The Time Where I Almost Fucking Lost It Watching The World Cup

So I made the mistake of going to downtown to catch the last Matches of Group G almost a month ago.  I heard downtown was dead because it was dangerous (which of course is bullshit), plus there were no Twins or Lynx Games whose crowds I would have to worry about, so I thought I would have a good time digesting both Matches in relative peace.

I found a table where I would be able to see two TVs, each showing one of the Games.  One was farther from my vantage point than the other, but that was fine, or so I thought.  Shortly after I sat down, this group of three people sat at the table next to me.  That was OK, even though they got a little loud.  One guy ordered a round of shots and another guy was wondering if he could eat, and then I got a bit concerned.

Then, this fucking group grew like metastatic cancer.  A fourth dude came, then another group of some number, then another, then another.  They started blocking my view of the TV further from my eyesight, which was Egypt-Iran, the better of the two Matches going on simultaneously.  (That finished 1-all; in the other Game, Belgium routed New Zealand, 5-1.)  They of course started getting really loud, which only worsened when this same motherfucker who bought the first round of shots decided he was a bigshot and ordered a couple more rounds with even more shots.

As bad as that was, I really started to boil inside when they invaded my personal space which, in this specific environment, was my table.  The group got so big that a couple of them began standing inbetween my table and theirs, and their clothes and, for all I know, their body fat pushed up against and hovered over the side of my table.  I was already upset that I couldn't hear or see the World Cup Games I was there to see, so that shit really put me on red.

Then, some guy who probably was not part of their group (I'll get to why I say that in a bit) put his glass of water on my table.  The other end of this short table I was sitting at, but this was My.  Fucking.  Table.  And this asshole just walked away without it.  This was my red line.  This was the point where I lost it, or I had to do something while knowing I couldn't yell or punch someone.  I saw him talking to his group around the other side of the pillar against which my table was at.  I just grabbed the glass of water, went up to this dude, and said, "Hey, this is your water," then sat back down.  And he probably thought I was crazy and/or an asshole, but he, I guess, was puzzled enough to find another place to put the glass of water and then forget about it.  But at least that goddamn cup wasn't at my table.

As for these fuckers to the left of me, which seriously grew to about 20 or even two dozen people, it didn't get any better.  They got even louder and rowdier, and they even started pushing up against my table.  But hey, at least they got into the Eqypt-Iran Match like I was.  The only thing I can think as to why they seemed to be so OK with getting sorta close to me, and this is a complete guess, is that, and I was able to hear this with little difficulty because they were talking so fucking loud, they were in town for a conference of Asian journalists.  They were all Asian, as, of course, am I and, even though I didn't have that good of a look at him, the shit who left his water at my table.  They may have thought we were all a part of this conference in downtown Minneapolis.  I find it kind of funny since I have a degree in journalism.  I am out of the industry, way out.  And while looking at these drunk and dumb fucks ruin my night, it crossed my mind how many of these young, over-confident shits will wash out of the industry like I did.  From those who are able to carve out a career, I wonder how many of them will become "insiders" whose egos will be so big they'll become insufferable pricks who fall in love with the smell of their own shit.  Then again, they're Asian.  They might not be allowed to get that big.

Thinking/Wishing all of these journalists-to-be will fail was the only socially-acceptable way I could get back at these assholes that ruined my World Cup viewing.  Good luck in journalism.

So I finally talked to Mother about the mail.  Niece's birthday is coming up, and Mother remembered that, and she wants me to get money from the bank.  So I'm going to have to line up at the bank this morning.

But that's not something that sets me off.  This sets me off: She says that she'll pay me back ... "when they get home."  GODDAMMIT, DON'T REMIND ME THAT YOU'RE COMING HOME!!!

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.

My Fucking Father Is Really, Really Pissing Me Off Right Now

It might be because I am gone for dinner so many nights lately and I have told my parents that the reason is I'm going out with friends, but My Fucking Father is back to telling me what to do.  He has frequently told me, once I get home, to take a shower and go to sleep.  He has gone out of his fucking way to do that.  And now he has gotten back to telling me whenever he can that I should clean my room.

Those repeated annoyances trigger me, no doubt.  But I have also seen another instance of, I guess, his OCD that I take as a sign of his wish to control me.  Every time I have come home, from work or an afternoon out, I see that he has straightened out the bath towel.  I never do, and yet it is always straight.  He's done this more or less since they came home, but I have not seen him be this militant about straightening the towel until now.

I really don't know what's fucking gotten into him.  But this motherfucker can get under my skin like nobody's business, and he knows it.  Hey, it's easy to do because he's My Fucking Father.  So, to fight back, I just ... won't do anything.  Hey, he wouldn't be repeating himself telling me to do things if he isn't triggered, either.  So let's trigger each other, OK?

Goddamn, when is he fucking leaving?

Lost A Facebook Friend Over Chappell Fucking Roan

You know, I need to get off of Facebook, or at least ratchet it down the way I'm only dipping my toe in Twitter these days.  I don't think Mark Zuckerberg is insinuating himself into the day-to-day destruction of the American government like Elon Musk is, but like the Muskrat, he owns a social media platform that, as a direct result of Trump being reinstalled as President, he has turned into an unsafe, unfair, Republican forum of lies, rudeness and disinformation.  But I still get stuck in it because I'm addicted to wishing my Facebook friends Happy Birthday and giving condolences when one of their family members passes away.

And I need to emphasize "Facebook friends."  They're not "real" friends, I guess, because I've never met them.  But the vast majority of friends I have on Facebook I have never met.  Those people are mostly women, nearly all of them strikingly hot.  I was suggested by the Facebook algorithm to friend them, scrolled through a few pictures of them in bikinis or other revealing clothing, I extended a request, and they accepted.  And that's how we became friends, or "Facebook friends."

Well, I lost one Sunday, and it was over politics, or it was tangentially over politics.  It was ostensibly over supernova pop singer Chappell Roan.  I'm not completely familiar with her work because, frankly, I don't want to.  I heard of her persona away from the stage before I listened to "Pink Pony Club," and I didn't like it.  She waded into politics before November's election -- particularly how she stood up for Palestinians in Gaza and bashed both Joe Biden and Kamala Harris for siding with Israel.

Do you know, however, that the Missourian Roan has a Republican uncle?  Darin Chappell is a member of the Missouri House of Representatives representing a district in the southwestern part of the state.  Back in the fall, Chappell co-sponsored a bill banning public funds going to abortion facilities in Missouri.  I have seen no article that shows he has any progressive, liberal, moderate, or, dare I say, sane views.  He's a MAGAt, plain and simple, and even though you can't choose family, if you call yourself an advocate for drag queens and other liberal causes with the ferocity you bashed Democrats over Gaza, I think it stands to reason that your silence in the face of a family member's Republican bona fides makes you somewhat of a hypocrite.

The post that started this mess on Facebook gave me another reason to think Roan is a fraud.  According to this article -- and yes, I should be fact-checking what I see more often -- Roan seemingly took back the political stances she has espoused on stage and interviews in the past, saying she "doesn't have time to educate herself on politics" because she's just a pop singer.  That's pretty damn laughable on its face because she's stuck her nose in politics ever since she became popular.  Again, if you want to wade into politics, that's your right.  If you don't, and want to be a cypher like Sabrina Carpenter, that's OK, too.  But you have got to pick a lane, stay in your lane, and defend your lane.  Roan clearly has not, and the person who posted this article about Roan not wanting to get into politics pointed that out and called Roan a fake for this flip-flop.

Now, I didn't see this link to this article to which this person said Roan's a fraud directly.  I don't know the person who gave this opinion (although I followed her after I read it).  I saw the link to the article from my former Facebook friend, who I think (I'm not quite sure) was defending Roan.  Apparently, she's a fan.  And this being social media, there was a part of me that, after I read this opinion, fell in love with it, and wanted to engage with my Facebook friend, said, "Be careful.  You might lose this friend if you say what you want to say."  And I heard that part of me ... and I went ahead and disagreed with her.  Tastefully, of course.

Specifically, I said that Roan always smelled like a two-face and right on to this person putting Roan on blast.  To which my Facebook friend gave me a screenshot of a Variety article that said Roan was going to vote for Harris after all.  But it looked to get a little more personal than that: She accused me of not looking up evidence that proved I was right, and that she had already given proof that she was right, and that she had already proved to me that Roan was going to vote "correctly," and why did I think she had to prove it to me again.  I thought the Variety article made Roan out not to be the diehard Harris supporter my Facebook friend said she was; it sounded as Roan was being dragged, kicking and screaming, into the voting booth to vote for the lesser of two evils.

I was going to tell my Facebook friend this, but she defriended me.

I have to admit: This hurts.  I've been thinking about her off and on all day at work since she did that.  We are on the same side politically.  I had this big rant I posted on Facebook Inauguration Eve and she commented in a way that made me believe she was an ally.  I also found her to be very sweet when not talking about politics.  And yes, she's hot as hell.  So it pains me to see that she is no longer my Facebook friend, and all because of Chappell Fucking Roan.

But should I be that torn up?  This is the paradox of social media.  I have never met her, and chances were low that I ever would, but I think I know her.  She has been honest about some very low lows, and so there is a level of intimacy you can achieve with people you will never see face-to-face.  And that is why I feel so bad about this.  Then again, this is social media, a liminal state where people come and go.  I've cut off people I've been Facebook friends with for some time because of politics, and I haven't given it a second thought.  Doesn't she have the right to do the same?  And besides, is my real life truly, truly being affected if she isn't my Facebook friend anymore?

---

I slid into her DMs and said that, while I apologize, I did not take back what I said about Roan.  I also was sorry that she got upset that (according to her) I made her look up proof when she already said what she said.  And, well, that's it.

I do believe in inner peace.  Cut people off if they say something you don't like, absolutely.  And yet, when it happens to you, you just wonder why people get set off so easily.  Yes, that's hypocritical.  But dammit, she's no longer Facebook friends with me because of Chappell Fucking Roan.

Glad Last/Sunday Night Is Over

So after lunch and learning that I'm helping Father stick an EKG monitor on his bare chest, I hear Mother screaming at Father, over something.  I have never known what they've ever argued over, but I haven't heard Mother yell like that in a long, long time.

We eat a very early dinner (four hours after lunch, which is insane).  I was the one who attached this EKG on Father; Mother was in her office doing her own thing.  I go up to my bedroom and eventually take an early-evening nap before going out to exercise.  Mother bangs on my door to wake me up.  I'll expound on this hopefully in a different blog post, but never wake me up from sleep.  I hate that.

She gets me out to the dinner table.  She needs help booking their flight, although she actually said, "You promised to help me with my frequent flier miles," which is something I don't ever remember her saying.  It was obvious she was in the kind of mood she has often been in after yelling at Father -- wounded, feeling like a victim and lashing out because she felt entitled.  And this type of thing My Fucking Mother ropes me in to doing for her is the type of thing she usually ropes me in to do for her, which is something that has to do with not understanding English words and some elements of the task I believe she knows how to do, but doesn't want to do them because she wants to act helpless.  Besides all that, I feel like I've been dropped in unfamiliar territory, and so I'm figuring what the hell I need to do, but, and this is also typical of her, whenever I run into a roadblock or something I don't understand, she goes, "Well, what are we going to do?"  And I've gotten a little better at pointing to her, "Um, we are not doing anything.  You brought me into this because you don't want to do this.  I'm trying to figure out what I'm going to do."  (She also has this tick where I say something to her and she goes, "I know."  She clearly isn't using that phrase when she's supposed to, but I still get triggered because I take her literally at her word, and I want to say to her, "No, you don't know!"  But that's another blog post.)

I can't book a flight online.  Mother asks me to call for her, fuckin' A.  The call wait time is 2 1/2 hours.  They invite me to text instead, so I tell My Mother I'm going to leave for the gym and just text the airline about this.  So as I'm putting on my shoes, my sister calls My Mother.  There is another matter my sister wants to talk to her about.  "Has Unforgivable Wetness talked to you about it yet?" my sis says.  "No," Mother replied, "He doesn't want to talk to me about it."  And I had to shout from the bottom, "That's not true!" and I went back up to the dining room to get my face on Mother's phone to tell my sister Mother's lying, and then to tell Mother that if she wants to talk about this other matter, she should talk to me, otherwise I'm assuming she's handling it herself.  Goddamn.  I've always thought I've gotten my self-pity from Father.  But I might be wrong.

Anyway, I got the gym but had to delay exercising because I was busy texting with the airline rep, or the bot, who knows?  There are no flights available.  So I come home, see Mother at the other side of the front door ... and she's all calm and stuff.  If she weren't calm, she wouldn't even look at me.  So maybe she's gotten over what she needed to get over.

At any rate, this was a Sunday that was a little too eventful.  Glad it's over.

Goodbye, Twitter/X, Hello, Bluesky

The election shouldn't have prompted me to do it, but I'm far from the only one.  I had heard good things about it from time to time in the months leading up to last Tuesday, but I didn't really consider jumping from the dominant social media platform to one of these upstarts.  For one, I got what I needed from Twitter/X: Engagement, smart people promoting their smart things, and jokes and dunks on stupid people.

But I knew that I was liking and reposting under a company owned by Elon Musk, a guy I once thought was cool but had turned into a thoughtless, id-driven man-child who only talked shit about the concept of "free speech."  I didn't see all the hateful comments others saw, but I kept many of my settings private and largely stayed in my own lane.  Still, yes, Election Day was the final straw.  I also knew in the back of my mind that he was using his highly-leveraged platform to, uh, platform, racists and vile Republicans in order to tip the balance of races on Election Day in Republicans' favor, and goddammit, it worked.  It took this to fully realize I am monetizing myself for that asshole, and that was enough.

I need to be honest, though: Since devoting my attention over to Bluesky, the thing I miss the least was all those fucking ads.  And it's always the same one: That game where you shoot at something with a flashing number on it, and that number keeps going down.  Meanwhile, there are hordes of people coming at little old you, and the demonstration shows the object of the game is to ... well, survive, I guess?  Anyway, that was, like, every third tweet I saw, and even though I click on "Not interested in this ad," nowadays I still see that ad.  (By the way, I believe it's the same company that came out with a different type of game promoted on X/Twitter that I actually signed up for.  The gameplay was nothing, and I repeat, nothing like the promoted ad on X/Twitter.  I am so goddamn pissed that I gave these bait-and-switchers my personal information for a shitty lie.)  No doubt that that cesspool was where the racists and sexists lived because Musk invited them back.  But, I was most annoyed by the ads ...

... of which there are none on Bluesky.  I remember having that platform recommended on a local news website by a commenter.  Last Wednesday or Thursday, seeing how I was engaging for Musk, I decided to look around and, after looking around real quick, I signed up.  It is growing at breakneck speed.  So far, many people poking around Bluesky liken it to the younger, more innocent days of Twitter, where there were no ads to avoid, and no Republicans there to try to get you going.  Since it still is in an embryonic state (even though it's been around for several years now), people are trying to instill a "culture" there that's directly the opposite of the one in the old place, one that demands inclusion and thoughtfulness, and one where Republican trolls are easily and routinely blocked.

I like it so far, mainly because it looks a lot like Twitter/X, just without the baggage.  The easy block features sets up situations where posters congregate in their own bubbles, but quite frankly, the "public square" aspect of X/Twitter has just turned into firehoses of disinformation from people whose handles end in a string of ten digits, so I don't really care if I'm in an echo chamber.  It's good for my mental health.  But at some point there will be a controversial topic I am fascinated with, and I will wonder how ... uh, tolerant the place will be if I sincerely ask something I don't know, or state a minority opinion.  I don't mind debate on social media.  I just want that debate to happen in good faith, and I know that's no longer happening in Arkham Asylum over there.  That's why I am severely limiting my eyeball viewing on Twitter.  I won't shut down my account(s) because I think I would give my paper trail to Musk, so I will just lurk and not repost or publish anything original over there anymore.

So far, the vibes are good at Bluesky.  There's a mixture of relief over escaping a hellsite that just realized its worst fears and basest instincts combined with a happiness that there seems to be a community of millions that look forward to something new, happier, and free from pain.  I think all correct-minded Americans need that right now.  Of course, maybe Bluesky isn't meant to last.  After all, I think it's owned by a tech bro -- just like Twitter was before that dude sold out to Elon Musk.

Work And Job

This week has been kind of weird, to be honest.  I initially took all this week off in anticipation of working somewhere else all week, even though I didn't work this Game last Year and wanted to.  When it wasn't looking as though I was working the Game all week, I had the option of taking back my paid time off to work at my day job instead.  I was severely lacking in paid time off later in the year.  But ... I really, really don't want to work in My Main Department right now.  Why?  Because I might hit somebody in the lab.

Guess I should talk about this now.  Once a week, all of us in The Main Department have to go in and open up packages to start getting urine samples ready to be tested.  It's a menial job, so everybody has to do it.  I think I've complained about this before, but sometimes these samples leak, and so you're reaching in to an open package and touching piss.  Sometimes it's really gross.  I don't know how people are unfazed by this, but I think I'm a very different person now that I have a job whereby I touch piss on occasion.  It's ... debasing.

Moreover, I had a run-in with one of the lab people a couple weeks ago.  This isn't the asshole who was riding me like a high schooler over accidentally cutting myself.  This was some older lady who has her own way of getting through all the hundreds of packages that we need to cut open and whose contents we need to get out for her, in that position, to scan into our system.  She was, let's just say, impatient, and I got that hostile vibe and so I kept away from her as much as possible.  I, of course, don't want to be there at all, but that does not motivate me to work faster.  Anyway, we were getting down to large packages, which the lab has as protocol the thing we do last because it takes time to open boxes that large packages usually come in.  I'm throwing the last of the packages onto the counter, and apparently one of them just happened to slide too close to her, so she throws it back to the other side of the counter -- missing me, but not by a lot -- and says, "No!  Not that!"  And that just made me vent at her: "Hey, sorry I threw that package your way!"  And it was loud enough for her and the other people at the workstation to hear, and probably to sense my defensive tone.

That was a couple weeks ago.  I am sure that if I added back dates this week, I would be sent into the lab.  And not as if I would run into her again -- like us, they are on a rotation as to who opens up packages at this station every day and every week -- but after that blow-up, I think it was a good idea to ensure that I don't go into that lab for another week.  I didn't go in there last week either (that was a decision made by my boss), and I think it's good I go at least two weeks without being seen in there.  Maybe cooler heads will prevail.

---

Where was I?  I didn't think I would talk about that incident because I want to talk about the gig I have today.  Anyway, I compromised; I went in to my main job on Monday because I wanted to take back one day of work.  Turns out, by the way, that the day I am taking off next week I am getting back; my boss asked me to come in on Saturday, and that would replace Tuesday, when I am coming back on my flight.  After these two weeks, I will have two more days off of paid time off I can take this fall and winter, which is two more than I thought I would have.

But I am only working this other gig today/Thursday.  The other days ... well, I went and am going to the State Fair.  It's weird to wake up whenever you want to instead of when you have to wake up.  I mean, it's great, but I remember that for three of these four days I could have gone in to work instead.  Instead, I'm waking up largely when my body wants to wake up, which was, I think, 10:45 Tuesday and around 9:15, maybe, yesterday/Wednesday.  And I have been lazing around thinking, "OK, what should I do?"  I am, hate to say it, kind of bored.

And this gig, by the way, starts at 1.  It's a lot better than having, say, a 7 a.m. call time.  But I woke up on my own at a quarter to 10 when I set my alarm for 11:30.  I think I'm ready to go to work now.  But I have 90 minutes to go before it's showtime.  And by the way, I think I am setting my alarm for 11 (to go to the Fair) tomorrow, but my body might be awake well before then.  I was looking forward to my body having time overnight to sleep and wake on its own, and yet it seems like I'm waking up too early.  I might be scaring myself more than I need to.

---

This blog post became different than what I initially thought it would be.

I Just ... Did Nothing

I went to have lunch at a place close to the U.  Just as I was getting done, a crazy woman asked for cigarettes, lipped off to the only server who was at the place, and then spat on her.  My God, I have never seen that shit before.

And as much as I shouldn't make this about me, I need to check what I did in response to that -- which was nothing.  I ignored this crazy lady, but I was shocked that she would do such a thing, and that's why I didn't do anything, I guess.

But that's no excuse.  And that sure as shit doesn't make me feel good.  There were two other guys there, both of them alone and, along with me, sitting at the bar.  None of us could come to her rescue and ... well, I was going to say kill her, or maybe beat her up.  But that would be illegal, wouldn't it?  What she did was misdemeanor assault, but we can't do anything because we would be arrested for, you know, actual battery.  So we just ... let that bitch just get away with it.  That's not right.  Frankly, I'd prefer if we, or maybe just I, jumped this woman for what she did.  I'd run from the scene, and I'd hope those three others would let me get away with it.

I replay in my head what I should have done.  If I were security, I think I would do something because that would be my job.  If I were a regular at this place to the point I knew this server, I think I would do something because this cunt hurt my friend.  But I am neither and, well, that would be two other reasons I froze.  And it still doesn't make me feel any better.

One other complication: I know I am going back to this place in a couple months.  My alma mater's football team is playing up here, and this place will host the pre-game.  I doubt anyone crazy will walk around a college neighborhood a few hours before a Game, but I know see proof about the area not being quite quiet.  Besides, there's a chance this server will be there again, and my presence there will trigger bad memories for her, and I don't want to do that to her.

The server cried, man.  The server cried.  And I didn't do a goddamn thing?

This Is Not A One-Person Job

So I used to love The Third Department.  It seemed really easy, and all the tasks I learned I seemed to have done pat in no time.  That allows me to sneak in some downtime, and since I'm tucked away at a back corner, I feel as though I can do that without prying eyes.  It was absolute bliss.

Was, because since my co-worker was laid off/fired (or both), and everything fell to the only person now in that department, I could sense that all the work that was easily covered by two people easily overwhelms one.  No wonder why she wanted to take a couple days off.  And so, for yesterday and today, that whole department falls on me.  And, it sucks.

Maybe I was dragging yesterday/Thursday because I had to take my folks to the airport.  Or, I needed to make sure I got to work on time (after doing the McDonald's drive-thru; I thought I would have enough time after dropping my parents off at the airport, but for some goddamn reason I missed the 55 exit and had to take 35WN all the way instead, and that took extra time) because the new tardiness rules kicked in yesterday/Thursday.  Or, I was flummoxed when I was told I now take the seat vacated by my laid-off/fired co-worker. 

Probably all three factors conspired to start me on the wrong foot.  I have a checklist of things I need to do and when, but there was just so much stuff first thing in the morning that I didn't make headway.  Then, the big task with this department dropped on my head like an atomic bomb: Testing samples that came from a different lab.  There is a long list of things to do with each sample, I got more than a half-dozen of them.  They are such a high priority that I am supposed to drop everything and do those stat.  And since there were several of them, that took the majority of my day.

My supervisor had to bail me out by stepping and doing some of the work.  And yet more of these important samples that now have to be sent to other labs pretty much eliminated any chance that I would get to finishing all the things I was supposed to finish.  In fact, I had to leave one sample undone because I was under strict orders from my supervisor to not stay past 6.  I shrugged as I left.  There were messages in the inbox I hadn't even looked at and calls that needed to be made but weren't.  I didn't have the time to get to everything I needed to do before I was told to leave.  That doesn't make me feel any better.

This department is not a one-man job.  It simply isn't.  There was slack when two people shared the load, but it feels as though one person now must do the work of, like, 1 1/2 people.  And so it stands to reason that work will be left over for the next day ... when more work might pile on at the end of that day, and so on and so forth.  Things could snowball so badly that I would be so triggered and snap over the burden I am being told to carry.

I really don't like this.  I got help and the work still wasn't finished.  Am I expected to do everything by myself, especially when I only work there some of the time?  I can't believe my boss thinks that should be the case.  Because if he does ... well, another reason to look for another job!

"We Praise You For Your Sacrifice," My Ass

As I keep both thinking and emotionally processing the "decision" by Biden to quit, I think I can better articulate why I am not happy about this move at all.  But the overarching visceral reaction I still can't stand is all these people saying, "We thank President Biden for stepping aside for the good of the country.  What a sacrifice!"  Stop kissing his ass.  He wanted to be President again.  And he was the much better option.  And, I still think he would've won.  I understand that the polls Democrats trust show that he was losing ground in swing states, but I still cannot believe that America would side with a stupid, cruel fascist just because the other guy looks old.  (And here is where I have to say that even though I think The Media has been complicit in bringing down Biden, their reports of a coup from Democratic leaders were, indeed, true.)

It looks as though this change -- and by the way, even though all the delegates who voted for Biden are now backing Kamala Harris, this doesn't feel "democratic," even though I will never side with Republicans who stole the 2016 election by asking Russia to interfere with it when they accuse Democrats of doing the same thing -- has triggered an avalanche of enthusiasm, as well as money.  Well, I hope that pays off in votes in November, because all that is right now just enthusiasm and money.  I didn't see this energy when Biden was running, even though the economy is great, policies have been enacted that help the little guy, and Trump is still an unintelligible, intolerant little bitch.

And that's what galls me.  I think a lot of the electorate are ungrateful.  And they are shallow, too.  The donor class may have been blindsided by this almost-instant shift from Biden to Harris, but it looks as though one bad debate was enough for Biden to lose any trust that he could beat Trump a second time.  People, we are trying to fight Project 2025 and the end of democracy.  Does it really fucking matter who our candidate is?  And if so, why couldn't it be the one who helped save America from Trump and the Republicans four years ago?  Instead, what people are now really saying is, "Thank you for your time, Joe, and for all that you've done.  Now, get the fuck out."

A lot of people are not appreciative of what Joe Biden has done for this country.  And I am still not entirely convinced that changing nominees this late in the process will help Democrats win control of the White House, let alone Congress.  I'm hoping, don't get me wrong.  But there is no guarantee that switching things up is going to make a dent in these polls Democratic operatives relied on to tell President Biden to leave.  And yes, I am still quite bitter about this ouster ... so I don't know how or even if I am going to vote.

He Was On His Bullshit, So I Acted A Fool

So I went into the lab today, my weekly "once more unto the breach."  More piss to touch, goddammit.  But who was I replacing at the table?  The asshole who thought it was funny to remind me not to cut myself.  And fuckin' A, he said it again.

I know most other people would take that shot good-naturedly.  I am not most other people.  I know that there is an undercurrent of ridicule coming from that insult.  I have thought about what I would say to that prick if he thought it'd be funny to replay the hits, so to speak.  And once he reminded me not to cut myself, I got triggered, and I let him have it.

"You're still on that, huh?"

"No, I'm just reminding you not to cut yours--"

"Wow, I don't need a reminder from you, OK?"  Honestly, I don't know if I said this.  But I said something, and I hope that it was witty.  And I hope I got the idea across to him that I didn't think what he said was funny.  Maybe I don't care, because I just want him to shut his fucking mouth about it.  I think he left me alone.  He'd better fucking drop this shit from now on.

There's another lab worker who was still at the table, and by the way, she is an asshole the one who reminded this asshole that I cut my finger.  And she didn't really shut up about it, and I had to deal with her shit because she was sitting next to me.  I need to find a way to piss her off to the point where she leaves me alone, too, and if I have to act a fool, I'll do it.

This Is Why I Am Only Intimate With Strippers

Blow-ups with my parents are few nowadays, thank Buddha.  All-out fights between them and me?  Can't remember the last time we had one.  But I do get annoyed from time to time.  Just take last night.

I was awakened by my now-typical post-dinner nap by them after they took their now-typical post-dinner walk around the block.  After putting on my clothes, I went out to see Father at the dining room table and Mother standing up next to the kitchen counter.  I was still groggy because they interrupted my sleep, which was obvious.

And then Mother said, "Why are you taking a nap?  How are you going to bed tonight if you are taking a nap now?"  And I know she has asked something akin to that before, but I had no answer.  And because of that, in my mind, my only comeback I could think of was, "Shut up."  Instead, I think I stammered out a "Don't you mind," or something like that.

I thought Father said through my bedroom door that he needed help picking something up, like a heavy bag of rice.  No; there was a document and a UPS package laid out.  It's something that has to do with their investments, I think.  They wanted to know if it was filled out correctly, which I think it was.  Then, they needed to find a UPS dropbox.  I don't know -- why would I ever need to use them? -- so I needed to use their cellphone to look up the nearest UPS dropbox from home.  And I was still freakin' damn tired -- I hate getting woken up -- but I went on the UPS website and it brought up a bunch of locations that didn't seem to be very close.  The closest one had an address of 111th St., and we live nowhere near a 111th St.

Right then, Mother said, "Why aren't you using Google Maps?" and I was just about trying of her crap, so I snapped at her, "If you know so much about finding a dropbox, why don't you look it up yourself?"  But I did, and even though I didn't feel as though I could trust those results either, I think the closest one is just below 694.  Mother thanked me in a sarcastic way, and I went to back into my room to try and fall asleep again and fail to do so.

I have taken to heart the adage that in relationships, you ultimately revert back to what you know.  What I know, or remember, are drag-out (and only very occasional knock-down) fights between my parents.  I knew that is what I would probably do if I ever deign to have a girlfriend.  But I realized I am broken in a different way after reflecting on my reactions to what Mother said.  Her comments are triggers, things that have pissed me off for as long as I can remember her saying stuff like that, and I have been rubbed raw, to the bone, as I feel I have had to deal with it all my life.  In particular, I hate hectoring questions from her about stuff I don't know, and also her telling me I'm doing something wrong and I should be doing it another way instead.  If I ever get into a relationship, and she asks me a question about something I don't know or tells me I'm doing something wrong and I should be doing something else instead ... well, I think I probably will snap at her.  And, if I'm being completely honest with myself, I could do worse.

It's what I know and what I've learned.  And I think I've known that in the back of my mind because I have never had an intimate partner.  Well, not an emotionally intimate partner.  I can line up physically intimate partners if I want to spend the cash.  And I have.  And once they're done jacking me off, I usually leave, because I don't ever want to get into a situation where I am abusive.  Or violent.

I Need This Fucking Trash Day To Be Over

So I woke up before work yesterday/Monday morning from a text from my boss that puts me in a different department for the day because someone called in.  That's fine; my job is to be a jack of all trades, so shifting jobs at the drop of a hat is part of the job description.  The problem started when I was told to sit at a desk that I wasn't expecting.  It's not mine per se, but it's the spare one I and the others who have the same job description usually use.  But I couldn't use it because my supervisor is still training in one of the people who share this same specific job as I have.

Instead, I had to sit at the desk of the person who called in "sick."  I hate taking over a person's desk, even though this is a company where that happens from time to time.  I have a desk of my own.  Not many people in the departments I work in can say that, and that is a privilege I don't take for granted.  (Actually, it's one of the few perks I get at this job that I still enjoy.)  I would be bothered if someone just fuckin' bogarted my desk just because.  It may be out of necessity, but I invaded my co-worker's space, and I was not happy all day.  And, to be honest, I hated the setup of his area.  He has no space for me to write, which I had to do constantly during the workday.  And I had all these calls I needed to make, and somehow he has his desk phone so recessed against the partition that I had to strain whenever I made a call, which was about 30 times.  That was an annoying pain-in-the-ass.

Finally, since I was in a department I hadn't worked in in a while, there were a few different protocols I had to follow.  I was told about these new procedures, or at least I believe I was told about them; I just hadn't put them into practice because I hadn't worked in this department in a long while.  One of them were these phone calls.  I would normally do my best to skip them, or at least half-ass them, but I was told that my boss and his bosses were cracking down, so I needed to do them.  So that was 30 calls (more than I have ever made in a day while working for this company), and 30 times I had to reach out to the phone, grab the receiver, make sure I don't drop the receiver so it snaps back to the console, reach out to punch the number in, wait for someone to pick up, and once I was done, put a tick mark on a Post-It (to keep track of how many calls I made, which is something I was told to do when I began training, to be fair) and reach out to put the receiver back in the cradle.  That took half of my day.  I know that in this job I could have been way more productive doing something else that making some goddamn calls.

Moreover, I was told that some quirk I just ignored during the course of my workday suddenly became important.  Sometimes we fax, and sometimes these faxes don't go through.  We are given these e-mails saying so, but I just ignored them because I was never told to care.  Well, apparently I do have to care now.  I need to go through the e-mail, identify which specific fax it was, determine if I was the one who faxed it, then figure out what to do to make that fax go through.  I needed to do that three times.  I wound up e-mailing instead of faxing twice.  Do you know how much time that took?  That is another distraction from the main task of this job, and I am embarrassed that I basically spent only half a day doing that main task, and instead building up all these forms to pass on to my co-worker, who may or may not have the time to do it herself.

Finally -- and I haven't thought about this much, even though if I were in a different mindset this would be the thing that triggers me -- my supervisor was trying out something for the printer, and we were told to look out for it while going through the course of our day.  I wanted to know who was doing it and why, and I asked my supervisor so.  And from around the corner, my boss, who I think was on his phone talking to a co-worker, I think shouted in answer to my legitimate question, "Doesn't matter!"  Uh, excuse me?  At that point I was already in a pissed-off mood, so my mood didn't change.  Did it worsen?  Believe it or not, I might have to think about it.  But let me say this: If I weren't so busy doing other things tonight, you better believe I would be pounding the online want ads again.  And I hope to get around to doing that this week.

I can't remember a day at this job where I was so looking forward to getting out.  Unfortunately I had to come back to the building because I forgot to fucking take the banana and peach Pepsi I brought.

---

About that banana: I just ate it -- with a knife so I could carve out the bruised parts.  I sliced off a piece on its side, but the banana was so heavy that it tipped over and tore off.  Thankfully I was eating this over the kitchen wastebasket.  Sadly, about 60-5% of the banana fell into it.  Most of it looked like a banana, too.  What a waste.  And I will admit that I thought for a good, oh, 15 seconds to pick it up and eat the parts that haven't touched the trash.  But I didn't, I swear.

---

Oh, and I wanted to go out and work on the things I needed to work on last/Monday night.  I wanted to go to Pryes Brewing because there were no events going on.  But when I drove across the place was packed.  I guess there was an event: It's a Monday night and it was beautiful out.  So I drove to Caffetto (which was not packed, which surprised me; I didn't plan on going there because I thought it was going to be packed) and did all I needed to do.

And then, as I reached home, the goddamn low tire pressure light came on.  Yeah, this is what I get for trying to blow off some steam by driving around town.  I rushed out to check the pressure on the tires, even though I checked them just before I left work.  The driver's-side front had way more air than the passenger's-side front, but all of them had enough air.  I went inside to grab my headlamp and tried again, just because -- same pressure levels.  And then I lost the valve cap to one of the tires.  Luckily I had a spare cap in my car.

I'll get the old valve cap (and make it my spare) as I roll down the car in the morning.  That's after I check the tires to make absolutely sure none of the tires deflate.  If so, this fucking trash day is going to become a fucking trash streak, and I don't need that shit, even though I'll text my boss to say I'm late because of my car, and that means I won't have to go into work, and that's actually fucking fine by me.

No, Vegan Dumbass, That's Not What You Just Said

I hate that rude interactions bother me so much.  But I went to Glam Doll Donuts today and corrected the guy at the cash register who was ringing up my order.  I asked for three donuts.  He was talking out loud and pressing the buttons for the donuts he believed I ordered.  He got one wrong; he said "Sweetheart" when I ordered the "Coffee Cake."

"Actually," I said, "it is the Coffee Cake, Ginger Betty and Fall On Me."

"That's what I just said," he mumbled under his breath.

Excuse me, asshole?  That just bothers the fuck out of me.  And then, once I was done, he shoved a cup of coffee in front of me even though I didn't ask for one.  Then I realized the guy behind me asked for the cup of coffee.  Hey, maybe wait till I'm fucking done and out of the way before you shove a cup of coffee in front of me, yeah?

And after I left, I think that motherfucker overcharged me.  Donuts are expensive at Glam Doll, so I didn't really think it was that obscene.  But then I thought about it and I think it's a buck or two over what it should be.  Whether that asshole was trying to rip me off or if he is as incompetent as he is rude, I don't know.

I have to remind myself that this is just him.  The person who bagged the donuts for me was real nice -- said goodbye to me as I was out the door and everything.  I don't know if I'm going back to Glam Doll anytime soon, so I won't have to see that piece of shit again for a while, if ever.  And once I take in my whole relationship to this place (which has taken somewhat of a beating on social media, which I don't quite understand), I have to remember that they have often given me free donuts in the past.  Even if this prick overcharged me in this case, I have gotten way more for free.

This dude had a "I (heart; don't know the character code for a heart_) PLANTS" black t-shirt.  Maybe if he ate some animal flesh he'd be nicer.  Or be able to do basic math.

Time To Port

I thought I talked about this, but I don't see it in my cursory Blogger search.  If I have talked about it before, I apologize for talking about it again.  But it's what I want to blog post about now.

As a sign that either time stretches and contracts in a way it hadn't before COVID or that I am getting very, very old, I am only pretty sure that this happened this year and when my parents were home.  Nor do I remember the circumstances behind how they figured it out.  But one morning, my parents told me that the home phone, the landline, wasn't working -- again.  And, for some reason, they asked me to test out the alarm.  When it's set off, it's supposed to trigger a call to the alarm company.  My folks figured out that didn't happen, presumably because the call is supposed to come from the phone line the alarm company has on file -- the landline.

So, to test it, I was told by the alarm company to put the alarm on test and then to trip it, to see whether or not the landline indeed is not sending that call to the alarm company.  When you trip an alarm, you hear some moderately-timed beeping, and then you hear more frequent beeping, and then finally it goes BEEEEEEP!!!!-BEEEEEEEP!!!!-BEEEEEEP!!!!, and I could barely stomach the bile coming from inside me as my fight-or-flight instinct kicked in in anticipation of the escalating warning from the alarm.  I hate that sound.  I truly do.

Anyway, once the alarm is fully triggered, we had to call the alarm company to see if they got a call.  They didn't.  Tried it again.  They didn't.  So the home phone number doesn't work.

Last time it went dead, my parents asked me to call the phone company and get it fixed.  Not this time.  Nope, those unsentimental motherfuckers (Mother in particular) went gung-ho on this idea they heard of that an alarm could be set up through wi-fi.  It'll be an obviously better connection, plus it'll save money.  All I have to do is say the word ... and abandon the home phone number we have ever had, and I have ever known.

I could see the writing on the wall.  It wasn't working.  It's supposed to work, but once again, after about two years (I think), it was on the fritz again.  And how can I argue against saving money?  But ... this was our phone number.  We have had it for almost a half-century.  It's become a part of us.  Well, they don't give a shit, but it's become a part of me.  I don't care how ridiculous this sounds, but I am defined by that phone number -- a phone number that I haven't used in decades, a phone number that apparently hadn't worked in months, but it's a part of me.  And I sure as fuck won't let a piece of myself die just because it makes sense.  (Yeah, that sentence sounds crazy.  I mean it.)

I couldn't beat back this situation and my parents' mental momentum.  Once they decide something needed to be done, they want it done.  They wanted my permission to do this (and they needed me to call the person who installed the alarm to come over and convert the trip line from phone to wi-fi), and like a complicit motherfucker, I said yes.  They then told me to call the phone company and cancel the line.  I refused to do that.  But I told them I did.

And I still have the landline.  Yes, and I'm still paying for it, even though the line is still dead.  Have to say, the phone company has no damn clue it's not working, and I kind of think it's on them to know that it isn't, and that it isn't incumbent upon us to tell the company.  So I'm not sentimental for the phone company.  I still am sentimental for the phone number.

In the past, I have wondered whether I could take the home phone number and use it as a cellphone number.  I don't know when it was possible, but it is now.  It's called "porting."  Now, of course, I have a cellphone number that I've had -- and has also become a part of me -- for a long, long time, and I don't think changing cell numbers will make a lot of sense now.  But I want to keep it, and I think I can use the old home number as something else: My Google Voice number.  I have a phone number to which calls can be forwarded, and I may have had that for about a year or so, but I am not sentimental for that number.  I can give it up.  And I will.

The thing is is that one cannot port a house number into a Google Voice number.  No, you have to convert the landline to a cellphone number, then port that number onto Google Voice.  There will be one-time fees for doing this port twice, but I will do it.  I'm just scared that, for some reason, it doesn't work and I'll lose the landline for good.

And that is what I am going to do today as soon as I am done blog posting this.  I hope to find my carrier's store, find someone who's genuine and competent and not on the make, get him to call the landline company and then give me a SIM card to which the landline can be imprinted.  In the meantime I will need to put this new SIM card in my phone because apparently either the phone company or Google will "call" me on this new SIM and I have to answer.  I cannot do this double port thing without answering this "call."  I then have to ask Google to port the number from the SIM, and maybe in a week or two (?) this will all be done.

I found instructions on doing this double port thing online, and I have no idea if this is going to work.  But for the sake of keeping my home phone number -- and in the name of saving money I am otherwise wasting -- I need to do this, and now's the time to do it.  Wish me luck.

My Goddamn Meddling Fucking Mother

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

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

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

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

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

Hottest Babe In The Hooters Calendar: March 2023

I'm ... OK with this group.  Well, maybe a little less than that.  Compared to January (which I still haven't jerked off to), this group of twelve women is great, but cumulatively this is a step down from February.

I will still point out a half-dozen of these waitresses for recognition.  I had this month displayed on my wall until my parents came home, and I just took it out to look at it for the first time in about a week, and I've forgotten the impressions I've gotten since I took the calendar down, so this might be a slight rush to judgement.  Nevertheless, I will say that I can group three of them as Honorable Mentions: Kaylan of Countryside, Ill. (long blonde hair; flower-patterned two-piece bikini; like the cute smile but don't like that her long hair is covering up her right boob); Kate of Richmond, Va. (dirty blonde hair; lavender two-piece; hooking the string between her two tits with her thumbs as if she's going to pull her top off that way); and Alyssa of Kennesaw, Geo. (long, bright blonde hair; no smile but she's wearing an acid-washed Hooters cut-out top).

Third place goes to Hailey, hailing from Schaumburg, Ill.  Long brunette hair, dark green two-piece bikini.  Isn't smiling and she's flat-chested.  But she's one of the very few who is posing directly at the camera and, even though her hair is covering up her right breast a tad, she's mostly, for lack of a better term, full-frontal.

Second place goes to Raegan, out of Denton, Tex.  Long dark hair, a red two-piece with orange borders on the top and the bottom.  Another one of the few "full-frontal" shots, but like with Hailey, she's lacking up top and she's not smiling.

Finally, first place goes to The Main Girl, Grace of Fort Myers Beach, Fla.  Long blonde hair with penetrating dark eyes.  Sporting an orange-and-white-patterned two-piece bikini.  There is a huge drawback to her photo: She had her left arm totally blocking her left tit.  But the right tit you can see.  It's under a bikini, of course, but the shot, where one tit is "covered" and one not triggers a fantasy in me where that right tit is totally exposed.  And she might have had work done, but she's got a huge rack.  That makes Grace a clear #1 for me.

And yet, after typing my critiques of my top three, I can see that I have some issues with the month.  Maybe I will masturbate to these babes; maybe I won't.  But I am less enthused to touch myself to March '23 after thinking about my concerns.

Am I Lactose-Intolerant Or Not?

Going out in about half an hour to watch EPL in downtown Minneapolis (at least hopefully; this pub likes to also showcase rugby, and the 6 Nations Games are being played at the same time, and as of right now I have no interest in watching rugby) is not the best to get the shits.

Had a banana and coffee at work yesterday/Friday (with a hash brown just before going into work), then I went to a friend's birthday party at our college football Game-watching place where I got a beer pretzel and a couple pieces of cake she brought.  Then I went to Subway to buy a sandwich with a two-dollar off "coupon" on the app which expired end of day.  Went to be dearly, got up early, got thirsty, realized I should polish off the milk that's still in the fridge, and off I went to the bathroom.

I guess the combination of all those things would go through my system.  But once in a while, when I drink milk first thing in the morning, that triggers my execratory system to go into overdrive.  I thought that was because I am lactose-intolerant.  However, I have switched to lactose-free milk, including this carton I just finished, and I'm still running into the bathroom.  So I'm not lactose-intolerant ... but it's something else in the milk (and it's regular cow milk, not oak or almond or soy) that's giving me the runs?

Asked my doctor this once during my physical and he said it wasn't worth testing.  Just try lactose-free milk to see if anything changes.  Thing is, I still don't know.  So (shrug)

Did I Say Day 2 Or 3? Maybe I Meant Day 6

Goddamn.  My Fucking Mother's anxieties and quick-triggered temper and My Fucking Father's passive-aggressiveness and sing-songy double-speak converged on this day (well, Tuesday ... the days blur when you're in paradise) to really, really piss me off.  I am getting ever closer to throwing a drink in their faces the next time they ask me something triggering, like when I am going to get a girlfriend, or when I am going back to school, or why am I so fat.

I can't be with this family -- or anybody, really -- for this long.  I have another goddamn week with these people.  A week!  And I don't care if I'm in paradise right now, or that the place where I live is going to get hit with a blizzard followed up with high winds and dangerously cold weather.  I'm kind of in my own hell right now, and there won't be freedom for another fucking week.  Goddammit!