I think I'm manic-depressive. I am so up and down about things, especially when it comes to money.
Yesterday I got a check from working the game. I was expecting one amount, but actually got something a lot, lot more -- like, more than twice as much. I was over the moon. I felt like I had hit the lottery. For that moment, at least, my money issues were gone, or at least very, very far away.
It was partly because of that that I gave myself permission to eat at very expensive Chipotle this afternoon. I had the afternoon off because the new year has started at the U. and my "boss" still didn't know what days I could come into the lab or even if she had enough money for me to come in my usual three days a week.
I should've done something more, like package my Entertainment Weeklys, or mow the lawn. Instead, it was a "me" day -- go to Chipotle at the mall, go to the local comic book store and sneakread porn for an hour (I wanted to hit the latest Playboy before the next issue comes out either this or next Friday).
But tonight I forgot one thing: I need to plan an online payment for my credit card. I saw the amount I had to pay before when it came over the mail, but the amount, $299, kind of stopped me cold. And then I saw all the money I charged to my credit card since my last statement -- $350. This is not disciplined spending, nor disciplined living.
I've been battling revenues/expenses ever since the state cut my hours. I still am trying to maintain some expensive tastes, but covering the balance on my credit card every week is really what's killing me. Whatever money I'm taking in is immediately going out. I have no way of saving for emergencies. There's no way I'm gaining extra money to get the rear struts on my car changed like I should. And what happens when next year rolls around and I'm supposed to see my sister and brother-in-law in Tuscany?
So right now I feel like I did something wrong. Today I should've just stayed home and done my chores. Not only would that have saved me money, subconsciously I know that would make me feel like I'm "doing the right thing," and therefore not be "punished" by this exorbitant credit card charges.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Getting A Bad Memory Off Of My Chest
One of the things My Father wanted me to do over the summer was cut off branches from the big tree in our frontyard. It's getting huge and there are many branches that are starting to get quite close to the house. So, one day, he brings home this giant pole pruner and asks me to do it ... at some point.
I was reticent, for many reasons. First of all, obviously, this is a long fucking saw. I was able to prune the lilac bushes in the backyard because I was using a small pruning saw. This thing is longer than I am, at least six feet long. Moreover, I'd be cutting large branches (the dead ones, he emphasized) from a huge tree. I have no plan on how to cut them without them falling on me instead of the ground. And I have no glasses or hard hat to help me in case I screw up, which I knew I would. It was just dangerous. Finally, I think I know enough about pruning that you should wait until the tree begins shutting down its chloroform process before you start chopping pieces off of it. This isn't a lilac bush, whose blooms fall off fairly early into the spring. This is a full-fledged tree that won't shed its leaves until the fall; only then would I go prune its branches, plan or no plan.
Well, one weekend day I come home and see My Father toiling away at the tree, atop a ladder, pole pruner in hand. And I felt bad -- I didn't want to give the impression that I didn't want to do it, or that the chore he wanted me to do was stupid. I just had my own reasons not to do it, or at least not do it then. But I guess he didn't want to wait.
After thinking a bit inside, I felt guilty, so I helped My Father with picking up the branches that fell on the lawn. It looked like he didn't get hit with any of the debris he created with the pole pruner.
He didn't scold me for making him do something he thought I was going to do. And I don't think he's stored it in his head in order to get back at me for something completely unrelated that happened later. Maybe it didn't matter to him.
I'm glad about that. However, he did this about two months ago, right in the middle of summer, well into the tree's living season. Still think it wasn't a good idea to do it. I can see the tree dying because of the actions My Father took.
I was reticent, for many reasons. First of all, obviously, this is a long fucking saw. I was able to prune the lilac bushes in the backyard because I was using a small pruning saw. This thing is longer than I am, at least six feet long. Moreover, I'd be cutting large branches (the dead ones, he emphasized) from a huge tree. I have no plan on how to cut them without them falling on me instead of the ground. And I have no glasses or hard hat to help me in case I screw up, which I knew I would. It was just dangerous. Finally, I think I know enough about pruning that you should wait until the tree begins shutting down its chloroform process before you start chopping pieces off of it. This isn't a lilac bush, whose blooms fall off fairly early into the spring. This is a full-fledged tree that won't shed its leaves until the fall; only then would I go prune its branches, plan or no plan.
Well, one weekend day I come home and see My Father toiling away at the tree, atop a ladder, pole pruner in hand. And I felt bad -- I didn't want to give the impression that I didn't want to do it, or that the chore he wanted me to do was stupid. I just had my own reasons not to do it, or at least not do it then. But I guess he didn't want to wait.
After thinking a bit inside, I felt guilty, so I helped My Father with picking up the branches that fell on the lawn. It looked like he didn't get hit with any of the debris he created with the pole pruner.
He didn't scold me for making him do something he thought I was going to do. And I don't think he's stored it in his head in order to get back at me for something completely unrelated that happened later. Maybe it didn't matter to him.
I'm glad about that. However, he did this about two months ago, right in the middle of summer, well into the tree's living season. Still think it wasn't a good idea to do it. I can see the tree dying because of the actions My Father took.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
My Run-In With The Po-Po
It was going to happen at some point.
First of all, it's been awhile since I "spoke" to a police officer. I've cut down on my speeding in my old age, but I knew in the back of my mind I'd see them in that capacity again.
Also, it was inevitable that I get caught idling at the airport. I don't know how it's done anywhere else, but at MSP, people park their cars on the curb of the terminal all the time. It was a time-honored tradition that even 9/11 hasn't really stopped, even though we're now aware we're kind of breaking the law then.
We have two terminals here. They used to be called Humphrey and Lindbergh; now they're Terminal 1 and Terminal 2. They changed that because the names confused too many people. I think the numbers are more confusing. It hasn't stopped people from parking on the curb regardless of the names of the terminals because it's so convenient to pick up your pick-ups that way. It's worth getting caught rather than being proper about it an having a tired passenger walk a mile to a parking ramp with their luggage in tow.
It's kind of different with the much smaller Terminal 2; it's less crowded and more intimate, so you don't have the crowd to deal with. I've actually parked my car there for 20 minutes without a soul bothering me. However, I always feel that it gives any police in the area less ground to cover and more time to give any offender a ticket. It cuts both ways, but again, because it's so danged easy, I always park on the curb.
Well, last night I got caught. I thought I was going to be late, actually, because I had to gas up my parents' minivan. But Father called me about three minutes before I got to the airport, which I reached a bit past 11, which was when the flight was supposed to land. Because I thought everything was going to be OK, and because I thought my parents would be coming down the escalator at any point, I parked my car alongside the curb, went into the airport, and stood around, waiting for them.
And I waited for a long time. There were people coming down, possibly for another flight that came in at around the same time. But I didn't expect to wait for about 15 minutes. I looked outside ... and that's when I saw the flashing lights of a cop car. Shit!
I run outside. There was no mistake; the cop was outside looking at my car. Now, I have a huge problem dealing with authority, especially policemen. I remember a couple times being pulled over for speeding and the cops being assholes pulling a power trip on me. I will never forget how small and helpless they made me. Whatever I said, I learned that it wasn't any use. So to me, once I saw the cop looking at my car, and once he asked me for my license, I thought that was it: I'm getting a ticket for leaving my car on the curb. I got caught.
So my reaction, one borne of frustration and, I'll admit, a little immaturity, I throw my car keys on the ground. I'll be honest: If he's going to give me a ticket, why do I care about being civil? It didn't help when the other cops humiliated me while giving me speeding tickets.
"You don't have to throw your keys on the ground," the cop said.
Oh-oh. Could he give me a ticket for unsportsmanlike conduct, or some non-sports equivalent of that? "Frustration. I'm having a bad day," I blurted out in "defense."
"Pick up your keys. Pick up your keys," he repeated, calmly, after I gave him my license. In retrospect, he could've been a dick about it, but he didn't. Instead, after he cleared me, he needed to know about the car: "Now, show me the insurance for the car and I'll let you go."
OK. Now, where do my parents put the insurance? I opened up the passenger-side door and start looking everywhere. It wasn't in the glove compartment -- shit. Could it be hidden somewhere in the mirrors? Yes -- but there are, like, three of them, and I'll be damned, they're all expired. The latest one expired on the 28th.
I kid you not, I was there for five minutes looking for an up-to-date insurance card. I don't know how it looked to the other people trying to leave the terminal; hopefully they just swore at me under their breath and totally forgot about me once they took off. Meanwhile, I was thinking about my parents finally coming out and looking at this cop checking out their car. When were they coming, anyway?
Thankfully, after I gave up and decided to come out of the car, my parents were standing right there. Is everything OK, they basically said, to which I and the cop said we need to find the insurance. I didn't know the cop would take the one that expired on the 28th; he just had to go into his cop car and have it checked out. Parents were worried I got a ticket, and why I left the car turned off for so long. Beyong blurting out, "I don't know, why did you call me 15 minutes before actually coming out?" I didn't want to say anything that'll get me trouble with the policeman.
He got out of the car, tossed the insurance card Father's way, said, "OK," then went inside, as if he got a call to investigate something at the baggage carousel he was walking towards.
"That's it?" Father said.
"Yep," the cop replied, without breaking stride on his way inside, barely making eye contact.
And off we went, after waiting a bit for the cars to leave and open a path out. In the past, I could've gone on about it, thereby starting a blame game I subconsciously wanted, but I didn't. I hope that's a good thing.
Father did ask what happened before they got there. After I told him, he said that the cop was "crazy." Well, he wasn't. I had no ill intentions, of course, but to the policeman, he saw a car that was completely stopped and had no driver in or around it. He could've thought it was left there with bombs stored inside, kind of like Times Square.
He did the right thing, and I would've done exactly the same thing. Now, I still don't like the interaction with the cop, but he wouldn't have been doing his job if he didn't ask me for license and registration, and I would've bitched if I heard he didn't do to somebody else what he did to me last night.
I'm just glad I didn't get a ticket. I hope this doesn't happen the next time I park next to the curb at the airport.
First of all, it's been awhile since I "spoke" to a police officer. I've cut down on my speeding in my old age, but I knew in the back of my mind I'd see them in that capacity again.
Also, it was inevitable that I get caught idling at the airport. I don't know how it's done anywhere else, but at MSP, people park their cars on the curb of the terminal all the time. It was a time-honored tradition that even 9/11 hasn't really stopped, even though we're now aware we're kind of breaking the law then.
We have two terminals here. They used to be called Humphrey and Lindbergh; now they're Terminal 1 and Terminal 2. They changed that because the names confused too many people. I think the numbers are more confusing. It hasn't stopped people from parking on the curb regardless of the names of the terminals because it's so convenient to pick up your pick-ups that way. It's worth getting caught rather than being proper about it an having a tired passenger walk a mile to a parking ramp with their luggage in tow.
It's kind of different with the much smaller Terminal 2; it's less crowded and more intimate, so you don't have the crowd to deal with. I've actually parked my car there for 20 minutes without a soul bothering me. However, I always feel that it gives any police in the area less ground to cover and more time to give any offender a ticket. It cuts both ways, but again, because it's so danged easy, I always park on the curb.
Well, last night I got caught. I thought I was going to be late, actually, because I had to gas up my parents' minivan. But Father called me about three minutes before I got to the airport, which I reached a bit past 11, which was when the flight was supposed to land. Because I thought everything was going to be OK, and because I thought my parents would be coming down the escalator at any point, I parked my car alongside the curb, went into the airport, and stood around, waiting for them.
And I waited for a long time. There were people coming down, possibly for another flight that came in at around the same time. But I didn't expect to wait for about 15 minutes. I looked outside ... and that's when I saw the flashing lights of a cop car. Shit!
I run outside. There was no mistake; the cop was outside looking at my car. Now, I have a huge problem dealing with authority, especially policemen. I remember a couple times being pulled over for speeding and the cops being assholes pulling a power trip on me. I will never forget how small and helpless they made me. Whatever I said, I learned that it wasn't any use. So to me, once I saw the cop looking at my car, and once he asked me for my license, I thought that was it: I'm getting a ticket for leaving my car on the curb. I got caught.
So my reaction, one borne of frustration and, I'll admit, a little immaturity, I throw my car keys on the ground. I'll be honest: If he's going to give me a ticket, why do I care about being civil? It didn't help when the other cops humiliated me while giving me speeding tickets.
"You don't have to throw your keys on the ground," the cop said.
Oh-oh. Could he give me a ticket for unsportsmanlike conduct, or some non-sports equivalent of that? "Frustration. I'm having a bad day," I blurted out in "defense."
"Pick up your keys. Pick up your keys," he repeated, calmly, after I gave him my license. In retrospect, he could've been a dick about it, but he didn't. Instead, after he cleared me, he needed to know about the car: "Now, show me the insurance for the car and I'll let you go."
OK. Now, where do my parents put the insurance? I opened up the passenger-side door and start looking everywhere. It wasn't in the glove compartment -- shit. Could it be hidden somewhere in the mirrors? Yes -- but there are, like, three of them, and I'll be damned, they're all expired. The latest one expired on the 28th.
I kid you not, I was there for five minutes looking for an up-to-date insurance card. I don't know how it looked to the other people trying to leave the terminal; hopefully they just swore at me under their breath and totally forgot about me once they took off. Meanwhile, I was thinking about my parents finally coming out and looking at this cop checking out their car. When were they coming, anyway?
Thankfully, after I gave up and decided to come out of the car, my parents were standing right there. Is everything OK, they basically said, to which I and the cop said we need to find the insurance. I didn't know the cop would take the one that expired on the 28th; he just had to go into his cop car and have it checked out. Parents were worried I got a ticket, and why I left the car turned off for so long. Beyong blurting out, "I don't know, why did you call me 15 minutes before actually coming out?" I didn't want to say anything that'll get me trouble with the policeman.
He got out of the car, tossed the insurance card Father's way, said, "OK," then went inside, as if he got a call to investigate something at the baggage carousel he was walking towards.
"That's it?" Father said.
"Yep," the cop replied, without breaking stride on his way inside, barely making eye contact.
And off we went, after waiting a bit for the cars to leave and open a path out. In the past, I could've gone on about it, thereby starting a blame game I subconsciously wanted, but I didn't. I hope that's a good thing.
Father did ask what happened before they got there. After I told him, he said that the cop was "crazy." Well, he wasn't. I had no ill intentions, of course, but to the policeman, he saw a car that was completely stopped and had no driver in or around it. He could've thought it was left there with bombs stored inside, kind of like Times Square.
He did the right thing, and I would've done exactly the same thing. Now, I still don't like the interaction with the cop, but he wouldn't have been doing his job if he didn't ask me for license and registration, and I would've bitched if I heard he didn't do to somebody else what he did to me last night.
I'm just glad I didn't get a ticket. I hope this doesn't happen the next time I park next to the curb at the airport.
Monday, September 6, 2010
How Polishing My Parents' Car Worked Out
So I finally got around to erasing the scratch on my parents' minivan that I put on there backing out of the driveway two weeks ago. Overall, I think I did well enough. I succeeded in reaching the limited goals I set for myself, but I now believe that this is a task that I wouldn't do for others unless I got paid for it.
Fixing scratches is a pain in the ass. This site by Popular Mechanics seems to be the be-all and end-all -- I mean, it's Popular Mechanics! If you can't trust them, who can you trust?
But looking through other sites, I really didn't understand what the site recommended I should do to remove the scratch. I got the sandpaper. What I didn't know is that you don't just wax and polish. Oh no! First you use a rubbing compound, and then you use a polishing compound, and then you use a swirl remover, and then you wax it. Shit man, before researching all of this I thought polishing and waxing were the same thing.
What else I didn't know? Chances are the scratch really isn't a scratch. There's a possibility what I saw didn't go through the paint, but the layer above it, the clearcoat. That coat makes the car shiny and, I guess, protects the paint from scratching. If that's the case, the job is a lot easier. If the scratch goes through the paint ... well, I'm not going to know that until I sandpaper.
So after work yesterday I went to get the minivan washed and bought the last few items to complete this project -- the polishing compound, the anti-swirl shit, and black shoe polish. Some of the sites I saw recommend you put shoe polish in the scratch so that you know when to stopsandpapering. I didn't quite understand it, and when I began, I totally forgot about it. But since I paid three-and-a-half bucks for it, I thought I might as well use it.
So I went to the other side of my car and took out the shoe polish. And it was tough to dab it onto the scratches, so I just put it around the scratches, which were on the driver's-side door and the driver's side power door. Then, I sand paper. And unlike what I saw online, the shoe polish doesn't come off. I did all I could withthe sandpaper, but it still wouldn't fucking come off.
After a half-hour I steppd back and saw all these black streaks on my parents' minivan. I panicked. How the hell am I going to get all this shit off the car? And if I can't, how am I going to explain this to my parents? But I dropped the sandpaper and just decided to remove the shoe polish with one of those non-scratch micro-fiber rags they told me to buy. Polishing and waxing be damned, I needed this shit off the car. And I finally did -- and, surprisingly, quickly.
The repeated polishings and glazing and waxing, however ... although I got done with everything in less than 90 minutes, I was slowly losing my mind with crouching over and treating something that was at shin-level. It didn't help that I was in flip-flops, nor did it help that I got stung by mosquitos on my right temple and my right foot.
I still don't know if I did it right. The instructions say you should let the compound dry to a haze. What does a haze look like? It also says that you should apply the compound with one towel, remove any excess compund with another towel, then dry it all off, presumably with a third towel. I don't have a dozen towels. I had five and I was reusing them all at the end, and I don't know if I just fucked up the minivan because of that.
When I was done, the scratch was mostly gone. However, I could see a deep depression at the end of the scratch still there, indicating that when I hit it with my car, and I was running into it, hence the deeper scratch. So I really do have to paint that part over -- with primer and clearcoat, too. At least I know that.
However, the buffing didn't go so well. I took a step back and saw nothing reflected back on me in the place I was doing all the work. It's scary to walk around the car and see my reflection all the way through until I get to the spots I was waxing and see a huge smudge. I run my hands over the body of the car; it's rough at the places I didn't work on, yet it's quite smooth to the touch at the places where there's no face staring back at me. Is it the shoe polish? Don't know what else to do except polish and wax again, and I might do so when my parents are gone in, say, Thanksgiving.
Hopefully they won't notice that the reflective clearcoat stops at the driver's-side doors. Don't know what I could say if thye do.
In short, most of the scratches are gone, and what is left I think I know what to do to fix it. The waxing to the point where I can see myself staring back at me is something I don't get, but maybe it won't matter.
Fixing scratches is a pain in the ass. This site by Popular Mechanics seems to be the be-all and end-all -- I mean, it's Popular Mechanics! If you can't trust them, who can you trust?
But looking through other sites, I really didn't understand what the site recommended I should do to remove the scratch. I got the sandpaper. What I didn't know is that you don't just wax and polish. Oh no! First you use a rubbing compound, and then you use a polishing compound, and then you use a swirl remover, and then you wax it. Shit man, before researching all of this I thought polishing and waxing were the same thing.
What else I didn't know? Chances are the scratch really isn't a scratch. There's a possibility what I saw didn't go through the paint, but the layer above it, the clearcoat. That coat makes the car shiny and, I guess, protects the paint from scratching. If that's the case, the job is a lot easier. If the scratch goes through the paint ... well, I'm not going to know that until I sandpaper.
So after work yesterday I went to get the minivan washed and bought the last few items to complete this project -- the polishing compound, the anti-swirl shit, and black shoe polish. Some of the sites I saw recommend you put shoe polish in the scratch so that you know when to stopsandpapering. I didn't quite understand it, and when I began, I totally forgot about it. But since I paid three-and-a-half bucks for it, I thought I might as well use it.
So I went to the other side of my car and took out the shoe polish. And it was tough to dab it onto the scratches, so I just put it around the scratches, which were on the driver's-side door and the driver's side power door. Then, I sand paper. And unlike what I saw online, the shoe polish doesn't come off. I did all I could withthe sandpaper, but it still wouldn't fucking come off.
After a half-hour I steppd back and saw all these black streaks on my parents' minivan. I panicked. How the hell am I going to get all this shit off the car? And if I can't, how am I going to explain this to my parents? But I dropped the sandpaper and just decided to remove the shoe polish with one of those non-scratch micro-fiber rags they told me to buy. Polishing and waxing be damned, I needed this shit off the car. And I finally did -- and, surprisingly, quickly.
The repeated polishings and glazing and waxing, however ... although I got done with everything in less than 90 minutes, I was slowly losing my mind with crouching over and treating something that was at shin-level. It didn't help that I was in flip-flops, nor did it help that I got stung by mosquitos on my right temple and my right foot.
I still don't know if I did it right. The instructions say you should let the compound dry to a haze. What does a haze look like? It also says that you should apply the compound with one towel, remove any excess compund with another towel, then dry it all off, presumably with a third towel. I don't have a dozen towels. I had five and I was reusing them all at the end, and I don't know if I just fucked up the minivan because of that.
When I was done, the scratch was mostly gone. However, I could see a deep depression at the end of the scratch still there, indicating that when I hit it with my car, and I was running into it, hence the deeper scratch. So I really do have to paint that part over -- with primer and clearcoat, too. At least I know that.
However, the buffing didn't go so well. I took a step back and saw nothing reflected back on me in the place I was doing all the work. It's scary to walk around the car and see my reflection all the way through until I get to the spots I was waxing and see a huge smudge. I run my hands over the body of the car; it's rough at the places I didn't work on, yet it's quite smooth to the touch at the places where there's no face staring back at me. Is it the shoe polish? Don't know what else to do except polish and wax again, and I might do so when my parents are gone in, say, Thanksgiving.
Hopefully they won't notice that the reflective clearcoat stops at the driver's-side doors. Don't know what I could say if thye do.
In short, most of the scratches are gone, and what is left I think I know what to do to fix it. The waxing to the point where I can see myself staring back at me is something I don't get, but maybe it won't matter.
Sunday, September 5, 2010
I finally founded the videoclip I was talking about in my last post (which is, by the way, quite NSFW). I was editing it to include the link to the videoclip.
Right now I'm doing all this at my favorite coffeeshop. As I was testing the link in my blog post, the coffee girl came upstairs. Worse yet, I tried to switch to another page, but it got stuck. It eventually did just before she could've seen my screen. I think.
Did she see it? Is she pissed? Does she now know I'm a perv?
Right now I'm doing all this at my favorite coffeeshop. As I was testing the link in my blog post, the coffee girl came upstairs. Worse yet, I tried to switch to another page, but it got stuck. It eventually did just before she could've seen my screen. I think.
Did she see it? Is she pissed? Does she now know I'm a perv?
What I've noticed lately is that I no longer unbutton my button shirts. I guess I've gotten tired of taking time off to do them all. What I've done instead is unbutton my top and bottom buttons, then pull it off over my head. Much easier and quicker that way.
I know exactly where I got the idea from. Thank you, MILF Hunter, who long ago did that as he and his "friend" were preparing to double-team "Sharin" (really Sharon) Wild, a beautiful blonde Czech. Why didn't I think of that?, is what I thought. No need to fuck around with buttons if you want to get naked quickly. So I've adopted it ... for reasons besides fucking a chick, because that'll never happen.
Will I grow out of this? It seems like such a no-brainer now.
I know exactly where I got the idea from. Thank you, MILF Hunter, who long ago did that as he and his "friend" were preparing to double-team "Sharin" (really Sharon) Wild, a beautiful blonde Czech. Why didn't I think of that?, is what I thought. No need to fuck around with buttons if you want to get naked quickly. So I've adopted it ... for reasons besides fucking a chick, because that'll never happen.
Will I grow out of this? It seems like such a no-brainer now.
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Two Breaks From My Routine Because I'm Cheap
For the first time in a long time, I ate something other than wings at Hooters the evening before I go stripclubbin'. I just didn't feel like eating wings, so I opted for something very slightly cheaper: A hot dog with all the works, with a small cup of potato salad on the side. I was thinking to myself, "Why am I buying a hot dog for seven bucks when I can eat it at home for a lot cheaper?" But, I had popcorn at the theater before, and I don't know about the way the theater in your neighborhood does it, but a regular size of popcorn is huge. Fucking huge.
I could've downed a pile of 10 wings after gorging my mouth with popcorn, but there was another thing besides eating too much: A time crunch going to the stripclub afterward. I knew I wasn't going to devour wings, and if I'm so not willing to eat it in a timely manner, I'll be staying a lot past what I should. But a hot go? Everybody likes a hot dog! So I ate it.
Was it good? Well, it was a hot dog, so yes. But, the hot dog was a lot smaller than the bun it came in, and the relish wasn't spread on, but in the form of an individual packet. Classy, Hooters, classy. Well, at least my bill was a buck less than it would have been if I had ordered wings. Eating too much, time crunch, cheaper -- three reasons why I switched it up at Hooters this time around.
---
Money was also a big factor in how I spent my time and money at the King of Diamonds, the strip club I went to after Hooters. I get eight or ten dances from my All-Time Favorite after I ride the tip rails.
This time, however, was different. She wasn't busy, like she usually is. Instead, she was talking to one of the other strippers. It was close to the entrance of the club, so it wouldn't've been logical to just avoid her. We said hi and, to make sure I didn't lose her to another guy for the night, I switched it up and got private tables from her first, planning on getting one more dance for the road right when I leave.
After spending $100 on her, I go to the rail. I'm there for a while, giving a dollar to every stripper. However, after some time, there's a mix-up in the rotation of dancers. For two consecutive stage sets there was no one on-stage. This place is notorious for girls dancing late, but they had at least showed up eventually. Seeing not one but two no-shows was a sign for me that I should not wait until I gave tips to all the girls working that night and just sit away from the rail.
That's where the girls started to hustle me, dammit. There are some nice ones, but for the first time in a long time at the KoD I said no to a couple. I did say yes to a black chick who could flex her titties, but although she was sexy as fuck, I found her to be a little false. Plus, I like to ask questions to get to know a stripper, and she didn't like that.
Meanwhile, I didn't feel like getting a beer at the KoD because I already got one at Hooters, and tonight, that was enough. Usually I get one at Hooters and one at the club, but I had more than enough beer for one night -- and besides, pop is cheaper. The Coke/Pepsi that I had tonight was so refreshing. (But like Hooters, they were stingy; it was mostly ice, and after several big gulps I pretty much emptied the glass.)
Unfortunately, not only were the girls hustling in my seat away from the rails, the waitress was, too. If I had just sat alongside the stage, the waitress wouldn't've bothered to fight through the customers to get to me. But I was in sight for this girl, and she asked me if I wanted another drink. I said yes -- but only to a Sprite. And I slammed what little beverage there was very, very quickly.
My ATF was close by but preoccupied, so I decided to cut my losses and say goodbye to her while she was dancing with another guy and leave. I do that, then go to the bathroom, and then hear the song is ending. I leave the restroom to see just one more time if she's free ... and as luck would have it, the guy was done getting dances with her. So I quickly swoop in, take back my quick goodbye and have that one dance for the road before saying farewell good and proper.
The only problem? I didn't spend as little as I decided I would midway through my time in the club. Now I keep wondering whether the $200 I got tonight will last me through the long weekend.
I could've downed a pile of 10 wings after gorging my mouth with popcorn, but there was another thing besides eating too much: A time crunch going to the stripclub afterward. I knew I wasn't going to devour wings, and if I'm so not willing to eat it in a timely manner, I'll be staying a lot past what I should. But a hot go? Everybody likes a hot dog! So I ate it.
Was it good? Well, it was a hot dog, so yes. But, the hot dog was a lot smaller than the bun it came in, and the relish wasn't spread on, but in the form of an individual packet. Classy, Hooters, classy. Well, at least my bill was a buck less than it would have been if I had ordered wings. Eating too much, time crunch, cheaper -- three reasons why I switched it up at Hooters this time around.
---
Money was also a big factor in how I spent my time and money at the King of Diamonds, the strip club I went to after Hooters. I get eight or ten dances from my All-Time Favorite after I ride the tip rails.
This time, however, was different. She wasn't busy, like she usually is. Instead, she was talking to one of the other strippers. It was close to the entrance of the club, so it wouldn't've been logical to just avoid her. We said hi and, to make sure I didn't lose her to another guy for the night, I switched it up and got private tables from her first, planning on getting one more dance for the road right when I leave.
After spending $100 on her, I go to the rail. I'm there for a while, giving a dollar to every stripper. However, after some time, there's a mix-up in the rotation of dancers. For two consecutive stage sets there was no one on-stage. This place is notorious for girls dancing late, but they had at least showed up eventually. Seeing not one but two no-shows was a sign for me that I should not wait until I gave tips to all the girls working that night and just sit away from the rail.
That's where the girls started to hustle me, dammit. There are some nice ones, but for the first time in a long time at the KoD I said no to a couple. I did say yes to a black chick who could flex her titties, but although she was sexy as fuck, I found her to be a little false. Plus, I like to ask questions to get to know a stripper, and she didn't like that.
Meanwhile, I didn't feel like getting a beer at the KoD because I already got one at Hooters, and tonight, that was enough. Usually I get one at Hooters and one at the club, but I had more than enough beer for one night -- and besides, pop is cheaper. The Coke/Pepsi that I had tonight was so refreshing. (But like Hooters, they were stingy; it was mostly ice, and after several big gulps I pretty much emptied the glass.)
Unfortunately, not only were the girls hustling in my seat away from the rails, the waitress was, too. If I had just sat alongside the stage, the waitress wouldn't've bothered to fight through the customers to get to me. But I was in sight for this girl, and she asked me if I wanted another drink. I said yes -- but only to a Sprite. And I slammed what little beverage there was very, very quickly.
My ATF was close by but preoccupied, so I decided to cut my losses and say goodbye to her while she was dancing with another guy and leave. I do that, then go to the bathroom, and then hear the song is ending. I leave the restroom to see just one more time if she's free ... and as luck would have it, the guy was done getting dances with her. So I quickly swoop in, take back my quick goodbye and have that one dance for the road before saying farewell good and proper.
The only problem? I didn't spend as little as I decided I would midway through my time in the club. Now I keep wondering whether the $200 I got tonight will last me through the long weekend.
Friday, September 3, 2010
The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey
#-1: Gopher volleyball (Re-Entry!). It's almost like it was divined from a Creator: With the passing of the Lynx's season, the University of Minnesota football and volleyball seasons start the very next week, meaning the Twins are never going to be alone in a WMNSS. In fact, at least for this week, the Twinks are pushed down to the bottom of the list, overthrown because both programs went undefeated for the week. Since the volleyballers won three games to the gridiron team's one, I give the girls the top slot.
Their wins were much more impressive, too -- three complete 3-0 whitewashes of the three guests in their Golden Gopher Invite at the Sports Pavilion last weekend, Denver, Stony Brook and, presumably the marquee visitor of the tournament, Marquette. So far they are living up to their billing as one of the most loaded young teams in the sport, led by player of the year (and Minnesota native) Ashley Wittman. Wittman grabbed Big Ten Freshman Of The Week plaudits for her work over the weekend. Meanwhile, Tabi (it's not Tabitha anymore?) Love was Big Ten Player Of The Week (overall, presumably) in the weekend sweep.
The Gophs will have to fight through adversity, however, since Final Four All-Tournament Team Member Hailey Cowles tore her left ACL a couple weeks ago and is out for the year. With the way the team was rolling last weekend, they may be able to cope without her. The eighth-ranked team (which dropped from sixth in the preseason poll the week before for some odd damn reason) host their second straight tourney at the Pav, the much more well-known (and well-sponsored) Diet Coke Classic, where they play, tonight and tomorrow, three very good teams: Baylor, Northern Iowa, and Dayton. Only Baylor isn't ranked in the AVCA Top 25, and the Lady Bears are close.
#-2: Gopher football (Re-Entry!). It was tough, but no one say it wouldn't be: Middle Tennessee St. was favored before the Blue Raiders' starting QB was suspended for this game for borrowing $1,500 from some old dude living at the VA for poker. And they still almost beat the Gophs; however, a touchdown by Fullback Jon Hoese and a fumble recovery on the ensuing kickoff sealed a gritty 24-17 win.
Fans might be embarrassed that the score was so close; I say that this is the Gophers, and therefore any close win shouldn't be disregarded as a sign the program blows. MTSU did go 10-3, even against shitty opponents; Minnesota finished 6-7. They could have -- maybe should have -- lost this game.
The gridders should be able to avoid the cellar again next week: They play their annual Division I-AA patsy next week, South Dakota, to open the schedule at TCF Bank Stadium. It'll be the first of four straight home games, something I have never seen. Some momentum would be nice.
#-3: Twins (Last Week: -1). It's not as if they played bad this week -- 4-2 is pretty good. It's just that the Twinkies are the only one of the three teams tracked by the WMNSS to lose, and since wins and losses are pretty much the criteria for ranking, they wind up at the bottom for this week.
It does help that both losses were by just a run, including Thursday (last) night's 10-9, 13-inning agony-fest to Detroit. It's also interesting to not that all three games in their series with the Tigers were all decided by a run. However, winning two of three from Detroit basically ends their season. (They also won their series against Seattle over the past weekend.)
I flit from problem to problem, and this week I'm convinced that the Twins' fielding will be their undoing. It could be something else -- such as the bullpen, what with the way Randy Flores and Matt Guerrier gave away the lead -- next week. Stay tuned.
They finish up their homestand this week with a weekend series with the Bastard Washington Senators v.2.0 then a trio with Kansas City.
Their wins were much more impressive, too -- three complete 3-0 whitewashes of the three guests in their Golden Gopher Invite at the Sports Pavilion last weekend, Denver, Stony Brook and, presumably the marquee visitor of the tournament, Marquette. So far they are living up to their billing as one of the most loaded young teams in the sport, led by player of the year (and Minnesota native) Ashley Wittman. Wittman grabbed Big Ten Freshman Of The Week plaudits for her work over the weekend. Meanwhile, Tabi (it's not Tabitha anymore?) Love was Big Ten Player Of The Week (overall, presumably) in the weekend sweep.
The Gophs will have to fight through adversity, however, since Final Four All-Tournament Team Member Hailey Cowles tore her left ACL a couple weeks ago and is out for the year. With the way the team was rolling last weekend, they may be able to cope without her. The eighth-ranked team (which dropped from sixth in the preseason poll the week before for some odd damn reason) host their second straight tourney at the Pav, the much more well-known (and well-sponsored) Diet Coke Classic, where they play, tonight and tomorrow, three very good teams: Baylor, Northern Iowa, and Dayton. Only Baylor isn't ranked in the AVCA Top 25, and the Lady Bears are close.
#-2: Gopher football (Re-Entry!). It was tough, but no one say it wouldn't be: Middle Tennessee St. was favored before the Blue Raiders' starting QB was suspended for this game for borrowing $1,500 from some old dude living at the VA for poker. And they still almost beat the Gophs; however, a touchdown by Fullback Jon Hoese and a fumble recovery on the ensuing kickoff sealed a gritty 24-17 win.
Fans might be embarrassed that the score was so close; I say that this is the Gophers, and therefore any close win shouldn't be disregarded as a sign the program blows. MTSU did go 10-3, even against shitty opponents; Minnesota finished 6-7. They could have -- maybe should have -- lost this game.
The gridders should be able to avoid the cellar again next week: They play their annual Division I-AA patsy next week, South Dakota, to open the schedule at TCF Bank Stadium. It'll be the first of four straight home games, something I have never seen. Some momentum would be nice.
#-3: Twins (Last Week: -1). It's not as if they played bad this week -- 4-2 is pretty good. It's just that the Twinkies are the only one of the three teams tracked by the WMNSS to lose, and since wins and losses are pretty much the criteria for ranking, they wind up at the bottom for this week.
It does help that both losses were by just a run, including Thursday (last) night's 10-9, 13-inning agony-fest to Detroit. It's also interesting to not that all three games in their series with the Tigers were all decided by a run. However, winning two of three from Detroit basically ends their season. (They also won their series against Seattle over the past weekend.)
I flit from problem to problem, and this week I'm convinced that the Twins' fielding will be their undoing. It could be something else -- such as the bullpen, what with the way Randy Flores and Matt Guerrier gave away the lead -- next week. Stay tuned.
They finish up their homestand this week with a weekend series with the Bastard Washington Senators v.2.0 then a trio with Kansas City.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
My Laptop Is Breaking Down
I was afraid of this; I use my laptop so often I'm just waiting for the day when it breaks down. I once thought my Internet connection would be the thing that does it in, but now I'm confronted with as great, and a more innocuous, problem: the "r" key won't depress as cleanly as the others. I don't know if there's something stuck under it or if one of the underpinnings is broken or something. What I know is this is one of those little annoyances that will drive me crazy over time.
I mean, you don't know how many times I've had to hit the "r" key twice when writing this. And now I have to hit that key a little harder than all the others. That extra pressure adds up over the course of typing and blogging for hours on end. Maybe I should just leave it out of my posts fom now on. I mean, fuck it if it's not going to coopeate, you know?
I mean, you don't know how many times I've had to hit the "r" key twice when writing this. And now I have to hit that key a little harder than all the others. That extra pressure adds up over the course of typing and blogging for hours on end. Maybe I should just leave it out of my posts fom now on. I mean, fuck it if it's not going to coopeate, you know?
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Fuckin' Hate Mosquitos
Goddamn. I just wanted to sprinkle the backyard. And like every single time I've ventured back there, the goddamn mosquitos swarm me like I'm Hannibal Lecter.
I think I have at least a half-dozen skeeter bites on my legs and arms. That rivals the number that lit on me when I was eating ice cream outside. Fuckin' hate it. I want to take a nap and now I'll be itching the whole fucking time.
I think I have at least a half-dozen skeeter bites on my legs and arms. That rivals the number that lit on me when I was eating ice cream outside. Fuckin' hate it. I want to take a nap and now I'll be itching the whole fucking time.
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