The Rush Job

OK, so this is the fourth time I've had ***e* come over to clean my house before my parents come back from vacation so they don't hammer me for not cleaning the house while I'm gone.  This time I was able to keep her price for cleaning my house and then "giving me a dance" (one of the most useless euphemisms I've ever heard, but hey, it's for a handjob) to the $120 we had agreed to before she started bringing other girls in to help with the house and with me.  But the reason for that probably was she was doing it alone.

I don't know if someone fell through, she couldn't find someone, or if, from what I gather, she needed the money and decided to not split the money I'm spending on another girl.  There also was the fact that I kind of complained about the job ***e* and *******y (which is her stripper name, and I just realized it when I opened up the page to the blog post about the last time I had the house cleaned ... for the record, her real name is *******e), and I think she thought *******y/*******e didn't do her part of the job.

Honestly, however, I wasn't really happy about the job ***e* did this week either.  One of my huge complaints about the time before was that they gave me the feeling they needed to immediately go somewhere after they were done with the house and me.  That isn't good all around; the house doesn't get done to my satisfaction, and then I feel like I have to ejaculate when I'm not ready or in the mood.

In response I asked ***e* to slow down when she came by, and at first I was happy with the cleaning.  She was pretty good with my bathroom, she did a very thorough job with the master bathroom downstairs (which they completely missed the last time) and she tackled the massive job of cleaning the basement floor.

But seeing her at work in the now four times she's been here, I'm getting the feeling that working slow is something she just can't or won't do.  This time around was complicated by yet another thing: She apparently has this new roommate who needed a ride from his one job to his next, and there was a possibility that she would have to go in the middle of cleaning to give this guy a ride.  She promised she would be back, however, and I had -- and really have -- no reason not to believe her.

However, she continued to go faster in her cleaning, and her results showed that she started missing some stuff I asked her to do.  Meanwhile this guy wasn't exactly calling when I thought he would.  Finally, ***e* called him, apparently he said he could wait a bit, and according to her she was done enough with the house where she told me it was sexytime, and then she was done.  Huh?!

Oh yeah, I guess I should have mentioned earlier that I was naked the whole time.  I do that just to be a pervert, and I guess it made the sexual activity we did quicker.  But I don't know if I could see this HJ was "fun," even beyond the fact she didn't strip me.  Everything was so ... rushed.  I told ***e* to take her time, but she really didn't the whole 90 minutes she was there.  So, well, no, ***e*, I didn't tell you when I came.  Surprise!  That was the highlight of the night for me.  (And she was going to charge me extra for springing my semen on her like that, too, and I definitely would not like that.)

So after I kissed her and she took off light a bat out of hell, I took inventory to see what she missed this time.  I asked her to do the blinds and she did a half-assed job with them; I saw that she took a rag to most of them but she did it for, like, five minutes, and I think she missed the one in the downstairs bathroom.  I wanted her to clean my bedroom, but besides the floor she left it untouched (and after failing to smell for ammonia, I'm not even sure she mopped it).  There was one very big cobweb at the top step that I took down.  And she missed the floor underneath the piano.  She did wipe the furniture like I asked, but I suspect she went over each piece of furniture for, like, five seconds.

Don't get me wrong, the house is clean, or at least cleaner than before.  Well, at least there's the clean smell hanging over the air.  But it was still disappointing that ***e* didn't give me the time I wanted, and she still didn't do the job (either job) to my satisfaction.  I can't just have the house dirty the next time my parents come back from a long vacation, but I don't know if I can go through with this again.

I Am An Uncle Now

I have a nephew through marriage; my brother married a wonderful, smart, nice, beautiful woman who has a grown-up son from a previous relationship.  (Haven't spoken to him much, but he seems really nice and cool.)  But in the fall, before my parents took a vacation or a cruise or a trip or something, we had dinner at their place.  I kind of had the feeling that one of these dinners they were going to drop a bomb; otherwise, why have dinner?  And so finally they made their announcement -- after we ate, he took out ultrasound pictures of this fetus in my sister-in-law's womb.  There's going to be a new addition to the family!

She was born a couple months ago ... but she wasn't supposed to.  They told me she was going to be born in May, but she came out about three weeks early.  So she spent a lot of time in the NICU, where I think it was a little more touch-and-go than my brother let on.  But after a couple weeks she was able to come home.

The first time I saw her I heard her.  My parents told me that my bro and sis-in-law were going to a party and were going to leave her with my folks.  It was a Saturday, so I drove out to find something to do.  In the late afternoon I came back to the loud sounds of her screaming.

I walked up the stairs to see my parents tending to my niece -- well, Mother was holding her while Father was looking on -- and despite all their best efforts, they couldn't quiet her.  I never saw them take care of my sister, so maybe they have no experience taking care of babies.  OK, cheap shot.

They (well, Mother) finally got her to quiet down, but while she got quiet, Mother got really fussy about the clothes she was wearing.  She finally decided that she was crying not because she's a baby, but because her clothes were suffocating her.  Or something.  So she bolted to get new clothes for her brand new granddaughter at Kohl's or some other place, leaving Father and I -- two bumbling men -- to take care of her in case she acts up.  Thank Buddha she really didn't.  I couldn't imagine either one of us holding her in order to gentle her down.  We'd probably drop her.

The only time I deigned to get close to her (for fear of dropping her or, not to sound too paranoid, giving her a cold or the flu or some virus -- I mean, she was still in a weakened state, I think) was when Mother was cradling her in her arms again and told me to put her hat on her head.  I did with as little contact with her skin as possible.

When I saw my sister for the first time it was when I went down to the master bathroom to ask my parents for something.  Father opened the door and told me to come in and meet my new sibling.  My sister was nestled against the wall (where I sometimes dig for their porn, but that's another blog post).  She was extremely tiny, wrinkled -- and very, very dark.  I really thought that this living being I was seeing before me was black.  Swear to God my sister had dark skin, and somehow it -- oh, this is gonna sound so racist -- cleared up over time.  My new niece was not that dark, but she was several shades, uh, shadier than us, although she also has lightened over time.

She fussed up once after Mother came home, threw away the old clothes (I wonder if her parents got pissed, because I would -- she's her granddaughter, but she's got a Mom) and put on brand new ones, and despite her daunting first impression, the few times I've seen her she's been quite sanguine.  Her days in intensive care seem to be behind her; she's getting bigger and heavier and, well, healthier.

Now I wonder how it's going to be seeing her grow.  I officially do have a nephew, or at least a step-nephew, if there is such a term.  But not to de-legitimize his existence, my niece makes it official that there is a newer generation behind us now.  We aren't kids anymore, but the birth of my niece means we definitely are not kids anymore.  I can feel us being pushed towards the edge of the cliff called Death now.

Will this change me?  Initially I thought how it could not change me -- and I was looking forward to it, too.  I hear all the time about how someone's life changes for the better once they have a child.  I thought it would be the same for me even if it wasn't mine.  Yeah, I get to be the cool uncle, the one who always takes her to the fun places, and whenever she acts up or if I get overwhelmed taking care of her, I can always take her back to her parents!  And to make sure I'm not an embarrassment I'll finally get that steady job my parents have been hounding me to find!!  Hell, I even thought that eventually I would give up -- gulp -- going to stripclubs now that I have a female that is going to look up to me!!!

But upon further reflection ... uh, do you know that I'm still living with my folks?  I'm a stubborn SOB, and despite me getting steady work (even if I have to go from job to job) I can safely say my life has not changed.  And I've realized that I only see my niece for family functions.  I don't think my relationship with my brother has changed to the point where I feel I can just drop by just to see the baby.  And if that's the case, sadly she'll be out of sight, out of mind.  Besides, I like who I am right now -- schlubby, angry, underachieving old me.

Nevertheless, the fact that I am an uncle still blows me away.  Despite my fantasies I am not uncle material.  To be honest with you, I don't think my brother is father material.  I was absolutely shocked to find out they were having a baby, and even more so when my sister later told me that it was his idea to have her.  Given our tumultuous upbringing I am kind of scared that we don't have the example of good parenting that'll ensure she'll have a safe and happy childhood.  Regardless of success or failure, though, she's here, and it's our job not to screw this up.  Hey, maybe trying to fulfill that mission will make me become a better man.  Who knows?

So yeah, that's my story about my niece being born and how I feel about it.

Beautiful Radio Silence

OK, I'll be honest: My parents have been away on vacation for about a week-and-a-half.  With the exception of an e-mail I just checked out from presumably Mother about an hour ago, I have not been in contact with them, at all, since I took them to the airport -- not even a "We are here safe."

And you know what?  I have been extraordinarily happy.  No worrying about whether Father's going to come down on me if he thinks I didn't clean the house enough, or Mother asking some stupid question of why some thing's on her laptop and she wants it gone, NOW!!!  Them not being here means no nagging from either parental unit.  And the resulting silence has been bliss, pure bliss.

Since they were in Europe their opportunities to communicate with me have been few and far between.  We were in touch the last time they went across the pond, but the guess here is that since there were no incidents then, they didn't feel the need to get to a hotel with wi-fi in order to Skype me.  Wait, just realized: I don't have Skype on my computer, and the only one of their laps with Skype is in Las Vegas.

Oh, so that's why they wanted me to download these applications Viber and Tango -- so they could keep in touch with me in case a weird bill comes in or something.  I'm still not quite sure what they do because I was never able to use them successfully.  I'd wake up in the morning and I'd see on my smartphone that Mother called me using either app, and I guess I slept through my phone ringing.  Then I'd try to call back through Viber or Tango (I think they're interchangeable) and she wouldn't pick up.  Couldn't she text through either app?  Don't know because I never saw one.

So we haven't spoken to each other in over a week.  Oh, shucky darn.  Guess we'll catch up now.  I might ask them how their trip went.  And then I may or may not tell them that I was indeed able to eat all the leftovers Mother left for me, or that I had my ATF ***e* come over Wednesday evening in order to clean the house (halfassedly, again) before giving me a handjob.  I then may or may not volunteer that I took in the new Planet of the Apes movie late Tuesday night, or that I stayed up surfing the Internet with the TV cranked up loud in the dining room, things I wouldn't dream of doing if they were home.  And then I probably won't tell them that I loved being home alone because I don't like talking to them.  No, I definitely won't tell them that.  I won't have to; they probably know that already and were thinking that while they were in Europe -- "Eh, leave him alone, he doesn't want to talk to us."

Now, will that mean they believe they have a right to make up for all of the silence between us and begin to assail me with questions as soon as I pick them up this (Wednesday) evening?  Will they pick a fight with me -- say the house is not clean enough, or ask me why I didn't pay their bills for them?  Or will we just be able to get back to living as one family unit without resorting to getting on each other's nerves?

(sigh) I will miss having the house all to myself.

The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey

#-1: Twins (Last Week: -1).  Amazing how the perception of a team changes when it goes into an extended break winning four-of-five.  Sure, the Twinks are several games below .500, but when you go on this hot streak on the road, win a series (and a four-game series at that) in Seattle for the first time in seven or eight years, then take two-of-three from Colorado, whom one commenter on a sports blog I frequent said had "the worst ownership no one knows about," you have to give them credit.

Now, to be realistic, they are only a few (maybe several?) wins ahead of last year's pace.  Is it significant improvement?  No.  But it sure beats the alternative of being a few wins behind.  Neither the lineup nor the starting rotation shows signs of improving, Miguel Sano is still gone for the year, and Byron Buxton was banged up earlier this year and therefore probably won't be rushed anywhere close to the big leagues this year.  So it's up to these guys to look inwards and see if they have anything new to bring to the table.

Now comes what possibly is the other shoe to drop: Life After The All-Star Game.  Attendance at Target Field has been dwindling ever since the club went into the shitter three years ago.  I fear that a lot of season ticket-holders kept giving them their hard-earned cash to gain priority for the ASG, which was last (Tuesday) night.  But now that it's over, they have no incentive to renew.  The squad knew they had to show some improvement or hope for the future to have any chance of retaining any of those people with one foot off the bandwagon.  I don't know if a sub-.500 club with their two best prospects being a least a year away from the majors qualifies.  Translation: Expect to see fire sales from scalpers starting this weekend, and a precipitous drop in season ticket renewals the start of next year.  These are frightening times to be a Twink, and deservedly so.

But hey, at least the American League won the game!  And even better, in a perfect storybook finish, the closing battery for the Twinks, Glen Perkins to Kurt Suzuki, finished the ninth inning to complete the Amer. League's 5-3 victory!!  Congrats to the organization for giving the A.L. home-field advantage for the World Series, a series the Twinks won't even come close to reaching!!!

Major League Baseball needed nine days to set up All-Star Game regalia in The Bullseye, but only two days to tear everything down?  Guess it would be faster; after all, you're just striking shit down and you can throw that anywhere.  But wouldn't it make more sense to give a stadium a week before and a week after the ASG?  You know, just to let things breathe a little there?  Instead the Twins immediately begin a ten-game homestand this weekend against the Tampa Bay Rays, then host Cleveland for three games starting on Monday.

Scary Weird Woman In The Neighborhood

So Saturday evening, as I was driving to the stripclub out of town, I saw this big, beautiful dog trundle off of the side street.  I slow down, just in case.  Then I see the owner/handler catch up to it ... then fall, almost on top of the dog, into one of the rather large ... well, I wouldn't say potholes but the cracks in the pavement.  Worse yet, we had a small but pretty intense outburst of rain that afternoon, so she stepped into not just a puddle but a, well, quickly-made pool.  I have never seen that before.

What happened next gave me a lot of pause.  This woman had trouble getting up.  At first I thought she just had to step out of this big pool.  But as the seconds went by and I kept my car idling at the stop sign just down the street, she still wasn't getting up.  She wasn't quite struggling to get up in a prompt manner, either.  She was ... well, moving, but she wasn't composing herself in order to get out of the water.  What I'm trying to say is this woman wasn't acting as if she knew how to get up.  That's when what I saw started to get weird.

My next instinct was to just run.  But while staring at her this dog wandered away from her.  I think he/she walked over to my side of my car, then in front of the car, but while continuing to watch this weird woman, I lost track of he/she.  Now I don't want to run over the dog.  So I was stuck.  Thank goodness this wasn't a workday morning or afternoon; the way this idiot remained prone in the rainwater and unable to grab the dog, I could have been there for a long time.

Eventually I pushed down my window and asked, "Are you alright?"  She didn't look up.  I had no idea what to do.  I didn't want to go and potentially run over the dog if he or she was underneath my car.  But honestly I didn't want to step out of the car and find the dog or help her out of the puddle because she might have a disease or a knife.  So I stayed there, paralyzed.

Finally, she got/stumbled up.  As she started to walk away from me, I could see the waterline soaked up the left side of the jeans.  I was going to roll down my window again to ask if she was OK, but she turned her face to me.  She had a cut on her face and the blood was trickling down.  But she held her finger up at a speed slower than a person with all of her or his faculties would raise and whimpered, I think, "No."

A few feet in front of my parents' minivan she stooped down; that's when she grabbed the dog's leash.  Oh, glad I didn't move; I would have run the dog over.  And when I looked through my windshield I saw, also at this three-way stop, three cars waiting to drive the other way.  Happy to see other people were witnessing this insane shit show.  We all saw her stumble away, clumsily grabbing the dog's leash.

With the coast clear I wanted to get the hell away from this.  Before I did, one of the cars coming the other way rolled her window down and gestured me to stop.  The driver of that car said she called 911 on that woman.  Oh, so she's been acting like this around the neighborhood.  She also said she was worried about the dog.  Didn't think of that.  Now I'm scared he or she was/is in real danger.

I was going to drive down my neighborhood's main street, but it appeared this weirdo was walking down it, so I went down a side street.  As I was about to leave my neighborhood I saw a police car driving towards where all of this was happening, and driving at speed, well, not conducive to the neighborhood.  As I drove past the main street I expected to see two figures zigzagging my way, but I didn't.  Maybe she took the dog down another side street, or onto some guy's lawn?

Hope she's still not out here.

The Eyes Of The World Are On My City, And I Won't Even Be Seen

So because the Twins suck, I won't be hired to help with any baseball games this year ... save for one, the All-Star Game, which will be held Tuesday at Target Field ... except that I haven't been called.  Which surprises me.

All I would do is help out, run some stuff up to the booth, maybe get coffee or batteries or other things they discovered they'd need.  And I would think they would need my help more so now than ever.  It is, after all, the Midsummer Classic, and all eyes (dwindling ratings notwithstanding) would be at The Bullseye, so I would think my employer (actually, come to think of it, my employers, since another broadcasting entity whom I once worked for also is in town for All-Star Game festivities) would want all hands on deck to make sure everybody got everything they needed to ensure a fantastic broadcast befitting the All-Star Game.

To make sure of this I contacted my friend, who used to work for them.  He recommended I talk to the person who would be making the hires for the game.  I've never been that proactive before; we're not union, so we're at the whims of the person who's working the Twins or Vikings game.  So what's the use of calling/begging for work?  Every year except for the 2012 season I have not been hired for at least one Vikings home game.  I accept that.  When I get asked for none, that's when I get worried.

Maybe I shouldn't get bent out of shape over not being used for the only game they'd be in this season.  But, for one, if they are only here once, wouldn't they get a guy who's been with the company for a long time?  And, I'll admit, the cachet of working the All-Star Game, to be at the stadium, and to be in the truck when the camera shots and edits are called -- I would want to be there just for that.  So that's why I called.

I got no answer.  I tried calling two more times, each time being more afraid I would do more harm than good.  But by Friday afternoon, after leaving a third voicemail, I had to accept he wasn't going to hire me.  It would have been sweet, working the All-Star Game in that capacity.  But, sadly, I was rejected.

The thing that bothers me the most is that I didn't even get an answer.  Am I not on some list?  Was I not even on this guy's radar?  Does he even know me?  I would think that ten years of putting one foot in front of the other and not tripping too much would be enough to get hired for something as important as this.  But I don't even get a, "No thanks?"  It would suck if, for example, they already hired some other local, but then I would at least know.  Not getting a reply back is just rude.

So I vented to my friend, who said there could be a lot of reasons I wasn't hired: They did find someone else (and if they did, I think I know just who it is); they used guys from the local regional sports network; this job was so big that they actual told their own guys to demote themselves and go back to running on Tuesday.  Whatever the case, I'm not working it.

Worse yet; he told me the process of hiring us day players has changed.  Now hiring will be done through a department, the staff of which I don't know and probably don't know me.  Will this mean I won't do any Vikings games anymore?  Am I officially done with these guys?  And for what?

Does ten years of service mean nothing?!?!

---

In the meantime, I have no reason to be downtown for the All-Star Game (and the Home Run Derby, which is tonight).  But I will be downtown for work; I'll just have no reason to be around in the evening, when both events take place.  It's weird; the spotlight's on my city, specifically a football field away from where I work, and yet I don't feel welcome.  I don't want to just mill around a place where I wasn't "invited."  But why I am running away from the center of all the action on Tuesday?  I'm torn.

Tonight I have ***e* and possibly her friend cleaning my house and then cleaning my hose, if you know what I mean.  But if I had the ability to work the Derby, by all means, I would.  Then on Tuesday, I couldn't help but feel the need to be around Target Field for the game.  So I plan on doing something I've wanted to do, eat at one of the best restaurants in the Twin Cities which is within walking distance of both my place of work and the parking ramp, then, before the rate of parking goes way up because I'd been there for more than 12 hours, I'll just walk down to the stadium and see if I can catch a glimpse of this meaningless exhibition.  Hey, it'll be another generation before the Major League Baseball All-Star Game comes back here.  I might be dead by then.  Might as well try to see if I can get a free peek, even if it will look as pathetic as it sounds.

New, Consecutive Money

So last week I took money out of the ATM and I received three fresh, crisp, never-before-used $20 bills.  And since they were fresh, crisp and never used before, the serial numbers were in order, one after the other.

First of all, I should say that I have this thing with fresh, crisp, never-before-used bills: I smell them.  It's kind of like that new car smell, only with new money.  Ever since I started, which was about a year ago, I can't help it.  Even if I'm about to give the bill to the cashier, I smell it first.  I know it's bad and makes me look really fucking strange, but there's something ... sacred about the scent of virgin money.  It's kind of like cutting the fins off of sharks.  Besides, I don't think I'll ever see that bill again, and even if I do ever get it back again it won't ever smell as fresh, so I might as well take a sniff.  I wonder if you smell it enough you take all the fresh bill smell away?

So the other OCD thing I have with fresh, crisp, never-before-used bills is that I don't want to break them up.  In that sense they're like orphaned siblings.  You can't break siblings up!  Before, at a time when I wasn't desperate for money, I would take out those sequential bills and save them.  I have several groups of singles stashed, oh, somewhere in my bedroom.  But when I got these three twenties last week, I couldn't bear to spend each of them in a different place.  They were "born" together, and they landed on my hands together.  I know that they're currency and therefore will be spent, and thus taken to different parts of the globe, eventually.  But they would never be together again, and I don't want to be the person who does that.

Therefore, a few days later I went to the ATM and deposited back those twenties, still stuck together, as they should be.  And I think the day after that I got more money out -- $200, to be exact.  And guess what?  They were all fresh, crisp, never-before-used $20 bills, all of them in consecutive serial numbers.  Well, fuck me.  I wasn't going to return these bills; I didn't have time, and I think this is a sign that I'm not supposed to shove bills back into the ATM.  So I broke up the siblings, like an evil asshole.  To defend myself, I spent most of these $20's at the stripclub last night, many of them on Claudia, my ATF.  In fact, I think I gave her five straight twenties.  So those are still together, or at least were when I gave them to her.  (OK, to be completely honest I gave her two twenties for dances, then she went up on stage, then I gave her three more twenties for dances.  But I'm sure they all had consecutive serial numbers.)

Before I parted with some of the money, however, I did sniff them in front of Claudia.  Buddha bless her, she didn't think give me a stinkface.  In fact, we kind of talked about how cool new money is.

Expenses Without Receipts

Starting from Friday, July 11:

• Went to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Division) for coffee and tips: $11.
• Afterwards I went to Caffetto.  First I went for an iced mocha, something I forgot to mention when I was here last Sunday (which, by the way, I charged to my credit card, which is why it's not listed as an ERW here) and so received a hot mocha instead.  I then got a cherry vanilla cola from a local company, Whistler, because I was really, really thirsty.  They have a 50-cent deposit which I got back when I gave back the glass bottle.  It hit the spot!  (ETA a bit after 2 in the afternoon of July 20 that I was reviewing this while writing down expenses in my day planner and saw that while describing my night, I didn't write down my expense.  Fuck, and now I don't remember what the amount was.  Luckily, I have a receipt from that last Sunday, when I got a hot mocha when I should have specified an iced one, because I believe they are the same price.  With that I can make a semi-educated guess on the cherry vanilla cola, and assuming I tipped only for the mocha and not the soda, the total comes out to my best estimation of: $8.75)
• On Wednesday, July 9, Also Known As My Last Day Before Going In For Surgery, I was willing to just go home, watch So You Think You Can Dance, and eat some leftovers.  But then Angelique, a stripper who was moving out-of-state this weekend, texted that she was dancing at My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Edition).  I knew she was leaving this weekend, but I forgot at that moment that she was leaving, so I frantically texted back asking if this was the last time she's ever going to dance there.  She didn't reply.  So my plans of having a quiet evening flew out the window because I needed to get a dance from her one last time ... except, when I got there, it wasn't going to be her last time, and that in fact she wasn't moving after all; the job she supposedly was moving out-of-state for fell through.  She didn't reply to my text because her phone died before she was able to plug it into a charger, blah-blah-blah.  Well, at least I didn't have to spend twenty bucks on a dance.  But I had to stick around until Angelique got done with her dance, and so in the meantime I tipped Carissa on-stage so it didn't look like I was dashing in and out: $2.
• And since my day of not spending any cash out-of-pocket fell through because of Angelique, I thought, What the hell, I might as well eat out, too, and if that means I miss a part of SYTYCD, so be it.  This is the point where I should backtarck.  The night before I was still debating whether or not I should eat out.  I examined my frequent eaters' card at Which Wich.  I thought I had accrued enough punches to get a free sandwich, but it turns out I was one punch short.  I was going to use it and then spend extra money on, like, chips or something, but then I decided to wait another day.  But then I went to see Angelique, and so I decided to spend money on a sandwich and also a house milkshake.  So I decided to spend a lot of money when I first decided to spend only a little, then decided not to spend any money at all.  Got that?  If you did, also follow this: I have a receipt, but I'm only including the tip, which obviously isn't on the receipt: 50 cents.
• On Tuesday the 8th I wanted to see 22 Jump Street, the sequel to the TV show adapted for the screen, and which I thought was the funniest film I saw last year.  This one was ... different.  It looks like Jonah Hill was given all this money to do a sequel even though he had no idea how to continue the story, and so he decided to turn it into a satire on sequels.  What's missing in this movie that wasn't from 21 Jump Street was -- no joke -- its heart.  There was an actual story between the two leads, a heartfelt one, that was nowhere to be seen in this movie.  Jokes were funny, but that central story was lacking.  So, uh, B+?  Ticket, popcorn and pop: $9.75.
• Saturday, July 5 ... spent the Argentina-Belgium World Cup quarterfinal at the Nomad, probably the hardest-core soccer bar in the Twin Cities.  Got a passport the previous weekend, but it was only this time where I got stamps for it -- 15, to be exact, just for tipping, which I did the previous weekend but only got "rewarded" for this time around.  Plan to attend Sunday's final, after which we get to turn these stamps for raffle tickets.  Prizes if I win include trips to Europe to watch a club league soccer match.  Good bartender for giving me stamps, all 15 just for a Boulevard IPA.  With tip: $7.
• Friday, Independence Day: After watching Germany-France at The Local (have a receipt for it) I went to the Sweetwater Inn for Brazil-Colombia.  This was touted as a soccer hangout, and there were about a dozen people there, but I thought it'd be more packed.  Maybe the St. Paul location isn't appealing.  Or maybe the fact that it's a hotel bar detracts people.  Wanted only one beer, but since it was 2-for-1, the guy gave me two.  Great, I get even fatter.  With pizza and tip: $19.
• Thursday, July 3 ... because I had a great night of sleep, I guess I decided that I wanted to try and see if this outdoor parking lot close to the parking ramp I usually park in is more conducive to me sleeping in.  It's not; I don't think I'll get the sun pattern down so I can nap without overheating.  Besides, it's a little farther away from work, far enough that it'll claw into the nap time I've relied on to get through my day.  So I'll just stick to the ramp, even though the lot is only $4.50.  I made this conclusion without trying to take a nap; for my lunch break I thought I had enough energy to take in a food truck, the Dandelion Kitchen.  I had the chicken sandwich, and it was good, though overpriced.  I like the fig jam even though I didn't think I would like it; distinctive ... nice touch.  With tip: $9.50.
• This was the day my sister and I took our parents to the airport.  We thought about going mini-golfing at the Walker after we dropped them off, but instead we decided to save that for Sunday, and do it with our cousin.  Instead my sis and I decided to watch my idea -- and it was my idea to watch Snowpiercer, a film I had heard a lot of good things about.  And I was blown away by the cinematography as well as the ideas behind it.  I'll give it an A.  Unfortunately I raised my sister's hopes up too high.  I told her that this was something like The Matrix without telling her there is no awesome CGI.  She was slightly overwhelmed by the action as well as the themes of the flick.  Wanted to pay my sister back for my ticket, but she declined because we both know she makes more money than I.  So I paid for the popcorn and pop I had for myself: $6.
• Wednesday the 2nd was the day Mother took my car.  Therefore, I had no car to sleep in during lunch.  Therefore, I took the opportunity to do like most other humans do during their lunch and actually eat lunch.  I sauntered down Nicollet Mall and had a BBQ pulled pork sandwich from the food truck of Stanley's, which is an extension of a brick-and-mortar restaurant which was once called Stasiu's.  I have never been to Stanley's, but I went to Stasiu's a couple times.  Back then it was a rock-and-roll bar, and the couple times I went there I stayed till 2 in the morning.  Fun times, times which I doubt I could have now that it's Stanley's.  Not a bad sandwich, though, even if the pulled pork easily falls out of the sandwich, a pet peeve of mine.  With tip: $9.
• Let us go back to Monday, June 30, my first day back at work from vacation.  That evening my sister gave me back money she said she borrowed from me while we were at Yellowstone and the Grand Tetons so she could buy a postcard.  I thought she had already paid me back, but again, she has more money than I, and she insisted she needed to pay me back, so who am I to argue?  And Infusion of: $1.
• Later that evening I had to refill the money I took out of the alumni club kitty that, in a pinch, I used to give to my niece.  Yes, I'll talk about her as soon as I can: $100.
• Sunday, June 29: Well, I went to the Local to see one of my bets fall to pieces.  I had a two-team parlay, and all I needed was for Costa Rica to beat Greece at full time.  They failed to hold onto their 1-0 lead, goddammit, with an injury time goal that sent it eventually to Penalty Kicks.  To add to the shitshow, I ordered one type of soup but was given the other type, and to the Local's credit, they offered to give me both.  Sadly I am not the strapping, high-metabolic boy I was and though I tried to be even-handed, eventually I gave up and had to return both soup bowls unemptied.  They both were good, however.  I also got a beer, and I chased it down with a Coke which the bartender gave me for free.  Too much food, but too great service.  With tip: $12.50.
• I think I came home afterward to pay my sister back for the money I lent from her to make bets while we were in Las Vegas: $100.
• And then I stored a wheat penny and two shiny new quarters depicting ... wars?  Mountains?  Rivers?  I forget, but they're shiny, therefore I take them out of circulation: 51 cents.
• To Saturday the 28th ... I saw the Colombia-Uruguay game, where I had an Alaskan Kolsch from the Nomad, a beer dog from the Dr. Mustachio's food truck, and no stamps.  With tips: $12.50
• Friday, June 27, aka The Last Day Of Our Vacation.  I borrowed money from sister, an Infusion of: $100.
• I then decided to get a frequent gamblers' card from the Wynn, the casino where I borrowed money from my sis but did not make any bets.  Instead I just tooled around and spent the free cash I got for signing up.  Glad I made some money from slots, even if it was only an Infusion of: $4.
• We then went to the Palms, where I thought the lines were better.  That's where I spent the money I borrowed from her, on two World Cup bets: $50.
• On Thursday, June 26, I made two World Cup bets.  Both of them lost, by the way, and I should blog about that soon.  I think it was at the Las Vegas Hilton where I bet Russia would beat Algeria, a bet My Father copied: $100.
• Then I watched Algeria tie Russia at the Palms.  Crestfallen, I nevertheless made a bet there that Brazil would win the whole thing: $100.
• Wednesday the 25th -- so I spent nearly all of my day at the Las Vegas Hilton, where I wanted to take it easy and just sit in the giant sportsbook and watch soccer.  No betting, just watching.  Ah, how peaceful to just watch on a giant screen and not be bothered, nor worry about losing money.  But I had to whet my gambling jones, so I played a little slots: $4.
• ... then had some coffee at this place called Fortuna: $2.18.
• ... then I finally dove in and made a bet, on Game 3 of the College World Series (which I lost, BTW -- thank you, Virginia!): $25.
• ... then, finally, before I went home, I made one more bet, on the World Cup, something I decided to do as soon as I knew when our road trip would take us into Vegas.  It was going to be larger, but I decide to halve my bet since Virginia was behind at the moment and I knew that was a bad sign.  Boy, I should have seen all the bad signs and took it as God's way of saying, "Don't bet at all during your time here," because I lost this particular bet, too: $25.
• We skip back to Sunday, June 22.  During this part of the vacation we were neck-deep in woods, so seeing civilization, even if it was the tourist town of Jackson, Wyo., was a good break for all of us.  I decided to help my sister with Starbucks.  Charged the coffees but took out my wallet for the tip: $1.
• Going back into the Grand Tetons we stopped into a Visitor Center.  We needed to know the next time Old Faithful was going to blow, but for some reason the kids (and I do mean kids -- they didn't seem to be out of high school) had to call for the time.  Weirdest thing was, no one picked up, so the kid had to come back to me and say, "Sorry, I don't know the time, no there was going to pick up."  Weird.  Made a donation to the Jr. Rangers anyway: $1.
• Oh, during this same time was when my sister asked for money to get a postcard.  She returned the change to me, so I am just going to put down the price she paid for the postcard: 75 cents.
• Let's leap back to Thursday, June 19, the start of our trip.  We traveled all day through Minnesota and into Rapid City, S.D.  The hardest part of the trip was trying to negotiate around Mankato, which was flooded because of all the rain that fell around that time.  But we made it with plenty of sun to spare.  Also, I was lucky to fall into reserving the night at the local Howard Johnson's.  Why?  One of the last things the hotel representative said was that happy hour, with complimentary beer and wine, was ending soon.  We made it just in time to partake in the oasis that is HoJo Happy Hour!  Is this a Howard Johnson's thing, or is it only specific to Rapid City?  Either way I was so goddamn glad to have this.  We all had some alcohol.  I tipped: $1.
• And I think I found a dime on the floor.  An Infusion of: 10 cents.
• OK, Tuesday, June 17 ... I think work ran out of coffee, so I took some time out to run down to Starbucks and get something for myself.  With tip: $4.75.
• This was a day where I decided to have the evening to myself in order to concentrate on the roadtrip.  Before that, though, I went to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Version).  Good things I did, because, finally! I ran into ****e*, the chick who gave me the handjob in the parking lot!  Missed her so much I got a lapdance from her even though I wasn't planning on spending a bunch of money.  With coffee and tips ****e* and the other three strippers: $31.
• Afterward I printed out directions for the road trip at the library.  A lot, it turns out: $1.
• On Monday the 16th I again went to Starbucks.  This may have been a case where I had time in the morning to get something for myself before reporting for work.  With tip: $4.75.
• After I got done I had time to take in the second half of the U.S. World Cup game against Ghana.  I went to the downtown bar where our alumni club is going to watch the football games, I'm assuming.  I wanted to speak with the manager then to make sure things are still good, but she wasn't there.  Oh, this was the place where my waitress had this crazy but very personal tattoo.  Happy Hour-priced beer with tip: $5.
• On Sunday, June 15 I saw the second half of France's whipping of Honduras at the Nomad.  Got a Budweiser, then I had these awesome roasted vegetable tacos (meatless tacos?  Yep!) at the Dr. Mustachio's food truck which hauls itself next to the Nomad bocce ball courts.  With tips: $13.50.
• Afterwards I went to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Division) for quick coffee and a tip: $4.
• Saturday the 14th was the day the entire family my brother and sister-in-law's new baby, a girl.  You know, I've dropped so many quick hits about my niece I've basically blogged about her even though I promised you guys I would actually talk about her.  Oh, well.  These are social occasions where I guess I'm supposed to bring a gift.  It never occurred to me; guess that shows how self-centered, if not narcissistic, I am.  So in a panic I decided to give my newborn niece some money.  Technically I have to say this is an Infusion of: $100.
• ... then a gift to her: $100.
• Friday the 13th seems to be a bad day to be going out, but I guess I wanted to get away from my family for a little bit.  Went to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Edition) for coffee and tips.  I think this time around two girls expects five bucks on stage, so I only spent: $7.
• On Tuesday the 10th the only EWR I had was spending money on a haircut.  Have a receipt for the cut itself, but the tip was: $2.

Goddamn, I need to do these EWRs more often.  Done through July 11.

Oh, Yeah, Guys, I'm Alive

Totally forgot to blog about this earlier!  Surgery went well.  Maybe a little too well.  Basically what the doctor-turned-surgeon did was excavate a piece of my ass, the part where the seton's buried up to the surface.  I thought it was going to hurt like a motherfucker once the anesthesia wore off, but it's been more than 24 hours, and shockingly, I don't feel anything on my behind.  My butt feel's good, to be honest.

Other parts of me aren't, for some reason.  As soon as I began walking I noticed that my hamstrings were sore.  My throat was sore also.  So how come I hurt there but not the area where the surgery took place?  And why didn't my throat and hammies hurt when the seton was put in half a year ago?

Someone from the hospital where I had the operation called me, as they did the first time, to check up on me.  I told her about the my concerns and she told me not to worry.  The throat's sore because they stuck an airway down there to make sure I kept breathing, and she pins the hamstrings on positioning.  I'm sure they did the same things six months ago, but she said that it's possible that a patient would have parts of his body hurt now when they didn't before.

OK, whatever.  I don't need to take any Percocet, but I just took one -- not for my bunghole, like I thought I would have to, but for my neck, which has gotten increasingly more painful this afternoon, surprisingly.  It's kicked in the past hour, which may be why I forgot that I hadn't blogged today till now.

In the meantime I feel this big mass in my stomach.  I imagine it's fecal matter.  The Percocet is supposed to induce constipation, but I'm not worried because, frankly, I don't want to take a shit right now.  I'm scared that my asshole will be on fire once my excrement passes through my rectum.  And I'm worried about wiping -- about rubbing the incision down there, and about mixing feces with what I can only imagine to be a gaping wound of open cuts and sores.  If I don't shit for a week, honestly, I'm OK.  Just so I can be done with the wart on my ass for once and for all.

Some Friend I Am

Late Tuesday night I got a voicemail from a friend of mine.  Our mutual friend, one I blogged about flipping out on me at The Store more than five years ago, died.  He had a stroke some time ago, he's been in a care home since, he had surgery on Tuesday, and there were complications, and he passed away Sunday.

Upon hearing my friend's VM, I thought about him for a bit, then went back on the Internet.  Jerked off, too.  Today, I thought about him from time to time, but there were periods where I was working or listening to the World Cup game or just dinkin' around the Internet, then I realized I wasn't thinking about him, and feeling bad that I didn't think about him.

Just checked my e-mail records.  The last time he wrote to me was less than two weeks ago, updating me and others about the latest changed date of his surgery.  He was hoping that he could be back living independently next month.  The last time I wrote to him was the day after April Fools' Day, in response to an earlier update.  He wanted to go the racetrack once his health improved.  And the last time I saw him was last year, when we went to a Twins game.  He was toddling around, but he seemed to be OK, and he was in good spirits.

I had been meaning to go see him at the facility he was in, but I never did.  The usual excuses -- too busy, work, this vacation with my family, visiting him slipped my mind -- obviously are bullshit when it comes to death.  And now it's too late.

And yet, as guilty as I feel for not seeing him, I feel even shittier for giving a shit.  Not that I don't care about my friend -- I do.  But if I were a true friend, I would have seen him.  I'm beating myself up for not taking one afternoon, one measly fucking afternoon to see one of the few people in my life with whom I shared a passion for sports and ask how he's doing.  I wonder if anyone saw him.  And I wonder if he was angry with me, or sad that I never dropped by, like true friends are supposed to.

But even as I hate myself for not seeing him before he went, I'm also judging myself.  This woulda-coulda-shoulda is the self-indulgent mental anguish people give themselves when they realize they were too lazy to do the right thing when it counted, and now need to make themselves feel better.  Look, if you'll give me some latitude in making myself feel better -- it's not as if he was on death's door, or at least he didn't make it seem like he was.  Unlike my uncle, there was no warning that his health was taking a turn for the worse.  If there was advance news -- and if someone closer to him than I was in communication with other friends who weren't as tight with him, like me -- of course we would drop everything and run to see him.  But he had surgery that anyone would reasonably assume he would survive ... and he didn't.

But, again, thinking that is useless.  He was not deathly ill, but he was definitely not 100% healthy.  That alone is reason enough to see him.  Friends see friends, right?  End of story.  But I didn't do that.  And so I now am persecuting myself -- rightly so -- both ways on a two-way street.  I'm right in the median of guilt and indecision.  I either should have just seen him while he was alive just in case, or, to be ruthlessly honest with how my actions reflect my beliefs, I should just admit that I didn't consider him as close enough of a friend to spend a day with him and ... forget about him.  I didn't do the former, and I don't want to be the latter, or at least I don't want to admit that the latter is how I actually feel.

So his death reminds me of the usual cliches.  Tell the people you love that you love them before they're gone.  Tomorrow isn't promised to any of us.  One minute we're here, the next minute we could be gone.  And live life to the fullest.  All true, and all impractical to living life.  I regret I'll probably not live by these mottoes as soon as I have to resume my life.

But right now, with his death haunting me, and while I await any news on his funeral -- that I'm visiting him now that he's gone is so morbidly ironic and unfair to him that I shouldn't even have the dignity of mourning him, I'm such a selfish asshole -- I feel I must abide by these cliches.  I have a friend out in Los Angeles who told me that he got engaged.  I owe him a phone call, but I've been putting it off.  But I left him a message tonight, and he texted me back, whew.  This guy I met downtown wanted to show me a presentation related to work.  I think he's trying to sell me something, but I promised him a reply, and I should do that soon.  Hell, I might even do what my parents say and get up early in the morning to water their plants.

What I really want to do, of course, is visit my old friend, at least once.  But he's dead, and I didn't take the time to do so while he was alive, so now I can't.  And right now I don't think I can ever forgive myself for that mistake.

---

In the meantime I am going to go through my own surgery, which will be in the morning.  Finally I'm going to get this anal seton removed, after half a year.  I'm in good health, but with my friend's death I can't help but think that there might be complications -- the surgeon screws up, or I don't wake up from the anesthesia.  It'd be sort of ironic if I died shortly after he did.  But, since I didn't honor my friend by seeing him, maybe an unforeseen passing would be ... deserved.