Sorry To Miss You Again, Mr. Cave

Several years ago I signed up for The Red Hand Files, a Q&A mailing list from musician Nick Cave.  The deal is you can ask him anything and, if he wants to answer, he will e-mail everyone on the list his response.  I don't know how I got wind of it and how I decided to sign up, but I'm glad I did.  It is one of the few e-mails I actually read.  His answers have always been profound and sometimes humorous.

I cannot say I'm a huge fan of his music.  When I worked at the radio station, I picked up a free copy of The Boatman's Call, his 1997 album with his longtime band, The Bad Seeds, laying on a table in the break room.  I heard of the guy, but never his work, but I like the album a lot.  I also ushered his show in downtown Minneapolis; his closing song at his concert, "Saint Huck," is a banger.

My appeal for his work hasn't really grown beyond that.  So, I guess I'm more of a fan of his advice column, so to speak, than his music.  But, because of that, I've wanted to go to his concerts, but I continue to miss him.  His previous tour, I want to say, was just after the pandemic, and either I got the heebie-jeebies or I just forgot his was coming over, I missed his show then.  He's back now.  I mean, like, tonight.  But tonight is also the last night my parents are here, and I don't think it's, well, right that I just go out the last night before I leave.

I have one exception, possibly.  We're eating dinner at senior's time, so like, 4.  I am going to check prices on scalper sites.  I checked last night, and there were a couple that was well below face value.  If they are still around by the time I check after I eat ... maybe I'll go.  But it's a late show, and it's a Sunday, and hey, my parents are home, plus I've been able to stay inside all day even though it's a glorious day outside, and I spent $100 to eat at the speakeasy on Friday, so maybe I won't go anyway.  But maybe I will.  Shit, I don't know myself.  Sorry, Mr. Cave.

I'll Be Fucking Everywhere This Weekend

So hey, summer begins!  And I am celebrating by spending money like the dickens.  I will allow myself that this weekend.  It's a holiday!

Yesterday/Friday and today/Saturday I am helping out the broadcast of the Lynx Game.  Easiest set day in my life yesterday/Friday, thank goodness.  I was out and about, but I spent a total of six hours there.  It was an absolute breeze.  And I just need to do stats today/Saturday.

With that, I have the afternoon free.  And after seeing the EPL Play-Up Game tomorrow/Sunday, I will have the rest of the afternoon free then, too.  What I am filling those afternoons with rested on two things, one of which was dependent on the other.  The first thing happened serendipitously: *****y asking me if I wanted to come over and get a handjob from her.  We've been trying to arrange something, and I thought I would text her to see if this weekend would be good, but I didn't want to talk to her until the second (or is this the first in this case?) thing happened, which is PWHL Minnesota, the professional women's hockey team that bought the PHF and then memory-holed its history.  I have riffed a couple times of how pissed I am that PWHL Minnesota had essentially bought, stolen and trashed the history of The Minnesota Whitecaps.  But I set that aside once that team stole Game 2 of their Walter Cup Series at PWHL Boston.  I then was waiting for the result of Game 3, which took place last/Friday night at the X.

If they lost, I was looking at a wide-open Sunday night.  However, they won, which means that tomorrow/Sunday night's Game 4 could be for a championship, and everyone here knows we're starving for a championship.  I want to be in the room where it happens, so once I heard last/Friday night that PWHL Minnesota had won, I hopped onto Ticketmaster and bought a ticket (with exorbitant fees the state has just vowed to crack down on).  They beat PWHL Boston in Game 3 4-1 as well.  If form holds, Game 4 is just a formality, and I will (fingers crossed) see what I believe to be The Minnesota Whitecaps hoisting a second trophy at the Xcel Energy Center Sunday night.

Once I knew I had that to do Sunday night, I thought my weekend plans would fall into place: After the Lynx Game today/Saturday I would either reach *****y or ******e for a HJ, then maybe work on my receipts at a coffeeshop or eat walleye at Tavern On Grand in St. Paul (before they close for good next week), then spend the evening at the local jazz club in town because a guy I ushered with back in the day is opening up for a stand-up show there.  I have never been to this place (although I have been on the premises when it was a restaurant), and I finally think this is the time to go there.  Sunday I would go downtown to watch the Play-Up Game, go home to eat a very early dinner, then go to St. Paul.

Well, unfortunately, *****y changed that.  So with the sexytime for sure occurring Sunday (right after the Play-Up Match), I am going from Minneapolis to a suburb of St. Paul back home and then to downtown St. Paul that day.  That's a lot of driving in my car, and a lot of back-and-forth in particular.  Don't like that at all.  But hey, she wants to wank my dick and I want to see a title-winning sports team in town, and both of them are happening several hours apart tomorrow/Sunday.

To make up for it, I will stay at home for Memorial Day.  Maybe.

Expenses Without Receipts

Starting from Thursday, April 18:

• We'll need to start on Sunday, April 14, where, citing my urge to merge, went all the way down to ****e's place and fucked her: $120.
• Back to Wednesday the 10th, when I checked out of my hotel.  I can't say enough of how well-run it was.  The people who own and manage it care, and that makes a world of difference these days when it comes to staying at budget hotels.  Such as it is, I leave a tip whenever I check out.  Hopefully it is appreciated: $5.
• On Tuesday the 9th I finally bit the bullet and went to a strip club.  I was leaning against doing so during my vacation in St. Louis because I was pinching pennies, but eventually I wanted one big night out before I had to leave the next day.  Besides, if I am going to be a stripclub monger again, I have to go to stripclubs other than the one I go to on a non-regular basis, right?  So I did.  It was Larry Flynt's Hustler Club, which I had gone to only once before.  Girls were straight bangers, but I got a somewhat desultory one in Chrissy.  Great body, passive personality, got me hard, but at least she didn't totally freak out when I whipped it out.  Obscene cover that the cheap Bud Light for a Tuesday did not make up for.  With tips, the total was: $201.
• I guess I technically went to Argosy Casino Monday the 8th (the night after it took me six hours to drive back to the STL along with all the other eclipse traffic), but I maybe technically poured money into the one slot machine I played on Tuesday the 9th.  Either way, I lost: $12.
• Sunday, April 7: Went to the Cardinals matinee, where they were getting blown out by the Marlins (who finally won their first Game of the season that day) when, in the middle of the Ninth Inning, a big rain squall tore through Busch Stadium and everyone had to scatter as the Game was postponed.  I think an hour later it resumed.  Don't know if I would've gone if I knew beforehand that was going to happen.  Anyway, I tipped a busker with a full-fledged, Neil Peart-like drum kit banging away at a street corner: $1.
• Later that night I went to the Casino Queen, across the Mississippi.  I was hitting all the casinos in St. Louis to update the use of my loyalty cards.  It was just one slot machine for less than a minute, but here, I was given what's called "Free Play" at a slot machine, where the casino just gives me free money to play.  I won $21 on that.  But then I went to the craps table and lost $50.  Adding in a buck in tip to the cashier for converting my chips to cash and, all told, I lost: $30.
• Even later that night I hit a Waffle House.  Had to hit a Waffle House when there's one in the vicinity.  All-Star Special ... chose bacon, my eggs scrambled, and grits, but with a side of hash browns -- scattered, smothered and covered!  With tip: $23.
• Saturday the 6th ... after I touched down, drove east into Illinois to check into my hotel, drove back west into Missouri to eat at Hooters, and got lost trying to find my to Ameristar casino (where, it so happens, I put a $20 bill in a slot machine, won enough money to break even, and split), I went to Hollywood Casino where I also put a $20 bill in a slot machine but won enough money early enough through my $20 that I actually got out of there winning money.  An Infusion of: $4.
• Back to Wednesday, April 3 -- after the Wolves Game, I went to Pizza Luce to stop for two pizzas (instead of one) and my usually Coke can.  With tip: $13.  (This was when I wasn't afraid to spend money.)
• This day, Father paid me back for all the lottery ticket I bought for him.  But because I didn't want to carry all the money he gave me at once, I stashed most of it and only put some of it in my wallet.  This was the last of three times I dipped into that, so technically, it was an Infusion of only: $90.
• The second time was on April Fools' Day, but this time it was an Infusion of: $40.
• And the third first time was back on Monday, March 25.  This was an Infusion of: $90.
• On Thursday the 21st I paid into a lottery work pool: $4.
• I also did Tuesday the 19th, but this time I was paying for both myself and my co-worker, who lent me $4 for the previous pool.  I'm just paying her back: $8.
• That evening I went to get gasoline, and I did that thing where I overestimated how much I needed.  Fortunately it was by exactly 50 cents, so even though I was bummed I had to march back into the gas station a second time grab my change, at least it wasn't, like, 99 cents.  The cost of gas, by the way, was: $18.50.
• Wednesday, March 13 ... we made a lot of lottery pools at work as the jackpots built up.  On this day a co-worker paid me back for lending her money on the previous pool, an Infusion of: $4.
• That previous pool was the day before, Tuesday the 12th, where I paid for both her and myself.  Total: $8.
• Friday, March 8 -- spent cash at McDonald's before heading into work: $6.81.
• On Thursday the 7th I attended the Walker Art Center because it was the last free Thursday night for this particular exhibition about art in Communist Eastern Europe.  It was also the first day of this installation/recreation of a defunct gay bar in San Francisco called The New Eagle Creek Saloon.  Once I got through this fascinating exhibition (I wonder how many of the pieces I saw were able to be exhibited, and if so, how many were able to be shown in Eastern Europe), I went down to this huge art space with this little tiny bar serving up pre-made cocktails manned by four overwhelmed bartenders.  It was a groovy place to be for the last hour of operation that night at the Walker.  Of course the bar/installation had a tip jar, so I had to tip: $1.
• Later that night I was still hungry, so I went to Culver's: $8.96.
• Back to Saturday, March 2, where I went to Wal-Mart to buy food to prepare for the second hotdish I wanted to make for the year.  I bought this pre-packaged meat I needed to heat up and a can of Campbell's cream of chicken soup.  Total: $10.34.
• On my way back from the MNUFC Match, there was a group of Girl Scouts and their parents (or was it just their moms?) selling Girl Scout Cookies.  I don't think I had bought any yet for the season, and I liked their enterprising spirit.  (Plus, they didn't have a tip jar.  Have you noticed that more and more Girl Scout Cookie tables are laying out tip jars??  Is that what they're teaching Girl Scouts to do -- extract more money from people just for giving boxes to customers and looking at their parents whenever a customer asks a question that they should learn to answer?)  One box, which now costs: $6.
• Finally, Friday, March 1: Went to a long-ago usher friend to a Catholic Friday Fish Fry.  Went to one of the most well-regarded ones, at St. Albert the Great.  It was a great time with someone I haven't seen in years!  Pop cans for me and her, a ticket for the dinner and tickets for raffles they were having for prizes throughout the night came out to: $20.

Good through April 18.

Long-Ago Friend; Casserole/Hotdish

OK, first thing: I loved the Lenten Fish Fry I went to last night.  I hung out with my usher acquaintance/friend and we had a great time.  Honestly, I was worried that I would automatically throw my defenses up because, frankly, we don't know each other all that well and it's been decades since we've seen each other.  But she was open with me, and in turn I was open with her, and we hung out for a few hours and it was great and easy.  Also, St. Albert the Great deserves its reputation of having one of the best fish frys in the Twin Cities.  It was packed and homey and inviting and, besides one alpha male not being quite in the festive spirit, everyone there was so nice and generous.  Gosh, I could go again.  Unfortunately, it'll have to be next year because I don't think I am free the next three Fridays.

---

Went to sleep at around 10:30, I think, and woke up around 7:30, and ever since, I've been looking at how to cook a casserole/hotdish on the Internet all morning.  The anonymous worker at my company left another batch of vegetables.  After leaving them all day, I saw that there were still a potato, a couple carrots and a few onions.  Combine that with cans of black beans and tomatoes that are still in our pantry, the bag of processed shredded cheese my parents bought on sale from Hy-Vee, and the rice I know my folks will notice I haven't touched since they left, and I felt compelled to make another hotdish/casserole to take care of a lot of the leftovers I still have at home.  It'll save me money, even if I don't want to cook the meat tonight and just want to buy pre-cooked meat instead.  My slapdash approach to making this, however, scares me into thinking I'll screw this up.  My first hotdish had directions; I'm throwing this one together, so I don't know, in particular, how long I should cook what I'm making.  But right now I'm in the mood of rushing headlong into something despite not knowing what in the heck I'm doing.  Wish me luck!

Thought I Could Take It Easy The Rest Of The Week. Nuh-Uh

I work in The Main Department today/Thursday and tomorrow/Friday, which means I usually don't have the time to stop for coffee before coming in, which incentivizes me not to spend any money on that day because I really should start having no-spend days.

These two days were supposed to those no-spend days, days in which I head straight to work and then, once my shift is over, I head straight home, lock the door, and figure out what the hell am I going to eat that night.  But that isn't happening because things came up last week.

Tonight/Thursday night, I am going to First Avenue for a concert sponsored by, all of organizations, MNUFC, for which I am a season-ticketholder.  I don't know either musical act, but this is a concert at First Ave. that is mainly for one particular demographic only -- fellow STH'ers.  Plus, the ticket was just over twelve bucks.

Also last week, a person with whom I ushered invited me to a Friday fish fry in south Minneapolis.  At first I wanted to stay away.  This feast is associated with Lent, and I am not a part of any Western faith.  But then I read this article about how these fish fries is another unique thing for us Minnesotans that people from other parts of the country might scoff or even ridicule.  Once I learned that restaurants and churches and even VFWs have these Friday fish fries, I was intrigued and wanted to see what it is like.

So I texted this usher friend and said I changed my mind and I really would like to see what is up with this peculiar tradition.  Unfortunately, tomorrow/Friday probably is the only Friday I have free until Easter.  So, I am going to get back on the road today/Thursday after coming home from work (and maybe taking a nap once I got home) to eat lots and lots of fish at a church.

Eh.  Could be worse.

(Edited Leap Day at 4:24 p.m. because I was so damn tired when I wrote the last two sentences before going to bed last/Wednesday night that what I typed doesn't make any damn sense, so I am going to end the blog post like this below:)

So, instead of probably boxing up my things and throwing them back in storage, I will be having fun and spending money.  That's great ... until I realize I'm bleeding money and I still don't know when my parents are coming home.

Fuck it -- I'm having fun!

I Don't Want To Go, But It's Free, So ...

I have a friend who has offered free tickets to this event in downtown Minneapolis.  It is not an event I would care to go to.  Also, it's at a theater I used to usher in.  I did not leave on good terms.  In fact, there may be ushers there that I don't want to speak to.  If I do go back, it would be the first time I've set foot in there since I told my boss I need to take leave from the job because of this one usher I didn't get along with.  I kept asking him for delay after delay because I still didn't want to work with her, and eventually I stayed away long enough that I was considered a quit.  I didn't really look back at that move, until now.

It had been a while since the person who offered these tickets texted me, and it bothered me that I couldn't say no.  It is a free ticket; I looked online and tickets for the show run about $50.  More important, my friend texted me about these out of the blue.  There is consideration that goes to thinking about someone you haven't thought of in a while, and I really want to reciprocate that.  So I said yes -- even though she gave me two tickets and there is no way I could even think of another person who would agree to go with me to this show.

Have to confess; I kind of regret it now.  I really, really want to get my hair cut tomorrow, but if I have to rest up and get to downtown Minneapolis to find parking in time (no way in hell am I paying for parking, even if the Timberwolves are in town), I can't do that after a regular-to-long day at work and before going to the show.  And I'm looking at all these interesting football Games I would want to stay home and watch.  But no, I have to rest up after I get home from work, and then I have to go to this performance, and by the time I come home, all those Games are probably going to be done.

But ... I don't want to be a bitch.  I'm going.  But I want to complain here.  That's why I made this blog all those years ago.

Addendum To: And This Is Why I Hate Calling People At Work

So I got back to the woman I talked to about those mysterious pills that came in with the pee.  Frankly, this woman is psychotic.  She was incredibly passive-aggressive when I just wanted to know what she wanted me to do with those pills, became very accusatory because she believed our lab broke some urine bottles she shipped to us several weeks ago, and came off as so narcissistic that I don't think she listened to a word I said and instead just was waiting for a moment she could begin spewing out what was stewing in her head.  And she was incredibly, absurdly thin-skinned, too.  Get this -- I was just listening to her talk and talk and talk when my co-workers, who were behind me, started chuckling.  And this bitch goes, "Are you laughing?"

"That is my co-worker," I said, incredulously and sternly.  I have never accused someone of laughing at me while I was on a business call.  I wouldn't say it even if I thought the person I was speaking to was.  How borderline fucking paranoid do you have to be to think someone at work is laughing at you??  And I thought I was crazy, holy shit. ...

She wanted a photo of these tablets ("Those aren't really tablets, but capsules, but anyway ..." she actually said that -- my God, she is insufferable and out of her mind) and I was only too happy to e-mail it to her because I was praying to Buddha that would be the last goddamn time I would ever, ever have to speak to her.  And that was my last phone call with her ... but she was going back and forth with me through e-mail.  Luckily, her tone got less combative once she realized that the testing was underway for the pee she presumably intended to send.  That doesn't excuse her tone, of course; she didn't have to fly off the handle over some cold tablets.  Turns out they were thrown in to the bag by mistake by someone who thought the bag those tablets were in was empty.

Unfortunately, I have spoken to human beings a lot.  I was verbally abused too many fucking times by assholes when I was an usher, and that was because those assholes thought I was beneath them.  As I have gotten older, however, I have realized that fuckers who scream at customer service people do so because they feel like they're not in control, and they feel demeaning people is their only way in which to get that control.  That, shall we say, power imbalance is in my favor at my job.  These people who call need test results, and my company provides them.  That means those people are waiting on us, and on me.  I will always try to help.  But if they refuse to be cooperative, I remind myself that we got the answers, and I will lord those test results over the pricks who call in and want to be nasty with me.

So, I will say that those interactions I described above are way worse than this bullshit she pulled.  In fact, believe it or not, I have to admit that in dealing with her nuttiness, I saw a little bit of ... myself.  Hey, I'm no angel.  In order to get what I want, I will become passive-aggressive and defensive and yelly as she was.  I'm not proud of that behavior (necessarily), it's just that I have had temper tantrums like that many times before, and I know that I won't change because that's how I act when I am pissed -- just like she was.

---

Her last e-mail to me was that explanation of how those liquid gel caps got in that bag.  It was a mistake, and there was no intention of testing them or anything like that.  The thing is, I never asked her how those tablets got in there.  I don't care.  And so I wonder what her point was in fleshing out the story.  Did she think I wanted to know?  Or is this another demonstration of her narcissism, that she just assumed I had to know how Nancy Drew solved The Case Of The Stowaway Capsules.

Should I have responded to that e-mail?  There may be, unfortunately, a time where I'll have to contact her again, so maybe, just to keep the peace, I should acknowledge what she discovered.  But ... well, it was another ten-hour day at work (the problem of her took up almost an hour of my time) and I needed to pick up lottery tickets for my parents and sister and I wanted to go home ... and, frankly, I needed to send her a message that if I ever fucking heard her psycho voice again, it would be too soon.  So I left without replying to her.  And, yeah, I think I won't reply to her.  I got what I wanted from her.

Expenses Without Receipts

Starting from Wednesday, May 17:

• OK, we're going back to Monday, May 15, where, after a long day at work, I decided on the fly to hit this basement hotel bar called Constantine for a second and presumably final time before it closes (no hard feelings; there's a new management company and apparently they want a new concept for it and Monello, the ground-level restaurant on top of Constantine) at the end of the month.  I have been mentally mapping out my evenings for the next couple weeks before my parents come home, and I've been stressing that I would not be able to go back to this place and its dark and funky vibe before it's gone forever.  Thankfully, as bad as work was that day, I was able to get out before I stayed too late as compared to other dates.  Anyway, I'm not doing an EWR on Constantine because I used my credit card.  I am doing an EWR for Caffetto, the coffeeshop I like to frequent because, unlike with Constantine (which I went to before Caffetto), I had planned to go to Caffetto to work on my receipts.  Chocolate cake, small hot chocolate, and tip comes out to: $9.32.
• Back to Thursday the 4th, where I went to Hooters for lunch.  This was the week where I filled in second shift and I had a May coupon, and this date felt like the perfect time to use it (even though I found myself at Hooters the first day of the NFL Draft, so in retrospect I maybe didn't have to go there on this date at all).  Had a Jedi Juice instead of my usual Angry Orchard -- May the 4th be with you -- get it?  Plus tip: $24.
• While I knew and planned about Hooters in advance, I only was told about this stripper party the week of.  I didn't know if I could squeeze both in, but I needed to get my fuck on so bad that I made the trek from the Mall Of America to North Minneapolis.  There I was greeted by *****y and *****y, both of whom I had once gotten a tandem dance from a house party close to my house.  There, I whipped it out and both women looked at me luck I had a mushroom for a dick.  (Since then, *****y has warmed to me to the point where she gives me handjobs.)  This time around, they were both, uh, more handsy.  Maybe they are just going by house rules.  At any rate, even though I didn't cum much, I came.  Both beautiful women don't mess around; they jacked me off as though they were angry with me, and I couldn't have been happier.  Now, I didn't really appreciate both of them taking all the money I had taken out of my wallet out of my hands, but doing mental math after eating at Hooters, I don't think they ripped me off.  I didn't come in to the party with enough money for a proper door fee for the guy who's hosting, so I owe him ten bucks the next time I see him.  Total: $210.
• To Monday the 1st ... went to Great Clips to get my hair cut.  Guess I could've waited, but I had my day free, so I thought it was a good time to get it out of the way before I get too annoyed with what's on top of my head.  The girl who cut me was Asian, so when she talked about my "Asian afro," she seemed to know me better than I did.  I mean, "Asian afro" is a perfect way to describe my hair once it gets long!  But as soon as I paid, she shut down as if I was physically in her way.  I would've taken a buck off your tip if I knew you were gonna be like that.  But I didn't.  Have the receipt, BTW, so this EWR is just for tip: $5.
• OK, back to Saturday, April 29, where there was this food truck festival that seemed cool, plus I didn't have much else to do, so why not enjoy a day being alive?  The weather, unfortunately, was unsettled; I went into my car once to avoid the hit-and-miss rain.  Thank goodness the food trucks circled the wagons around one end of a parking lot, the rest of which was parking for us festivalgoers.  After seeing which places did have lines and targeting the ones that didn't, I started off at Sweet Taste Of Italy, where I got its Ken's Club.  Plus tip: $15.
• Then, for dessert, I went to Pretty Great Cheesecake.  Had its key lime.  Man, I'm always down for some key lime.  Plus tip: $11.
• Wednesday, April 26 -- this was the day I took off to bring my car in for service.  What I thought could have been an all-day repair took only a few hours.  That gave me time to get my face shaved at Moler.  With tip: $13.
• After that I went to the Black Hart, the only combination soccer pub and drag burlesque place in the world, I think.  It is serendipity that I took a day off on the same day that one of the most anticipated Matches in English Premier League history, first-place Arsenal at second-place Manchester City, took place.  Glad to have a free afternoon to watch this with my people.  The Game itself was a rout; Man City crushed the Gunners, 4-1, and finally it looked as though the pre-season prognostications from many people who said the Cityzens were going to win the league this year were going to be proven right.  I was thirsty as hell, so I got me a Coke to go along with a Bloody Mary (with beer chaser, of course).  Plus tip and it came out to: $10.
• Finally, on Thursday, April 13, I went to the classic movie theater close to me to partake in that theater's Hitchcock Festival.  They were showing Rebecca, the only Hitch-directed film to ever win the Oscar for Best Picture.  It is not the psychosexual or action-packed thrillers like Vertigo or North By Northwest are, so I can't say I loved the movie, but I appreciate finally seeing it.  (A long time ago, Entertainment Weekly came up with a list of 100 films every film buff should see before he or she dies; Rebecca is one of them, and I'm glad I can cross that off my list ... as soon as I can find that list.)  The problem was that everybody seemed to have caught wind of the Hitchcock Festival; I had to wait in the lobby before the ushers and manager decided there were enough seats for all of us on the waiting list to get in.  Never seen that before at this theater.  Anyway, cost of the ticket and to tip the organist who played before the show equaled: $13.

Good through May 17.

"I Was Under The Impression You Speak English"

Oh, you stupid, stupid man whom I regret calling a friend.  You rude, East Coast, smelly fucking bum.  I have tried seeing the good side of you, and frankly, I really didn't want to get on your bad side.  Whenever you insulted one of our co-workers I looked the other way, rationalizing it by thanking God he didn't yell at me.  I tried bonding with you through baseball, even though we haven't done that since the Metrodome was torn down.  Frankly, after your fucking insult to me, I don't know if I want to see a baseball game with you.  Or anything with you.

One fucking snide comment because you hate birthdays.  I don't have goddamn time in my life to keep track of the butthurt peccadilloes of acquaintances who can't see that what they don't like is shared by few, if any, of the people he claims he knows.  Jesus fucking Christ, get over yourself.

Would I be the butthurt one if I passive-aggressively delete my comment to him, or hide his comment to me, or mute him for a month, or post a status update that I'm above and over his bullshit, or defriend his fucking ass?  Oh, God, I know that normal people would turn the other cheek when it comes to comments like that, but fuckin' A, I'm not normal people.  I'm me.  I've got principles.  I've got self-respect.  And I know that people don't care about my butthurt peccadilloes, so I don't go out of my way to insult people I consider friends.  Unlike you and the oblivious, pathetic, fake world where you've anointed yourself king.  Goddamn -- right now, I wish I never met you.

The Concert

In another step back to normalcy, I went to a concert -- an actual indoor concert -- for the first time since the pandemic.

Jungle, a soul/R&B/dance/electronic outfit of two White producers from England.  I've heard a few of their songs on The Current, and I liked them, and they were playing in St. Paul, and it's a Sunday so street parking is free, so I went.  Great show.  Glad the other guy spoke up during the encore; up till then I was getting the feeling he wasn't friendly.

So I went despite having reservations.  This is the next step up, so to speak, in coronavirus risk.  I have been to fairly packed restaurants and ate indoors.  But a full-fledged concert, in a theater, with thousands (it wasn't sold out, but a lot of people were there) screaming at the top of their lungs -- and most of them not wearing masks?

I thought about not going.  But you have to step out of your house at some point, and risk assessment has to be on a spectrum.  Could some people say I'm foolish or even stupid for going to a concert in a state that, right now, is getting hit by the coronavirus worse than every other state in the union?  Yes, and if I get the 'Rona, they'd be right.  I'm not an anti-masker/vaxxer.  But I wanted to get back to normal.  And I wanted to see these guys.  And I got a discount on a ticket at StubHub.  So I went.

Also, I decided to break out the N95 mask, the ones I bought when the air was dangerous.  There is emerging evidence (although I would not count it as scientific consensus, no matter what this Atlantic article wants to say) that they are better than cloth masks, but I have eschewed using them again -- till now.  The close quarters and the loud expulsions of breath made me think that I need to break out the, um, heavy-duty masks and not just the ones everyone uses.  If the N95 also protects me from other people (instead of just the other way around for cloth masks), then I should be protected from concertgoers last night.

Actually, I was more perturbed by these two dudes who sat both behind and to the left of the seat I got in the balcony.  I moved away from them (and partly to move around to the music), only to be shushed back to my seat by the usher.  Hey, the couple in front of me aren't standing at their seats; why don't you tell them to go back?  Whatever.  Those two burly dudes wouldn't move despite open seating in other areas.  It's damn uncomfortable to be at a soul/R&B/dance/electronic concert and have these two bears watch right next to you, you know?

I had initially thought about forgoing my actual seat and stand in the General Admission area on the floor for Jungle from the get go.  The seats were closer to the stage and I would have a clear view of it without some tall dude standing in front of me, however.  But then, after all the crap I had to deal with upstairs, I went back downstairs, stood in the back, and did my best to move my head around the dancing guy in front of me.  And I was able to most of the time, and so I enjoyed the concert from there -- mask on.

I'll need to get tested.  Hope it comes back negative.

The Second Shift

Today starts two weeks of me working second shift.  I am filling in for someone who is vacationing.  I volunteered initially for the first week (this week), but no one wanted to substitute the second week, so I'm doing it next week, too.

I don't know what to think.  I remember ushering after a temp job on weekday evenings, but the last time I had a stint working from the afternoon till deep into the evening was this information retention company about 15 years ago, and that lasted about a few months, I think.  I liked it, even though the people I was working with were weird and self-absorbed.

The thing I'm looking forward to most, and I've spoken about this before, is having the area all to myself.  Eventually; I get there at 3:30 (so I better not have any issues finding parking where I want), which is when most of the people I work with (especially in my main area) are long gone.  Two people in the adjoining area leave at 5:30, and the other person I start my shift work with leaves at 6:30.  I should have more than five hours with the run of the place all to myself.  And I look forward to doing whatever I want with very few people even knowing I'm there.

With that said, I am absolutely terrified that I'll fall asleep.  I continue to take these after-dinner, early evening naps brought on by the lockdown.  I guess I can time that up with my lunch (well, dinner).  But I wonder if I'll get bored and start to get tired.  The amount of work I get will dictate how alert I'll be, I think.  I have never worked this late there before.  From 1:30 to 10, yes, but not two hours later.  So will there be work from 10 until midnight?  Will there be anyone who needs something from the filing department late at night?  Don't know.

Now, if there isn't work to do (and that includes cleaning, which we need to do more often), instead of dozing off to sleep, maybe I can just go on the Internet.  Oh, or maybe I can finally reconcile my expense list for August!  Or, I can poop after the big dinner I know Mother will pack for me for dinner!  Maybe I'll be resourceful enough to find something to do, even if it's not work.

In the meantime, it's weird to be up for so long before work.  I don't like it because inevitably my energy will dip.  For example, last night, because I didn't get a nap in (I had to mow a lawn and in the evening this college thing was moved up ... I didn't get a nap in), I fell asleep at 11 p.m. and woke up around 2 with the satellite radio still playing.  Too late to take the shower I wanted to take, so I thrashed around in bed while Father was up late at night until, say, 6.  Woke up a bit past 10, and I've been up since.  Now, I think I can take in another nap, and I have to blog post this, and I will take a shower before I go into work.  But while I like not hitting the snooze button twice and fighting my body to get up a half-hour after the alarm first rings, I think being 5 1/2 hours up before going to work will lead to disaster.  But, like I said before, if there's a lot of work to do, I won't be tired.

I think by the end of this two-week stint I'll be unhappy that I'll have to go back to working days.  We'll see.

THE HONDA GIFT CARD IS IN THE DESK!

OK, so about 11 Months ago my starter on my supposedly new-ish car broke.  I've blog posted about this disaster before, but I'll rehash it here.  It had been on the fritz for the past several months, but I would be able to start my car after pushing the ignition button a second time.  But then it became three.  Then it wouldn't start at the gas station.  And then it went kaput for good at work the night Minnesota United FC beat Sporting Kansas City and secured its first-ever Major League Soccer playoff birth.  (Instead of getting a tow truck right after work, I downloaded Lyft and used a car-sharing service for the first and, so far, only time in my life to get to Allianz Field.  A friend from my ushering days drove me back to work, and that's when I called for the tow truck.  Had it dropped off at The Mechanic Around The Corner.  In the morning, I walked there without My Father noticing my car was gone.)

Got it fixed from The Mechanic Around The Corner.  Still, I was pissed.  A starter does not go out on a five-year-old car, and especially a Honda, even if my warranty ran out.  I both asked the dealership for a break and called Honda American Corporate for relief when I brought my car to the dealership after the incident at the gas station, which was only a few days before the starter went kaput for good.  Both entities said no.

That still wasn't good enough.  I got it fixed, but I eventually (and I think this was in the late winter or early spring -- these days, time both stretches and shrinks) decided I was going to raise a little hell over this.  First I tweeted to Honda American.  Then I sent a letter to them.  And wouldn't you know, I got a call back.  Someone from Honda American wanted to investigate.  I gave her all the information I could about the steps I took to ask for financial defraying on getting a new starter.  After playing phone tag for a bit (and I think this was in March, just as the pandemic convinced the country to shut down and send workers home to work), she offered a gift card in the amount of $350.  Maybe I should have bargained.  But I guess I was so flattered Honda American did something about my complaint that I was going to take the first thing dangled in front of me.  So I said yes.

The gift card came in the form of, uh, an actual gift card, slotted in a card the size of a, uh, greeting card, in an envelope the size of a, uh, greeting card.  I have to activate it, and I have only till 2022, I think, to use it.  My timing chain will need to be replaced in the next 24 Months or so, I think -- that gift card will be given to the dealership to defray the cost of fixing that.  Anyway, the important thing is I have it, and so it was in safe keeping.

Until I realized that I didn't know exactly where the hell it was.  When I opened it for the first time and looked at it, I stroked my ego for a bit.  I mean, I didn't think writing to customer service would work.  I've done it before and was successful before, but shoot, this is the first time I got a $350 gift card.  That's frickin' golden!  So I felt a well of self-satisfaction, and then I threw the gift card onto the stack of mail I just keep once I opened them up.

And then I couldn't find it.  I guess it didn't matter since I don't plan on using it for, probably, two more Years.  But that is essentially $350 in cash, and I shouldn't lose it.  And so a couple times in the Months since I got it, including a sizable freak-out a few days ago, I felt the urge to find it, just so I know where exactly it is.  At some point my mood was, "Well, I don't know where exactly it is, but I know it's in my bedroom, so where else could it be?"  But in those couple times, that wasn't good enough.

The first time I freaked out over it, I had to give up because I simply couldn't find it.  This time around, and this was Wednesday night, I went over to my desk, where I stash all the "important" mail that I don't want "lost" even though I don't exactly know what's in there.  But, by golly, that's where I found the gift card.  Apparently when I got it in the mail, I at least thought about it enough to put it somewhere special.  Too bad I forgot that the desk was that special place.

So maybe where I put it now will be, like, the real exact place where it's going to be safe and special.  All car owners are told to keep all the receipts from repairs somewhere.  Well, I have put mine in my desk -- namely the long, flat drawer under which you put your legs, you know?  I have put all my receipts stretching back to my old car in there.  I have yet to throw any of them away.  And since my gift card is a car thing, well, it makes sense for me to stash it in with my receipts.

So there it is, and there it will stay until I need to use it.  And just in case, I am going to note here, for the record, that that is where I put it; that's why I put the title in all caps.  But doing so doesn't ensure that I'll remember to even look at my blog in order to remember where the gift card is.  For that -- well, I guess I'll have to just rely on faith.

All My Voicemails Are Gone, And I Haven't Acted Like I Give A Shit

I had about 30 voicemail messages on my phone.  I don't know if this is true for you or not, but those voicemails have an expiration date of about a month.  I would have to access those voicemails and at least give a cursory listen or else they would be automatically deleted, forever.

I had the max, but one time I let that month period lapse without listening, or "renewing," to some of those messages, and they were gone forever.  After that mistake I resolved to be a lot more diligent in keeping them.  I admit that much of the reason is just OCD.  But the longer I keep renewing (although I had deleted a voicemail here and there and had planned on pruning some others), the more I got off on having voicemails that were one year, two years, three and four and, I think, five years old.

On top of that, the first four voicemails were very important to me.  The first one was from Enterprise Rent-A-Car, reminding me that the car I reserved for the family road trip out west was coming the next day.  The second came from my temp agency, preparing me that the flu biller place wanted me back in the fall, while I was working on a job downtown Minneapolis.  (These two were around the summer of ... I don't know?)  The third was just my sister asking me, "Where are you?"  I totally remember that I drove separately from my sister and cousin to the Walker Art Center to play mini-golf, and I parked far away because I didn't want to pay for it.  The fourth was from my usher friend.  It's been years since I listened all the way through it because, if I recall correctly, he broke the news that our usher friend died from complications from surgery.  I may have blog posted before about him; I felt really, really bad that for the months at the hospital, I never saw him.  I still regret it.  And I wanted to just keep that voicemail because, frankly, it's all I had to remember him.

Well ... this is a lame cop-out, but life happens.  And I let a month lapse.  I didn't think it had been more than a month.  But I was at work lunch, woke up from my nap, thought, "Hey, I should roll through my voicemails," called my number and heard, "Your mailbox is empty."  And then I looked through the last time I checked.  If I had only called earlier that week, maybe three days before I did, I would have been able to save them.  But I didn't.

So I thought about calling T-Mobile and telling them that the voicemails were important to me and maybe if I could get them back -- somehow.  But nah, that's impossible, and it's probably stupid to ask.  And then, well ... I forgot.  You see, this happened back in March.  And I planned on feeling sorry for myself by blog posting it.  But I waited, and then I forgot till now.  So, really, how much do I really care about this?

Well, now that I think through what the voicemails contained, I do really miss it now.  But, like renewing the VMs, it's way too late.  Can't really say I care about it if I didn't do a whole lot to save it or talk about it.  Right?

Usher Stole My Identity!

Talked about going to the U. softball game last week, but I didn't tell you guys about this.

For sporting events besides football, basketball and men's hockey, you can get in for free if you have a student ID.  I've blogged about the pitfalls of re-using my extremely old University of Minnesota student ID before.  Nevertheless I still use it because it saves me the cost of admission.

What I may not have told you guys (even though I'm pretty sure I did, I just can't find it) is that it has my social security number on it.  That means that whenever I flash that card, I'm showing an usher or ticket seller the prime identifier to everything that makes me an American.  I was reminded of that very risky risk when I handed my ID to the usher at the gate leading into Cowles Stadium.  He looked at the front, containing my SSN, flipped it to the back, which had my photo, then looked up at me ... while smirking.  He gave me my ID and said, "OK."

Oh, sure, he could be admiring how old my ID is.  Or he could be memorizing my social security number in order to steal my identity.  Shit, my identity may already be stolen for all I know.

Why do I keep doing this to myself?  I'll do it again today, as I plan on going to Siebert Field to catch the home regular season finale of the Golden Gopher baseball team.

If I'm a victim of identity theft, I know how my Suspect #1 is.  Remember his face and everything.  Hell, that usher might be there this afternoon, too!

And by the way, this is as good a time as any to go back to school, if only to get a new damn identification card.

Great, Now I Have To Avoid This Co-Worker For The Rest Of My Life

When I was an usher, by far the worst part of the job were asshole customers.  But I learned over the years working there that usually I would never see them again.  Even in a town like this that seems so small, it was rare to have a second run-in with a prick at a show or a concert.  Once I realized this, it actually made my bad days sort-of better.  I found that if I don't see a motherfucker again, I can let go of the angry feelings that I remember from the run-in with that motherfucker.

The problem really started with this fellow usher.  I may have spoken about her in the past, and I don't want to give that closeted bitch the time of day, so if you don't mind, I'm going to gloss over her misdeeds toward me.  But these misdeeds, whenever she was in a bad mood (or, since I believe she has some psychological issues, I'll say she was "glitching"), I had to add that to all the other bad times I had dealing with her.  Those experiences added up, and when I had my final straw, my "I'm done with you!" moment with her, that's when I went to my supervisor and told him I cannot deal with that woman anymore.  Because she wasn't going away.  She was coming back, again and again and again, and I was just a sitting duck, waiting for her to explode and melt down on me.  I could not let go of my angry feelings of her mistreatment towards me.  And therefore, after a year of hemming and hawing, I realized that I would rather be free from her than have this ushering job, a job that I loved for eight, nine years.

Since then I've been weary of making enemies of people at my usual workplace.  Unlike strangers who come and go, your co-workers are going to be there, day after day after day.  There's no way to avoid them, no way to be free of them (besides quitting, of course).  So while I am wary of people who might not be so, uh, professional, I also try and not do anything to make enemies out of people, either.  Because there's no way you can get out of that.

So that takes me to this morning.  I was surprised when I woke up to see one inch of snow; the forecast said a dusting to 2/10 of an inch.  That slowed traffic to a crawl, of course, and even though I did set my alarm early just in case, I still got blindsided by the underestimation of snow.  Therefore, once again, I was trying to beat the clock in getting to the parking ramp so I can get into work before it was too late.

This morning, I had to take a left in order to get to the ramp.  I had to wait, however, as two cars coming in my direction were making a right.  They were -- no, are -- employees in the same company and building as I.  So, remembering that there is a possibility that I will run into them at some point in the future, I waited.

The first car took a right.  The second car flipped its turn signal on, but started to slow down, moreso than a normal car.  And I'm still edgy, trying to get to work, you know?  So I waited ... but then creeped out a bit, and started my right turn.  And then the driver, sigh, she (?) slowed down, presumably because she thought I was being aggressive and was going to get to the turn before she did.  But then I stopped, and then she stopped, and -- AARGH! fine, I'm going!

OK, so in retrospect, I should have just creeped out into the intersection, turned on my turn signal ... and stopped.  But geez, this woman was driving slow.  Serious!  If anything, I should have just taken the turn before she did straight away.  Me hesitating -- should I go?  Should I wait? -- that got me into this annoying and frustrating situation.

And since she turned into the same ramp I did, I hurried to a spot and tried to get into the building as soon as I could, assuming that this driver would be as slow in parking and walking into work as she was taking the right turn.  I think I managed to avoid her.  But I think she knows what I look like.  What happens if she sees me in the same intersection tomorrow?  Or, worse, what happens if she recognizes me in, say, the lobby some time next week?  See, this is why I try to be a choir boy when driving.  If somebody perceives you being a jerk, it'll come back to haunt you, because there's nowhere for you to go.

I have to take a different way to work tomorrow.  That might help.  Maybe.

Yeah, I Blew The Interview

I don't know why, I don't know how, and really, I don't really know.  But I think I blew it.

How?  When?  Well, there is a lot of customer service with this job.  And even though I knew that going in, and even though the "customers" actually will be people who will have to call in from time to time, I won't be forced into a situation where I'm yelling at random people who think they can yell at me because I'll probably never talk to them again.  You will behave if you will be in consistent contact with a person, especially in the job I'm looking for.  But, well, I may have been spooked by that phrase "customer service" and flashed back to all the times I got disrespected and yelled at patrons when I was an usher.  I wasn't that bad -- really!  But I guess I should have prepared myself for that line of questioning.

Or, maybe I blew it when she asked me how I justified going into a job that isn't my major?  That's a good question, and even if I had the forethought to know she was going to ask that ahead of time, I still don't think I could come up with a pat, "correct" answer I should say during an interview like this.  She then doubled down by noting that they want people who'll stay there a long time.  Sister, there is nowhere else I can go.  No one else wants me.  Hey, maybe I should have practiced canned answers.  But I didn't, and it feels as though I'm going to get punished for that.

Well, maybe it was when the interview was over.  See, I was told that there is a third interview to be done, and I thought there was a chance that interview would happen right after this second interview.  If that was the case, I didn't go through that third interview because the interviewer right then and there decided I shouldn't have the job.  She said I would know either later this week or next week.  There's a chance that she already knew she didn't want me.

And at any rate I forgot to shake her hand after the interview.  Well, maybe that sealed it.

Man, I don't know about these interviews.  I really want the job, but I never feel as though that gets conveyed during interviews.  I texted my sister-in-law at how vexed I am, but you know, I can't help but be me.  I thought I was me in that interview -- hemming, hawwing, deliberate, knowing what good I can do but upfront about what I don't know.  Shoot, man, I'm genuine, 100%, 100% of the time.  Yes, I have my doubts.  Who doesn't?  Does that mean I can't get a full-time job that pays well and that I like, ever?

My Father keeps yelling at me to find a job with benefits.  You know, maybe I'm just not supposed to have one.

With One Day To Go Before I Go ...

The people in Atlanta are great.  Haven't been mugged or carjacked yet (fingers crossed).  The layout of the city is so spread out it's ridiculous; Thursday afternoon it took me an hour to drive 22 miles  The humidity is also horrible, but even though people keep commenting on it, I thought this was normal weather down here.

The Internet in the libraries here are very slow.  I've been to two around the area I'm staying at.  Internet's slow in both, but the one closer to my hotel is in a physically run-down building.  The other one is the headquarters and that one looks nice.  Nevertheless, that the Internet in this county's libraries is slow is kind of shocking to me.

The strip club scene is intimidating; went to a notorious place called the Clermont Lounge and I cannot unsee what I saw there.  Wish I could get my rocks off, but really, I don't think I'll have a chance because all these places are so busy.  That helps me save money, though.

It's come to the point where I'm sad that I didn't choose to spend another day here.  There is so much I want to see, but my old usher friend lives here and we're going to spend lunch tomorrow together!  I'll have to make some decisions, but this also opens the door for me to come back to Atlanta again some time.

In the meantime I should get moving.  Just bought a ticket to tonight's Braves game, and even though it's 7 1/2 hours from the start, I feel as if I'm already behind because I woke up a bit past 10 today.  I want to eat at the Hard Rock and go to the College Football Hall of Fame, and I really don't know if I have time to do both and get to Turner Field without getting swallowed up in traffic and missing first pitch.  We'll see.

Gotta get a move on.

I Do Have Friends!

Before I build in too many days since my parents came home from their cruise to Scandinavia, I wanted to note that I did something during My Days Of Freedom that I hadn't done before: Hung out with friends.  There was a Thursday night where I visiting a stripper I know at this bar ... where she was working -- with her clothes on.  The next evening I saw an amateur wrestling match with a person I once ushered with.  Hadn't seen that guy in years.  Then on Sunday afternoon I went to the Twins game with the guy I have an annual trip to see the British TV Advertising Awards with every holiday season.

All three people sent out invitations for me to hang out with them.  Normally I would not say yes.  (Actually, normally people don't send out invitations.)  But I felt a freedom from my parents being gone.  They wouldn't be here to tsk-tsk me for being out so often and spending so much money.  I was able to do whatever the hell I want with people I wanted to hang out with.  And it was fun.  It was also good to not do fun things by myself.  I'm a pretty solitary person, but sometimes it's good to be with someone else, just for a change of pace.  I should do that more often, get out of my shell a little bit.

Yeah, that's all I think I need to say about it.

Nightmare

For the record, sleep day was Daylight Saving Time.  Went out to see the big-school boys' state high school hockey tournament final last (Saturday) night, went to My Favorite Late-Night Italian Place, then went home and to bed around 1:30 I guesstimate.  Woke up a bit past 9, which would have been 8 but because of the spring ahead, blah-blah-blah.

You know who Jack White is, right?  Ushered back-to-back shows of the White Stripes too many years ago.  After one of the shows, maybe the second one, as we began hauling out the huge garbage bags to clean up, he was onstage talking to someone.  He was holding a water bottle which may have been empty.  That's my Jack White story.

I hear he's kind of an asshole.  So, without knowing any of the circumstances (if there were any that I dreamt), I threw Jack White off of our back porch.  Couldn't have been more than ten feet, but as I was running away and looked back, he was lying face-up on the ground.  I thought I concluded he was paralyzed, if that makes any sense.  I harkened back in my memory (which, because I was having a nightmare, would be my memory's memory -- we're getting all Inception up in this place) that I encountered a woman I saw in a similar state, meaning I didn't break her neck, I just came upon her with her neck broken.  And I thought, "Hey, she's paralyzed," which made me conclude that Jack White was now paralyzed after what I had done to him.

And I felt guilty.

And then I woke up.

The Voices In My Head Are My Enemies

Should say this, for I've known a long time: I have voices in my head.  They're not voices of doubt, they are voices of, well, hate.  I hear them whenever I screw something up or I'm in a situation where I'm really tense and frazzled.  They say things like, "You're so stupid," or, "I knew you were gonna fuck this up."  And then, sometimes I can envision a face -- and it's one of one of the people I hate.

It takes the image of My Fucking Father from time to time whenever he's being a dick to me.  For a long time it was that munchkin-like bitch usher who forced me to leave the theaters for good.  Goddamn, she still pisses me off.  From time to time to guy from the team pops into my head.  But recently, it's that fat fuck from the production that torments me.  Man, what a manipulative asshole.

These usually disembodied voices come to me at least once a day, maybe many times over the course of a situation that's really shitty.  I don't think I'm schizophrenic.  But I'm sure most people don't "feel" their voices of hate (or doubt) the way I do.

Just wanted to say.