it makes sense with the content were pornographic.

I didn't remember that they were off until yesterday, when I saw an e-mail from Blogger saying that unless I put ads back into here, WAF, I'm going to lose all my stats and, incidentally, the units that would add up to the money I would receive from these guys.  Now, I actually do like looking at my numbers.  But I stopped caring a long time ago about making money from doing this, because that just ain't gonna happen.

However, after thinking about it, I realized that I did care.  So I followed the link on how to put ads back onto the blog, and for the life of me, I have no friggin' how to do it.  I have clicked on links, cut-and-pasted code, went this way and that ... I'm still not sure if I did this right.  I eventually found the way back to where, I think, I had shut down ad adds and re-opened the ability for Blogger to auto-populate them onto Wailing And Failing.  But I don't know if it'll work or not.  And if it doesn't, beats the heck out of me what I could do next.