A Race Against Time To Use The Limes

On a whim, I bought a plastic-wrapped tray of eight limes that the discount grocer near me wanted to ship out.  I have used two already, might juice another two tonight for cocktails, but I don't know if I'll be able to use them all before they go bad.  But hey, I bought them all for $1.50, so when it comes to value (not necessarily food waste), I couldn't pass it up.

Yeah, about tonight's/Saturday night's Lynx Game ... as always, I get up to two tickets, and as usual, I don't use one of them and go by myself because none of my friends are sports fans.  But I got yelled at by one of my friends, or "friends," when I posted about the other ticket I got for the Timberwolves playoff Game in which they eliminated Denver.  He wanted a direct message.  I'm thinking, "Bitch, I have to cater to your ass over everyone else I know?"  I guess I understand that people get busy, but the more I think about it, the more entitled he sounds.  The hell does he get off asking me for special treatment?

And yet I don't want this ticket to go to waste.  And finally, I want to DM him about this offer to see how grateful, or even normal, he will act if we sit next to each other to watch the Game.  I can't believe he'll behave like a dick who thinks he deserves to be waited on hand and foot.  But if he does, well, I'll have proof beyond doubt to never offer anything to him again.  So, should I do it?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tax Form Filling-Out OCD

I'm trying to finish doing my taxes, and I keep making mistakes on these forms.  Not big, mathematical ones, but, like, one digit wrong in the tens place, or writing the amount on the wrong line.  My OCD is kicking in big-time, so I keep printing out forms and doing them, only to fuck up again so I reprint more.  I have printed them out at work, which I know is frowned upon.  I also have printed them at the library, where I am typing this blog post right now, but it's 20 cents a copy, which is why I printed them at work while I was at work.

This library sometimes has free copies of the main forms, like the 1040, lying about, which is great and another reason why the Twin Cities is a good, moral place to live in.  But I fucked it up, again, and I'm tired of re-doing it, so I am just going to give the federal government the 1040 where I wrote a whole amount on the wrong line.  Even my OCD, as bad as it fucking is right now, has limits.  Besides, I just printed out another form and I think I did it completely right, so yay, me, be happy with that one win.

Where My Scatterbrained Stupid Self Pretty Much Fucked Everything Up

I want to think things went downhill as soon as Florida got upset by Iowa last/Sunday night in the NCAA Men's Basketball Tournament.  I had them losing in the title Game.  With that pick gone to seed, I think my chances of winning either of my bracket pools has also gone to seed.

I got the notification from The Athletic while I was about to go into Target.  I had that 5% birthday discount I wanted to use, but I had been thinking all day on how to and even if I should use it.  I knew I wanted to buy baking soda and a new silicone scrubber to replace my dirty loofah (I should blog post about that loofah later).  But what else?  I need to maximize my discount by buying things I need to get, but I kept going back and forth about whether there are items I only wanted to get.  A circle lock, for when I rent out a second storage unit so I can finally really get down to organizing my stuff?  Well, they didn't have one.  Motor oil?  Nah -- I checked prices on my phone while I was in there; it's cheaper in a few other stores.  Should I get a lime?  I think I'll be out and about again next weekend, so it wouldn't make sense.  I swear there was something else I thought I needed to get, but for the life of me, I couldn't remember.  But I did remember the baking soda and scrubber, so that's what I got, and I was able to strike a whopping 60 cents off my total.  Happy Birthday to me!

And then I come home and, once I went into my bathroom, I realized there was something else I really wanted to get: Tea tree oil to put on the back of my head to get rid of the acne back there.  And I knew I was going to forget something when I went to Target.  I thought about writing a grocery list, but I didn't want to write it down, and I didn't want to bring a piece of paper with me.  Still, I knew there would be a good chance I would forget something, and still I didn't want to write anything down.  And so the tea tree oil I really want to buy I will have to buy without that 5% birthday discount.  I'm so ashamed I think I'll have to buy it at Wal-Mart, where I think it's probably a bit more expensive than if I bought it at Target, even without the 5%.  Can't walk back in to Target without hanging my head in shame.

---

I just ate a Krispy Kreme donut with milk.  The Krispy Kremes were free through its application because it was my birthday.  But I didn't want to eat them all at once.  In fact, my OCD compels me to eat them only every other day.  And it turns out I skipped a day.  Hopefully the last one lasts till Tuesday.

Doughnuts, of course, go with milk.  And this quart of milk I had bought, hmmm, some time ago.  I thought it was still good because the use by date stamped on top of the bottlecap reads today/Monday.  So, just like I have done, I poured some milk into a bowl into which I dunk the doughnut.  Once I finish with the doughnut, I slurp up the rest.  But this time, motherfucker, it tasted funny.  And then I smelled it.  Honestly, it smelled kind of funky for, like, a week before today, but it smelled even worse now.  Goddammit, I think I just drank spoiled milk.  I dumped the rest out of the bowl, then dumped the rest out of the bottle.  I thought it would still be good!  But come to think of it, when I opened it for the very first time (I don't remember how long ago), I saw that part of the cap was already pulled away from its rim.  And maybe I'm being a hypochondriac, but I am feeling really dizzy right now.  A little dissociative, too, like I'm not a part of this body that is typing this right now.

But the thing that kills me (literally?) more than wasting milk is the fact that I had, oh, three weeks to finish off a quart of 2% milk and I couldn't fucking do it.  It was just a quart!  Maybe my lactose intolerance gave me second thoughts.  But I had plans on using a lot of it in a smoothie I was going to make.  I have the fruit in the freezer.  But I was going to make it only after I work out, and I've been too damn busy to work out, so I haven't made the smoothie, so I haven't used the milk that way.  Reminds me that I also have greek yogurt inside my refrigerator.  It has a stamped sell-by date of April 16, but that fuckin' stamp did me no favors with the milk, so for all I know, the yogurt's already bad, too.  Might need to bring it with me to work this week.

---

You know what?  I thought I had a third thing I needed to blog post about illustrating how my dumb ass was fucking myself in another, but I forgot.  Oh, my self-destruction is so meta!

At Least We Go Through Less Stuff In The Bathroom Now

It's been a few weeks since my sister left, and even though the house is a little emptier and quieter, there is one thing I am clearly thankful for once she went back home: We go through less stuff in the bathroom now.

It is astounding how much a third person churns through.  While my sister (and Mother, who moved upstairs in preparation for her knee surgery) was using the upstairs bathroom, we seemingly used a roll of toilet paper every week.  I remember Grandmother going through rolls that quickly, but I only think she did that because she was using too much on every visit.  Also, we cracked open a bar of soap at a frightening frequency.  Worst of all was the trash.  Father put in a too-small trash can (with a lid you need to open with a foot pedal, and that should be a blog post in and of itself) in the bathroom, and that damn thing filled up, like, twice a week.  I had to empty that thing so often it got absurd.  And by the way, if I ever get an up-close look at used tampons again, it'll be too soon.

Contrast that to when I'm the only one using the bathroom.  I go through toilet rolls maybe once a month.  I throw my toilet paper in the trash, so it does accumulate, but not on a semi-weekly basis.  And if my parents ever leave, I will feel less pressure to actually cleanse myself.  I'm sure I've reached two months before getting a new bar of soap, and I miss that longer frequency.

Mother still sleeps upstairs because she loves it, so right now we're in a liminal state between the chaotic burn rate of three people and the tranquil stasis when I have the bathroom all to myself.  We go through toilet rolls and soap bars at a slower pace, but they're still too fast for my liking.  So yeah, I can't wait for the day I have the run of the house to myself ... if I ever will. ...

The Hummus Didn't Do Anything Wrong

So I'll be honest with you.  I thought I would be working the Gophers Game on Thursday, but I wasn't.  But by the time I realized that I wasn't working for the production Thursday, I had already set up a wank sesh with ******e.  I decided to go ahead with it.  It was good.  An HJ is always good.

While I was getting dressed, ******e and I made small talk. I told her I was going to hang out in her neighborhood for a bit and get something to eat, such as the hummus place a few blocks away.

"Hummus?" ******e said.  "Hey, I've got some hummus.  Let me give you some!"

"Oh, you have hummus ... ?"  And I wondered if she heard me when I said that I was going to hang out in the area for a bit.  But she gave me this unopened dish of hummus, and I wondered whether she heard me.  Because hummus, I heard, has to be refrigerated.  I was going to throw this dish in my car.  And I intended to go to a coffeehouse and work on my receipts until I was done, which was going to be more than two hours, which I heard is the maximum time period when food that has to be refrigerated can be left out at room temperature.

I hate wasting food, especially when it's given to me for free.  But I planned on working on some things, and that would take time.  And I didn't want to get through my tasks quickly in order to get back in my car, drive home and throw that dish of hummus in the fridge under two hours.  So I just did my thing -- I went to the coffeehouse (well, I went next door to Bebe Zito to get a honey chicken tenders basket) and worked on my receipts, and it took me more than two hours to do it.  And I checked the Internet just in case I was wrong about the time, or if somehow hummus doesn't need to be refrigerated.  Nope, it had to be refrigerated, and since it was in my car for at least two hours by the time I got done, bad bacteria was growing all through the dish like nobody's business.

There was only one thing to do.  On my way home, I went to a gas station close to my house and threw it away.  Again, I hate wasting food, but if the USDA (at least the one before this god-awful Republican administration) is right, it's not safe to eat after two hours.  I just wished ******e understood that the hummus she gave me would spoil and maybe she shouldn't have given it to me.  Or, maybe I should have said something.

You know what sucks?  Being eliminated from a fantasy game because you forgot.  I entered two Eliminator fantasy games that my friend is running.  Eliminator games are games where you pick one NFL team to win every week in the regular season.  If that team loses, you're out.  The trick is that you can only pick a team once.

Very intriguing idea.  Whoever thought that up, and I think this was only this side of the millennium, needs to be in the Pro Football Hall Of Fame or something.  But if you don't put in a team every week, you are automatically eliminated.  And that's why I did, or didn't do, in the second Week of the NFL season.  I was busy and distracted, and I knew I had to do my ESPN Eliminator, and I did, but I forgot I signed up for my friend's other Eliminator game on Yahoo! Sports.  I was able to remember doing the ESPN Eliminator on my ESPN Fantasy app, but I forgot to do my Yahoo! Eliminator on my Yahoo! Sports Fantasy app.  And that is ironic also because I don't have anything going on fantasy-wise on ESPN, but all my fantasy football teams are on Yahoo! Sports.  So why didn't I just look through my fantasy teams and then go on and do the Eliminator?  Maybe because I forgot I had an Eliminator through Yahoo!  (sigh)

I used to do Eliminators with money, and I forgot to make my weekly pick, so I got eliminated in pools in which I sank money.  And that was just wasting money, so I stopped doing that.  Maybe I should just, you know, remember to do them?  Nah, I'll probably forget.

So My Father asked me to help him find where the spark plug is on the snowblower, even though 1) he didn't ask me to help him find that before, so I assumed he knew where it was and 2) it's summer so who cares.  But I had time before going to the soccer Match, so I wanted to help him.

Little did I know he roped me into doing other shit.  After I showed him the disassembled housing to show him where the spark plug is, he wanted me to mow the lawn.  I looked at the lawn; it didn't need mowing.  But he wanted me to do it ... but first, it was time to put the new belt onto the mower.  We (well, he; I just stood on the handle to keep the front side lifted up so Father could work on getting the worn out belt loose) worked on that for between 60-75 minutes before we (actually I) got the new belt in ... but Father said he needs to find a screw before he can completely put it back together.

And then, dammit, we went back to the snowblower, which was still disassembled.  He wanted to take out the spark plug, but it took us half an hour to do so -- but, Father noticed that the spark plug was completely unscrewed, so it is very possible Father managed to unscrew the thing, like, five minutes in but he didn't even notice.  Whatever.

So he makes me look at the spark plug.  "So," I said, "You want me to buy it now?"  And Father replied, "No, whenever you want.  You have to go somewhere, don't you?"  What was this all for if he didn't want to complete the job right then and there?  Where was the urgency in all of this, and why was now nothing at all urgent once we did only part of the work on the mower and the snowblower?  He said he wanted me to take a look at what model spark plug it was.  But I already knew.

So now, Father doesn't need me to mow the lawn because, I guess, it doesn't work.  Or maybe he wanted to jerk my chain all along and just wanted to have some father-son time, or something?

Anyway, I need to take a nap before going to the Game.  Don't know what this was all for.

Why Do I Still Go To The Auto Show?

I have been going for a long, long time.  I loved how I could see all these fancy new cars.  Also, I could see the ones that are, shall we say, much more attainable (although I would have to bust my butt and look for a higher-paying job).  I loved getting all the brochures, and I would tell myself that I would lie down and look through all of them and maybe be inspired when the time came to purchase one.  And the bags.  Oh, the bags -- you gotta get one to put all those brochures in, you know?

Well, that was then and this is now.  I went to the auto show yesterday/Saturday, and in keeping with how the trend is going, I stayed there far less than when I did when I first went to the show.  In fact, I looked at my watch when I thought I had seen everything and there was still more than an hour before the Frozen Four Final, for which I decided to stay the whole day and night in downtown to go to our alumni group's bar and watch.  I eventually found stuff to look at -- I went to the classic and antique car rooms, separate from the main room where all the new cars you can buy are -- but things are dramatically different, from both my perspective and the show's.

It's clear to me now that, as an adult, it doesn't really pay to aspire anymore.  There is one thing I have done for some time now: Find the most expensive car in the show that I can get into (that means no show cars, no prototypes, and definitely no classic cars) and take a picture of the sticker price and the front of the car.  I get a kick out of that not because I hope to one day be able to buy it, but just to note the price.  (Aside: The add-ons of nearly all the cars I looked at ballooned the base price of the car to an exorbitant amount.  I cannot believe that the size of those add-ons were typical of previous years.  If not, there's one explanation: That Fucking Guy's dumbass tariffs.)  For the record, a Range Rover clocks in at $158,370.  But beyond that, I did way less getting into cars than I used to when I was young.  Oh, sure, I saw some that I liked.  The new and colorful Volkswagen vans, called the ID Buzz, were a splashy hit, for example.  But all the other two dozen or so cars I checked out were interchangeable to me.  Also, I wouldn't be able to buy any of them.  That's another (sad) similarity.

Parallel to this, the show has changed.  I think it was the pandemic.  The auto show has gotten smaller.  I see fewer brands on the showroom.  The convention center is a huge space, but in the years since (and I really want to say it started in 2022, two years after it was cancelled and a year after it went to the State Fairgrounds), more of the floor was ceded to an area for test-driving cars, which is cool.  But, this year I saw a corner of the center dedicated to jacuzzis.  You can't drive jacuzzis, can you?

But the big difference in the auto show now: No more brochures.  The pandemic accelerated the push to make all papers digital in an effort to cut costs.  I have gotten way fewer brochures since the pandemic and, for the first time ever, yesterday/Saturday I did not pick up one single brochure -- and I did not see a brochure available to be picked up.  The days of bringing home a car-branded bag of pamphlets I probably won't read are now gone.

But hey, at least Toyota is still offering bags.  I filled it with the auto show brochure (which in itself was cut down [and shrunken] to the size of a fold-open pamphlet -- it even had a coupon!) and some salesman's business card.  The salesman wasn't there to give it to me.  No, there was a stand, and in the middle was a pile of business cards, and I took one.  I didn't even look at the cars of the dealership he works for.  I just picked one up so I could throw a second thing in my Toyota bag.

I really am just going to these auto shows now for the bag.  That's the only free thing they're offering ... well, besides fantasies, I guess.  And fantasizing that one day a beautiful car I scoped out at the auto show will wind up on my driveway?  Heh!

No, I Will Not Shovel The Snow

So yeah, maybe an inch or two fell last/Saturday night.  Maybe.  Combined with the trace of snow that fell during the week and there is some snow that is on the ground.

I have seen this morning my neighbor across the street clearing his driveway.  I have also heard my neighbors to the left clear their driveway.  Will I clear my driveway?  Hell no!  For one it's a Stay-In Day.  And for two, the snow is low enough for me to drive through it.  Why expend energy when I don't have to?  It'll be above freezing later in the week anyway; it'll melt then.

I'm glad I don't live in a homeowners' association.  I think I would be hounded into shoveling even though it's completely unnecessary.  Still, I harbor bad dreams that someone will knock on my door telling me to shovel because it's "good for the neighborhood" or some shit like that.  That knock probably won't come, but still I worry, and still I am mentally preparing myself for a fight should it ever come to that extreme -- whether the fight be verbal or physical.

My Final Blog Post Of 2024 Is Another Reminder Of Why My Fucking Mother Has Ruined My Life

I was going to neatly tie up 2024 into a bow (well, as well as I can), but My Fucking Mother fucking had to send this shit off the rails with her goddamn anxieties again.

She bugs the fuck out of me while they're here, but it appears as though she bothers me even more when she's in Vegas.  I think that's due to expectations: Since they are so far away from me, I presume that we would talk less.  And I think we do; for example, even though I thought we would talk Christmas Day, we didn't, probably because we talked Christmas Eve.  And that's A-OK with me.

But when she texts me saying she needs help ... goddamn, the thing she needs help with is such a huge energy drain.  It literally takes hours to deal with her issue.  And it's an issue only she believes is an issue.  But I have to help her because that bitch acts so fucking helpless.

She texted me at work yesterday/Monday afternoon: "Need help!"  I get home and call her.  She tells me these real estate forms need to be filled out.  The government wants them, and she's scared as hell that, like, the FBI will arrest her if we don't do it before the end of the year ... even though the stuff she said told her that actually said she had a couple more weeks.  These forms are in English, of course, so she immediately ran to me, only to switch up her tone and just fuckin' saddle me with all this bullshit I need to deal with with an urgency only she has.  So fucking typical of her and her goddamn "issues."

These forms the government wants filled out I didn't even know existed until today.  And I had to waste two motherfucking hours with My Fucking Mother to do them online.  Worse than that, I screwed up one of the forms, and I'm not sure the website on which I did these forms took up the corrected information.  So I think I have to follow up today, some time after work, to see if some AI chatbot can let me know if the "government" has the correct information.  And who knows how long I'll have to fucking waste on that.  It's New Year's Eve, for fuck's sake.  I'm supposed to mark the death of the old year and say hello to the new one.  I don't want to spend it dealing with goddamn forms.

---

This year was bad because I lost my uncle.  I feel bad because I hadn't contacted him much before he died.  I think the last communication I had with him was wishing him a (Western) New Year via text.  He was gone within two months.  He didn't want anyone to talk to him in his decrepit state.  I don't care; I wanted to at least say goodbye to him and tell him I love him.  And I'll be honest (if I haven't stated this here in WAF already): I'm mad at him for not talking to me before he went.

Come to think of it, 2024 brought more signs my body is breaking down.  I saw someone for my knees after work yesterday/Monday.  She said it's probably arthritis, which everyone my age is going through.  Use exercises to get manage it.  I think I heard that before when my physical therapist told me to exercise my back.  I was given a referral for physical therapy for my knees, and there's a chance it's the same person who I met with five years ago.  I don't think the guy likes me, though, so I don't think I'll take up the referral.

Gaining weight, too.  I know I should eat better, but I'm still holding onto the delusion that I can eat what I want and not get too fat.  That's not happening, but I'm not changing my diet.  Oh, and I'm still dealing with trying to do my desk job with bifocals on.  Had a lot of trouble seeing with my eyeglasses in 2024.  My eyes got so strained looking at my computer screen that it began to hurt.  I even take them off and see my screen through blurry eyes.  It beats getting a headache.

Everything else, I guess, is the same, including dealing with My Fucking Mother.  Every fake emergency she makes me deal with reminds me that I got my anxious state of mind from her.  She has grafted every part of her insecurities onto me, and I cannot and will not forgive her for that.

Happy New Year!!!

Fuckin' Janitors Tossed My Liquids

The cleaning crew at work threw away my coffee creamers and the bottles of apple and grape juice I hadn't finished yet.  There are two refrigerators, and pretty much every other week (although not next week because of the holidays) they're supposed to clean one of them, and they will clean out and throw away anything in the fridge they're cleaning.  I think I lost bottles of creamer once, and about a half-hour after they threw away the sub I just put in a fridge this one time, I frantically asked the janitors if I could have it back.  (I found it, still completely wrapped up, IIRC.  And yes, I ate it.  I paid for it!)

This ... well, this one came as a blindside.  The janitors are supposed to put up a sign in front of the fridge that is supposed to be cleaned out Monday evening the week prior.  Because of that bad memory, I know I always am diligent to move my creamers out of the fridge that will be cleaned and put it in the other one.  But like I said, they don't alternate cleaning every week, and I fucking swear to God that I didn't see a sign last week.  Now, I took Thursday off, and Friday was that shitty day where I got hit with an avalanche of work in The Fourth Department (BTW, it still hasn't abated, and it won't for a while) and then I had to get to the Timberwolves Game, and I didn't work Monday (I blog posted about my off-on schedule here) because I was working the Vikings Game.  I was venting with my supervisor and co-workers late yesterday/Tuesday afternoon about this, and they speculated that the cleaners put up the sign later in the week, like Thursday, and that's why I missed it.  If so, goddammit, that's their fault because they need to give all of us a week's notice.  Shit!

I had three bottles of creamer.  One of them was brand new.  Didn't even open the fucking bottle yet.  And yes, I had two bottles of juice I hadn't completely drank.  But fuckin' A, they were mine.  Those two bottles of juice and three bottles of creamer cost (granted, I think one was nearly empty and one was half-empty) ... oh, $20, $25?  Again, that amount is not like a mortgage, and I drank through a lot of creamer and apple and grape juice up to Monday, and obviously I can't do anything about it now.  But I can't help but look at it in terms of money, and that's money that was fucking taken away from me.  And I think -- no, I'm not 100% certain -- that I got royally fucked because no one put up a notice when they were supposed to.

The thing is, I didn't realize this until the middle of work yesterday, when I had to break away from my desk because the avalanche of work in The Fourth Department kept rolling down on my head.  And that might allude to why I didn't move my stuff (assuming I was given ample warning, which I don't think I got): I was too distracted by other things this time around to notice.  Beyond that, I didn't have time during the rest of my day once I realized I lost my shit to lose my shit because I had work to do.  It's only when I'm dwelling on what I lost -- for example, as I'm writing this -- that I'm pissed off.  For most of the rest of the day, at least until I vented to my supervisor and colleagues, I wasn't pissed because I had other things I had to concentrate on.

And so delving into work, like I will have to do today, might be a good thing because it takes my attention away from being pissed off at the fucking janitors.  I have half a mind to confront them next Monday evening for "stealing" my stuff.  But if I plunge into my work -- and I left yesterday/Tuesday, like Friday, with a ton of work to do even after I gave myself two extra hours at work -- I won't have time to get mad, and therefore I won't do something reckless and futile.  It's the best I can do.

In the meantime, I have to go to Target after work this/Wednesday evening and buy more creamer.

Doing Things With Family Is Supposed To Be Fun

So my sister and brother-in-law are coming home soon to visit.  They obviously have plans -- seeing their friends, seeing my niece, visiting landmarks around the Twin Cities and the state -- and that requires using a car, namely mine because it's newer than my parents' minivan.

Several hours ago she texted me about plans, which are getting more concrete in her head.  The Vikings Game I was going to work was flexed to Sunday night, so that means I'm free that day.  My sister thought that she could take my car to the Science Museum for a day with our niece.  I thought that with me being free now, I could go.  But she intimated that she thought it would be a day of just the three of them alone.  That's fine.  I'm not upset.

The thing that annoys me now, however, is that plans are taking shape for a big dinner that evening in St. Paul.  There are a couple complications that I'm still trying to figure out, and because of that I am kind of peeved.  For one: We are not going together.  Rather, they (my sister, brother-in-law and niece) are going to hang out at the Science Museum and then saunter over to St. Paul because the plan is for the dinner to be early.  My brother and sister-in-law are supposed to drive all the way over there from their home.  And we three (my parents and I) are supposed to drive from home to there.  That brings up the second complication: The minivan only seats two.  It was a work van from its days bringing deliveries from The Store to our vendor/clients, so one day, Father just ripped out the back seats.  They're in our basement now, but I don't know how or even if it's possible to put one of them back in.  So if he can't, what are we supposed to do, have just one of them ride on the floor of the van and get jostled around as we go across the river?

This is where a third car, namely a rental car, would be perfect.  As I've blog posted about before, getting one for a weekend would be perfect in order for them to do all that they want, especially if they want to go somewhere beyond the metro area.  But that would be the second weekend, not the first weekend, which is when the Science Museum and dinner are going to be held.  Them taking my niece to the Science Museum would be fine.  It's dinner that is royally screwing everything up.  Having dinner that Sunday instead would be better, even perfect, because it is my sister and brother-in-law's last day here.  And if we had a rental car, we would have a roomy vehicle for all of us to go wherever we want to go for dinner (and this would assume that my niece would be going with her parents, which are my brother and sister-in-law).

But nope, that won't happen.  Apparently, my brother has already made the reservation.  This planning seems so damn inefficient, and it makes us make inconvenient choices for some days that will also result in huge gaps of nothing to do in other days.  Such a stupid waste.  And now, I need to end this blog post because if I keep writing, I will only get more upset.

Why I Don't Like Big Macs

Even though I do have my favorites, I'm not picky when it comes to burgers.  So long as it's hot, I think I would enjoy one.  I have realized that when evaluating burgers, what is more important to me than the taste is the, er, "integrity" of the sandwich.  Specifically, I hate it when stuff in the burger falls out.  I want to keep all the food I bought in one place, you know?

I haven't had a Big Mac in years if not decades, but McDonald's recently came out with a limited edition Chicken Big Mac.  There's a Mickey D's on the footprint of Allianz Field that will be torn down in December, so I bought a Chicken Big Mac after last/Saturday night's Match.  And when I got it, I remembered why I haven't bought it in years if not decades.  First, it's on the big side -- not bigger than my whole mouth, but it's big.  But worse than that is all the lettuce that comes with the Chicken Big Mac.  It's shredded, so naturally some of it is underneath the sandwich when I pick it up out of the paper package.  And since I deplore wasting food, I am compelled to pick up those shreds and sprinkle them on top of the bite of the Chicken Big Mac I am about to take.  That's kind of a pain in the ass.  And more annoying beyond that is the fact that it slides too much.  A Big Mac has that third bun, and apparently its surface is smooth because when I take a bite, the middle bun and some of the lettuce above and below it squirt through the back end.  I hate that.  A sandwich's contents can't just stay put, can it?

I didn't mean this to be a food review, but if you want my opinion on whether to get the Chicken Big Mac: If you're not peeved or sliding food that ends up on your table, get it.  Otherwise, don't.

I'm Going To Make Myself Sick Drinking Watermelon Juice

There is still a couple of bottles of blended watermelon Mother made that we -- or I -- still have to go through.  I smelled both and ... uh, they don't seem to be too bad, but I'm drinking them now and I don't feel all that good, to be honest.  You know, I don't see why my parents can't chip in and drink these damn things.  Mother made them.  They both bought the watermelons.  And they probably will buy more of them once they see them on sale again because they don't care that they're just sitting in the fridge going to waste.  Ugh.

Expenses Without Receipts

Starting from Wednesday, September 11:

• Actually I have to go back to Monday, September 9, where I had the dumbest conundrum that kept me up at night because of ... creamer.  I had run out of two and possibly all three bottles of creamer I had, and I was debating which days during my workday I would buy coffee in order to use up all my creamer.  My OCD forces me to use up every single drop of creamer, so when a bottle gets to its end, I make it go through a two-step process: I pour out as much as I can, then turn the bottle upside-down and store it in the company fridge.  The next time I use it, all the remaining creamer would be collecting in the underside of the cap, which I would carefully unscrew and pour into my reusable cup.  I was balancing that two-step/-day process with figuring out which days I could spend cash, which in itself didn't solve anything because I could have either bought coffee with it or a mocha, for which I would not need to use creamer.  But I was going to a stripper party later that night, so I decided that I would get a medium malted mocha at my Caribou which has my bank's ATM close by.  I would pay with cash, but not use the creamer until the next two days (Tuesday and yesterday/Wednesday).  It all worked out, and besides, I totally forgot the anguish I put myself through.  I also bought a chocolate croissant for myself.  With tip: $12.79.
• I already broke down the stripper party that evening.  I should add here that it was hosted not by the guy whose house was throwing the party but, of all people, the old, brokedown stripper who couldn't take the hint that I could not and would not go to her parties.  There were two main reasons why I wouldn't go: I didn't know anyone besides her, and her parties usually were way too far for me to drive to.  Well, I was invited by ******e and that's all I needed, and this place was in north Minneapolis, which is just about perfect.  I didn't even really recognize her until she brought up us no longer being in communication with each other.  But I think she's cool with it, even though I didn't get any dances from her or any of the other, half-dozen or so women who were there.  I just needed my five from ******e.  With cover: $125.
• And I think I stored a new quarter, even though it was minted last year: 25 cents.
• We fall back to Labor Day, where I made good on my vow.  Back in 2021, I visited my parents in Las Vegas.  Just for fun, we took the bus up from their place to downtown Las Vegas.  We stopped by a casino -- not to gamble, but to eat dinner, in particular a bargain prime rib dinner my parents always have a nose for.  I remember finally getting to the head of the line and the hostess, as she was checking me in, asking me if we have gambled at the casino before stopping in.  Now, you have to have the casino's rewards card to take advantage of their discount pricing and, I think, it was communicated to me that I should gamble before we ate.  We did not, of course, and I think that even though I answered yes, she swiped my newly-obtained card and immediately saw that I did not.  I feel bad for lying to her, even though my parents put me up to it, so when I made this trip to Las Vegas over the holiday weekend, I made a point of going into that casino and actually spending money.  (I had no intention of eating at that restaurant, and I am fully aware that the hostess, for all I know, no longer works there.  No matter; it's a matter of principle, and karma.)  I put $50 into a slot machine, max bet thrice, and came up empty all three times.  I think I paid my debt.  Total cost: $27.
• After I got back to the Strip I went over to the Westgate for one finally spin there before leaving the following afternoon.  I don't remember the last time I spent money there, so I plopped myself on a bandit for a minute and promptly lost money there too, namely: $10.
• But hey, I found a head's-up penny!  An Infusion of: 1 cent.
• On Saturday, August 31 I got into Las Vegas.  I got lost trying to find the bus station that would take me to my parents' condo.  I was told that I was at the wrong terminal.  I didn't know Reid had two terminals just like MSP.  So I needed an inter-terminal shuttle driver to get me back to the other terminal -- the one from which I arrived, by the way -- and find the bus station there.  The shuttle driver threw my carry-on in the back, so when I got it back from him, well, I thought I would tip him.  No one else did, but I did: $1.
• It's Vegas, so even though I got in late and even later because of the bus station mishap, the night was laid out before me, inviting me into her exciting bosom.  And I went to the closest casino to where I was staying -- the brand new Fontainbleau.  Really nice digs, even though I would probably say that for any brand new casino.  I got their rewards card, sat my butt down at a slot machine, and threw money into it in order to get some of the free play money you get when you sign up.  This time I won something, even though it wasn't enough to offset all of the $20 I put into it.  I had some of that $20 left over when I was able to convert the remainder of the free play into actual money, but the Fontainbleau took me for: $8.
• Friday the 30th -- the final of four days at the Minnesota State Fair, Buddha bless it.  Ticket, a large honey lavender lemonade from the Farmers Union, a plate called Marco's Garden from SIMS on the north end of the Fairgrounds, a short mini donut beer (with tip), paella with egg from one of the new (and good) vendors at the Fair, and a Honey 'n' Spice Espresso Shake-Up from Hamline Church Dining Hall equals a grand total of: $72.
• After the Fair I went to Casey's to gas up my car.  After I filled up I tried to get a receipt from the pump, but the screen said to go inside.  When I explained, the cashier gave me a dime back.  I don't think I was shorted ten cents, so I don't know why I was given it.  But I didn't complain.  Total: $8.90.
• On Wednesday the 28th I had to see ******e because I needed to get wanked bad.  She was as good as always; wasn't all that happy to see the children she was babysitting that afternoon.  I paid her an extra $20 because her birthday was coming up.  Ugh.  Paid her: $140.
• There is a vaunted taco place close to her called Taqueria Las Canadas.  It's housed in one of those brokedown gas stations.  The chorizo taco was pretty good, even though there isn't much of a place to eat it.  With a can of Coke to which I paid the cashier at the gas station and not the cook next to him, it call came out to: $4.27.
• Went to the Fair afterward.  Ticket, sweet clementine beer with tip at Giggles, a Peachey's donut for which I waited in line for half an hour, corn, and a Grumpy Old Manhattan, replete with smoke bubbles, from the Hideaway (plus tip) and it all came out to: $45.25.
• And I went to the Fair the day before, Tuesday, August 27!  Didn't need to buy a ticket because I bought two before the Fair began at a discount.  This was the day where I tried all the best new foods (according to all the reviewers out there).  Mancini's cheer lime freeze with tip, Richey's buffalo cheese curd and chicken tacos, the Purple Reign IPA from Dino's (plus tip and, in exchange, got purple, Prince-themed sunglasses), and Sabin's Fried Bee-Nana Pie with ice cream and the whole day cost me: $45.
• Oh, I went to get my face shaved before I went to the Fair.  With tip: $13.
• Friday the 23rd ... first time at the Minnesota State Fair.  This was the day where I concentrated on the staples, the tried and true foods that inevitably make the most money there.  A small Blu slushie with tip, walleye cakes from Giggles, cheese curds from the Mouth Trap, and a Minneapple Pie with cinnamon ice cream (for my money The Most Underrated Food At The Minnesota State Fair) where I don't think I was charged for the syrup I asked for (got away with one, I guess): $27.75.
• Saturday, August 17 was Porchfest for a neighborhood in Minneapolis where bands play at strangers' porches and lawns.  This is a real neat idea ... until I can't find parking for my car.  I bought a cup of lemonade from these two girls (and I threw in a tip), and there was this rocking band called Littleton that was impressive.  Total: $4.
• To Thursday, August 15: I needed to get skin cream for Father at his pharmacy.  Didn't need to use a credit card when it only cost: $1.
• I then went to my local movie house to see The Palm Beach Story as part of its Claudette Colbert retrospective.  I love seeing old movies, and I am telling ya, I love The Palm Beach Story.  It was fast, witty, and had dialogue and subject matter that I didn't think would be as, uh, adult as it turned out to be.  So glad I watched it!  Charged the ticket, the popcorn and the pop, but for tips for concessions and the organist I paid: $2.
• Finally, back on Thursday, August 8, I went to see my ATF at My Favorite Stripclub (Cover Edition).  Cover, tips, a Bud Light for me and a cocktail for her and twenty dances means: $232.

This is another huge gap between EWRs, but considering that, I thought catching up on over a month of these went a little faster than I feared.  Good through 9/11.

The Thing I Hate About Vacations Is That They Have To End ...

... and if they have to end, why do I even go on them?  It always ends up only in heartbreak.

I have walked enough for a lifetime.  Sweated enough for a lifetime, too.  But the main reason I took this vacation was to see my alma mater.  My feelings on this vacation largely hinged on whether or not my team won.  If they didn't, I'd feel it were a waste, and I was girding myself to the probability that they would.  But no!  They won!!  And in exciting, come-from-behind fashion!!!  So this vacation, despite the two hours I had wasted getting to this speakeasy west of the Strip and, like I said, all the walking and sweating, this vacation was totally worth it ... well, besides it all ending and stuff.

I had the run of the condo all to myself for three days.  It was glorious.  I'm glad I finally took my parents up on their offer to give me this place whenever I wanted to vacay here.  Having the whole place to myself meant I could prance around naked everywhere in the condo.  I hope they don't have secret cameras.  It is a bit spacious, but it's not like the house.  I can see a girlfriend or even my sibling (either, not both) living here with me, but it's a pretty good size for a bachelor pad.  And I could strew around my clothes however I want, or defecate with the bathroom door open, and no one would care what I did.

All in all, despite the drawbacks, I have to admit that this was a great vacation.  Even though it has to end.

Being Told To Leave Work Early ... Just To Go Back And Work More

So at work yesterday/Friday my supervisor, as she was helping to do some of the stuff in The Third Department I wasn't able to get to (making calls in this position is such a damn time suck), mentioned that the "goal" was to get me out of here short of eight hours so that I cut down on overtime.  Fine, we're doing that shit again?  As I always say, I am there to get the work done, and so if I have to stay extra, I will -- for the good of the company.

Ironically, even though it didn't seem that way at the time, the work dried up before eight hours.  If she had left the work that she did for me instead, I would have stayed after.  But I left 15 minutes early.  Hey, I don't think I'm leaving the job just yet (although that may change soon, stay tuned), so maybe my boss will be happy if it looks as though I was making an effort to leave early, even if I still accrued overtime overall?

After making a deserved 2 1/2-hour stop at a speakeasy for dinner and drinks as a reward to myself for toughing it out in The Third Department (observation: I may need to blow off steam by cooling my heels at speakeasies on days after working The Third Department now instead of The Fourth Department; it might now be more difficult to work in the former than the latter), I went home real quick before hoofing it to Total Wine before they closed.  My phone picked up the house wi-fi and so I got the texts that transmit through wi-fi.  One of those was from my boss ... who asked me and another co-worker if we could come in to work today/Saturday.  And OT was authorized.

I planned on waking up early, trying to line up and eat at Al's Breakfast, then scoot over to the Black Hear to see the USWNT play Japan in the Olympics Quarterfinals, and then go home and sleep.  But I don't know the next time overtime will be authorized, so I think I'll stop in for at least half a day.  Which gets me to thinking.  First of all, why did my supervisor ask me to get out of work as soon as possible when my boss later asked me if I could come in the next day to work?  Furthermore, why is this company, and my boss, so stingy when it comes to OT when (even though I don't remember the last time it was authorized) it's OK this week?  I remember the halcyon days of this company when there was so much work, overtime was being offered like free beer at a LIV event.  I want to think that today is a harbinger of those days coming back, so my boss won't have to be so miserly when it comes to overtime, which would then persuade me to think that working there is still good.

Nope, Still Haven't Cleaned Up Room Yet

I've been meaning to clean up my room -- sorting out my stuff, going through my mail, throwing things away that I can throw away -- for ... well, guess I've been meaning to all my life, but I had intentions for the past couple months now.  But I haven't gotten around to it.  I can tell you that as soon as I am done eating, I don't do that chore but instead lay in bed and start scrolling through my phone.  I scroll through my phone a lot, but it's only been lately that I understand how much of a grip it has on me.

I just read an article on Yahoo! (don't know how old it is) that there is a movement amongst people, especially Gen Zers, to ditch smartphones and go back to "dumbphones," those phones that, you know, mostly act like phones.  Those things are still around.  But the truth of it is, the people who have gone back in time swear that they are less anxious and more present because they're not distracted by all the applications on a smartphone.  That makes total sense, and yet I can't believe I can live without it.  Then again, I am Gen X, so I have lived up through my thirties without a smartphone, so I think I can revert back to my, uh, feral days.  That might be what I need to start paying attention to cleaning up my bedroom.