Father, when you say you want to e-mail someone, you send her an e-mail. What you fuckin' asked me to do was send her something. Big fucking difference.
What I thought was a simple message turned out to be documents you wanted scanned. Fifteen goddamn pages. And then you wanted me to send all of them to her. Again, big fucking difference. I had to take an hour of my night, inbetween helping Mother order her damn checks, to take care of this thing.
I wanted to work out. But your goddamn Vegas real estate shit ate into my time. I didn't have a whole lot of time to work out. In fact, if I knew that it'd take this long, I wouldn't've exercised tonight. If I could only spend an hour to work out, like I did tonight, it ain't fuckin' worth it.
And I needed to fill up my tank of gas. I wanted to do that before hitting the gym, but with this bullshit I had to do it after. I didn't even have ten goddamn minutes to spare to gas up the car, that's how much time I had to use to take care of this.
And worst of all, it didn't even get done. The last ten minutes of that hour was spent seeing the little fuckin' bar at the bottom slowly fill up, left to right, in green -- and then failing. There was so many goddamn files I had to attach -- for you and your old, non-English-speaking, technology-phobic ass -- that your AOL Mail -- he still uses AOL Mail!!! -- couldn't swallow it all down, and it failed. I had to do it again about an hour-and-a-half ago before they all actually sent. Great, more time wasted. For you.
You know what pisses me off most about you? The way that you delegate enormous, onerous, difficult-to-impossible tasks to me like you're a combination of a CEO and Marie Antoinette flicking away the tea just served you because you think it's too cold. Then, when it doesn't get to the way you like it -- even though you have no motherfucking idea how hard and long it takes, like a CEO or Marie Antoinette -- you insult me.
You didn't have me because you wanted kids. You had me because you wanted someone to boss around.
Goddamn you.
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
I Have ESP
I remember thinking about the ZZ Top song "Tush" ... and all of a sudden I hear it being danced to on Dancing With The Stars!
I was thinking about Austin, Texas ... and when I was waiting to do an experiment, I read a 20-year-old issue of National Geographic with a cover story on Austin, Texas!!
And, I remember singing Suicidal Tendencies' "Institutionalized" in my head, especially the part where he was asking his mother for a Pepsi ... and then I read in City Pages that Suicidal Tendencies is playing in town, and the blurb says something along the lines of, "... if you ever asked your mom for a Pepsi. ..."
Whoa! I'm like a psychic or something!!!
The first two things happened a couple months ago. The third thing happened a couple weeks ago. I've just been behind blogging about other things but I still wanted to write about this.
I was thinking about Austin, Texas ... and when I was waiting to do an experiment, I read a 20-year-old issue of National Geographic with a cover story on Austin, Texas!!
And, I remember singing Suicidal Tendencies' "Institutionalized" in my head, especially the part where he was asking his mother for a Pepsi ... and then I read in City Pages that Suicidal Tendencies is playing in town, and the blurb says something along the lines of, "... if you ever asked your mom for a Pepsi. ..."
Whoa! I'm like a psychic or something!!!
The first two things happened a couple months ago. The third thing happened a couple weeks ago. I've just been behind blogging about other things but I still wanted to write about this.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Karma ... Or Is It Car-Ma?
The cold snap -- well, winter -- is no excuse to get out and exercise. Also, Mondays are the days where this house party is, and there's this one chick to whom I showed my dick to, and it was awesome, and she always dances there.
I didn't expect to go out tonight. My plan was to watch Skating With The Stars with my Grandmother, then Hawai'i Five-O by myself, then check out the late-night talk shows while writing up my annual rant against the BcS. But at some point yesterday I felt my fat belly, then remembered that I haven't been to this house party in awhile. Finally, the tipping point: The Patriots-Jets game on Monday Night Football, quite possibly The Most Anticipated Regular Season Game Of The Year. If it was anything like the Sunday Night Football game between Pittsburgh and Baltimore, I don't want to sleep through this.
The final consideration was whether we ate dinner early enough. And we did, before 6:30. So I was set: I was going to the party, then the gym. But. ... I didn't want to leave Grandmother in the lurch. Plus, we ate chicken, so I waited around in case I needed to shit. The problem with this is, the party starts at 7, and it's fairly popular. There are guys who come early to the party, and that's bad for me, because I don't want guys around because then I can't show my cock. I guess I could while they're in another room, but that's too much of a risk, and besides, it's weird.
I should've thought of that yesterday afternoon. What I could have done is told my parents I just wouldn't eat for dinner so I could for sure be there at 7. But I didn't.
Anyway, I didn't shit, and Grandmother went inside her room because Father was preparing some food; she knows not to bother Father besides dinner. With changing clothes, in particular getting into my porno pants, I told my parents I'm working out, then told my Grandmother that Skating With The Stars is on Channel 5, then I took off right around 7 o'clock.
It was a bad idea to go to the party; what was I thinking? If I couldn't take out my pee-pee there, what would be the use? So at 20 past 7 there are five old guys, presumably all of them able to kick my ass if the dancer I exposed my manhood to sicced them on me. Furthermore, when there are usually four dancers, tonight there were only two, and both of them were taken. After about half an hour of waiting around and creeping out the guys that were getting dances by sitting in the same room and leering at them -- ostensibly doing to them what I was afraid they were going to do to me, sans dick-showing, I took off. I wasted a hell of a lot of gas, but at least I didn't spend any money.
It was a long ways away to get to the gym; I should know a faster route. As I started driving, I noticed a slapping sound coming from outside my car door. At first I thought chunks of ice was hitting it. But there is weatherstripping at the bottom of the door that was coming loose. At a stoplight I opened my door, and what was just, oh, half a foot of dangling stripping had turned into a foot-plus. That thing was slapping my door at speeds of 65, 70 miles per hour. The weatherstripping was stripping the paint off the driver's-side door.
I don't know how it happened. It was slapping on the way to the condo. Is it karma? Am I being punished for going to this house to see and touch titties and maybe hang out with my wang out? I didn't spend any money, you know. It has to be cosmic payback.
What's worse, when I went to the gym, all the lockers were taken because some guys were playing ... what is this wallyball? I brought in my bookbag because that's where the medicine I needed to take at this time is in, so I had time to pound it down and put my bag back. At least when I returned a locker was available. Unfortunately, when I went to take a swig of water with my pill upstairs, I noticed that there were not one, not two, but three people already inside the gym. Damn -- I really needed to use the treadmill. Oh, and on top of all that, the Patriots were killing the Jets -- no real need to go out and watch that game, turns out.
Exercised for less than 90 minutes and came directly home, stripping damaging my car door all the way. So instead of relaxing today, I had something I really needed to fix, goddammit.
I didn't expect to go out tonight. My plan was to watch Skating With The Stars with my Grandmother, then Hawai'i Five-O by myself, then check out the late-night talk shows while writing up my annual rant against the BcS. But at some point yesterday I felt my fat belly, then remembered that I haven't been to this house party in awhile. Finally, the tipping point: The Patriots-Jets game on Monday Night Football, quite possibly The Most Anticipated Regular Season Game Of The Year. If it was anything like the Sunday Night Football game between Pittsburgh and Baltimore, I don't want to sleep through this.
The final consideration was whether we ate dinner early enough. And we did, before 6:30. So I was set: I was going to the party, then the gym. But. ... I didn't want to leave Grandmother in the lurch. Plus, we ate chicken, so I waited around in case I needed to shit. The problem with this is, the party starts at 7, and it's fairly popular. There are guys who come early to the party, and that's bad for me, because I don't want guys around because then I can't show my cock. I guess I could while they're in another room, but that's too much of a risk, and besides, it's weird.
I should've thought of that yesterday afternoon. What I could have done is told my parents I just wouldn't eat for dinner so I could for sure be there at 7. But I didn't.
Anyway, I didn't shit, and Grandmother went inside her room because Father was preparing some food; she knows not to bother Father besides dinner. With changing clothes, in particular getting into my porno pants, I told my parents I'm working out, then told my Grandmother that Skating With The Stars is on Channel 5, then I took off right around 7 o'clock.
It was a bad idea to go to the party; what was I thinking? If I couldn't take out my pee-pee there, what would be the use? So at 20 past 7 there are five old guys, presumably all of them able to kick my ass if the dancer I exposed my manhood to sicced them on me. Furthermore, when there are usually four dancers, tonight there were only two, and both of them were taken. After about half an hour of waiting around and creeping out the guys that were getting dances by sitting in the same room and leering at them -- ostensibly doing to them what I was afraid they were going to do to me, sans dick-showing, I took off. I wasted a hell of a lot of gas, but at least I didn't spend any money.
It was a long ways away to get to the gym; I should know a faster route. As I started driving, I noticed a slapping sound coming from outside my car door. At first I thought chunks of ice was hitting it. But there is weatherstripping at the bottom of the door that was coming loose. At a stoplight I opened my door, and what was just, oh, half a foot of dangling stripping had turned into a foot-plus. That thing was slapping my door at speeds of 65, 70 miles per hour. The weatherstripping was stripping the paint off the driver's-side door.
I don't know how it happened. It was slapping on the way to the condo. Is it karma? Am I being punished for going to this house to see and touch titties and maybe hang out with my wang out? I didn't spend any money, you know. It has to be cosmic payback.
What's worse, when I went to the gym, all the lockers were taken because some guys were playing ... what is this wallyball? I brought in my bookbag because that's where the medicine I needed to take at this time is in, so I had time to pound it down and put my bag back. At least when I returned a locker was available. Unfortunately, when I went to take a swig of water with my pill upstairs, I noticed that there were not one, not two, but three people already inside the gym. Damn -- I really needed to use the treadmill. Oh, and on top of all that, the Patriots were killing the Jets -- no real need to go out and watch that game, turns out.
Exercised for less than 90 minutes and came directly home, stripping damaging my car door all the way. So instead of relaxing today, I had something I really needed to fix, goddammit.
Woke up yesterday morning and I totally forgot about leaving the PCA timesheets out for Mother to sign. It was important to me because me taking them, filling out the rest while at "work," then dropping them off at the mailbox next to the lab became a sort of routine for me, something that I needed to do and was able to do with some regularity.
Well, my time at "work" is coming to a close, at least for a while. My boss says she'll need to digest all the data I've given her, and with all the other duties she has as well as having a personal life, she can't just keep me working straight through. She said some time ago that there are an infinite number of things she can test my hearing on; it's just that she doesn't know where exactly to go until she analyzes what she has now. So this is my last week until we have what I'd like to term a "sabbatical."
Which means that yesterday (Monday) would have been the last time I could put my PCA timesheets in the University of Minnesota mailbox. It would've been a final time I did something right -- except I did it wrong because I didn't have the timesheets signed by Mother.
So now, not only did I pass up that routine, I now have to scramble and make sure she signs them in time for me to mail them to my supervisor before the weekend. I still haven't gotten paid from Mother for last pay period's work, but I don't want to give her any reason to delay it this time around.
Well, my time at "work" is coming to a close, at least for a while. My boss says she'll need to digest all the data I've given her, and with all the other duties she has as well as having a personal life, she can't just keep me working straight through. She said some time ago that there are an infinite number of things she can test my hearing on; it's just that she doesn't know where exactly to go until she analyzes what she has now. So this is my last week until we have what I'd like to term a "sabbatical."
Which means that yesterday (Monday) would have been the last time I could put my PCA timesheets in the University of Minnesota mailbox. It would've been a final time I did something right -- except I did it wrong because I didn't have the timesheets signed by Mother.
So now, not only did I pass up that routine, I now have to scramble and make sure she signs them in time for me to mail them to my supervisor before the weekend. I still haven't gotten paid from Mother for last pay period's work, but I don't want to give her any reason to delay it this time around.
Monday, December 6, 2010
Had nothing to do on a Sunday. Which is what I really wanted to do -- nothing. But since I live with my parents I've regularly been expected to do something, such as chores; My Father would not have it any other way.
So after hemming and hawing and thinking that maybe I should challenge him and really stay in my bed all day -- I have a bed memory of him barging in while I was watching TV sick and, after telling me he needed something done, he told me I was lazy, he can go fuck himself -- I decided to make good on my promise to Grandmother and take her to the grocery store, for fruits or vegetables or something.
I heard her take a call from her room while I was in my room. When I come out, she's already dressed. She says she's going to the casino. Should've gotten up sooner; then, she would've been able to go, then come back in time to go with her friend. Now she'll want to make me take her tomorrow, when I work, or Tuesday, when I want to go to the movies.
So, what to do, what to do. ... I know, I'll clean our leather furniture! So I go downstairs to grab a bucket and rag, pour out some cleaner, and start wiping. My Fucking Father always keeps going on about keeping the leather furniture clean, despite the fact that we never use them and we never have guests over.
After a few minutes of that, I realized there was one thing I could do: Gas up the car. I have a coupon that says I can take off 15 cents a gallon if I fill up at this one particular independent gas station on Sundays. And, of course, I can't just take the car out for a fill-up; I have to warm up the engine a good long time or else the engine's gonna hurt it. So I decide to leave the for the mall, even though I have no business going out there.
In reality, I left because I didn't want to be home when my parents come home. My Fucking Father always gets on my ass on the weekends especially because I "don't work" then. And oftentimes I'm greeted not with a hi or a smile -- My Fucking Father never smiles -- but either something he wants me to do for him or a question along the lines of, "Why aren't you doing anything?"
I have no reason to go out, especially once college basketball is over. But that fear and annoyance of knowing he always thinks that forces me to get into my car, drive around to some place, thus wasting $3/gallon on gas more often, just so I avoid the minute they come home.
I leave -- and by the way, I don't fill up my tank at this independent gas station because there were a line of cars waiting to use the four pumps. How is this place right in the middle of a neighborhood away from the busy streets so popular? Is it the coupon? -- and I come back and I see that the bucket of dirty water I left out is gone. The parents were home, but even though My Fucking Father was in the back deck scraping off ice, he didn't say anything about the bucket.
I see that the bucket's empty and put in a different room and the rag draped on a clotheshanger. My Fucking Father bitches about cleaning the leather furniture from time to time -- naturally -- and I hammered him about cleaning it today. "Is it dirty to you?" I asked, genuinely concerned, because I really cleaned it.
I've forgotten the point of this blog post. Oh, OK; I could have stayed home and gotten sleep during all this. But apparently going out to the mall and walking around, plus the simple act of pushing a rag up and down my sister's walls -- and by the way, I didn't know leather furniture and walls could get so dirty -- tuckered me out. So I was crashing after dinner, and at 7:30, even though I know the game's about to be on, and I knew it was going to be good (and it turned it was, and the good guys won -- Steelers, 13-10!), I also knew that I was so tired that it would be useless to even sleep with the television on because it would disrupt the rest my body was telling me I needed. So I turned it off and acted like I was going to bed. I guess that's why I'm typing up a storm at 4 in the morning.
Because I left my medication in my car at the end of a long but eventful sports-watching Saturday, I'm behind on my meds. I thought I'd catch up today, but tonight's 4 1/2-hour slumber effectively killed that.
So after hemming and hawing and thinking that maybe I should challenge him and really stay in my bed all day -- I have a bed memory of him barging in while I was watching TV sick and, after telling me he needed something done, he told me I was lazy, he can go fuck himself -- I decided to make good on my promise to Grandmother and take her to the grocery store, for fruits or vegetables or something.
I heard her take a call from her room while I was in my room. When I come out, she's already dressed. She says she's going to the casino. Should've gotten up sooner; then, she would've been able to go, then come back in time to go with her friend. Now she'll want to make me take her tomorrow, when I work, or Tuesday, when I want to go to the movies.
So, what to do, what to do. ... I know, I'll clean our leather furniture! So I go downstairs to grab a bucket and rag, pour out some cleaner, and start wiping. My Fucking Father always keeps going on about keeping the leather furniture clean, despite the fact that we never use them and we never have guests over.
After a few minutes of that, I realized there was one thing I could do: Gas up the car. I have a coupon that says I can take off 15 cents a gallon if I fill up at this one particular independent gas station on Sundays. And, of course, I can't just take the car out for a fill-up; I have to warm up the engine a good long time or else the engine's gonna hurt it. So I decide to leave the for the mall, even though I have no business going out there.
In reality, I left because I didn't want to be home when my parents come home. My Fucking Father always gets on my ass on the weekends especially because I "don't work" then. And oftentimes I'm greeted not with a hi or a smile -- My Fucking Father never smiles -- but either something he wants me to do for him or a question along the lines of, "Why aren't you doing anything?"
I have no reason to go out, especially once college basketball is over. But that fear and annoyance of knowing he always thinks that forces me to get into my car, drive around to some place, thus wasting $3/gallon on gas more often, just so I avoid the minute they come home.
I leave -- and by the way, I don't fill up my tank at this independent gas station because there were a line of cars waiting to use the four pumps. How is this place right in the middle of a neighborhood away from the busy streets so popular? Is it the coupon? -- and I come back and I see that the bucket of dirty water I left out is gone. The parents were home, but even though My Fucking Father was in the back deck scraping off ice, he didn't say anything about the bucket.
I see that the bucket's empty and put in a different room and the rag draped on a clotheshanger. My Fucking Father bitches about cleaning the leather furniture from time to time -- naturally -- and I hammered him about cleaning it today. "Is it dirty to you?" I asked, genuinely concerned, because I really cleaned it.
I've forgotten the point of this blog post. Oh, OK; I could have stayed home and gotten sleep during all this. But apparently going out to the mall and walking around, plus the simple act of pushing a rag up and down my sister's walls -- and by the way, I didn't know leather furniture and walls could get so dirty -- tuckered me out. So I was crashing after dinner, and at 7:30, even though I know the game's about to be on, and I knew it was going to be good (and it turned it was, and the good guys won -- Steelers, 13-10!), I also knew that I was so tired that it would be useless to even sleep with the television on because it would disrupt the rest my body was telling me I needed. So I turned it off and acted like I was going to bed. I guess that's why I'm typing up a storm at 4 in the morning.
Because I left my medication in my car at the end of a long but eventful sports-watching Saturday, I'm behind on my meds. I thought I'd catch up today, but tonight's 4 1/2-hour slumber effectively killed that.
Sunday, December 5, 2010
I Don't Trust My Own Judgement
So this morning I go to the Division III quarterfinal matchup between St. Thomas and Bethel. It's in a beautiful small stadium nestled into a quiet neighborhood in St. Paul. My team lost. Anyway, while I'm waiting in line, one of the guys there say that there's another ticket window with a smaller line on the other side. So I trudge through the snow to get there. I'm going as fast as I can, but up upon my right side there's this guy, and when we get to the end of this new line he cuts me off.
As loudly as possible to show my disgust at his disrespectful act, from behind I shout, "After you." And I didn't make a point of picking up the glove he dropped.
So he gets to the front of the line and he waits over by the side, along with the kid who picked up his glove and a couple others. Another guy in front of him, an older gentleman, puts his hand out toward this group, as if to say, "Wait here." Oh. The asshole who cut in front of me is just a kid; he was trying to catch up with his family.
The young man who picked up his older brother's glove glowered at me.
---
After the loss was over, I had the worst thing I could possibly have at that point: Free time. I didn't know if I should get coffee at the mall or closer to the U. (I was going to make a tripleheader of games in which I have a rooting interest in -- Minnesota-Creighton tournament volleyball, then USC-UCLA.) Complicating things is that both places, while easy to reach campus from, take different places to reach from St. Paul.
However, I don't know if I thought that part through. Instead, after closing my eyes in my car for about half an hour, I drove out of the parking ramp and was immediately confronted with a choice: straight ahead or take a left? My decision would basically alter what I do until the game. But I have my dick in my hands, therefore I have no idea what to do, therefore I just keep going straight because I'm in that lane and I haven't put my turn signal on.
I then get lost for a good 20 minutes finding my way to the mall.
---
So I get into the parking ramp for the volleyball game. (And by the way, I spent $15 on parking last night, and almost $30 this weekend. I still hate paying for parking. And I despise the fact that there was a goddamn snowstorm that forced me to pay for parking.) I parked in the basement, so I have no idea where to go. But I don't want to follow the guy who also is leaving the parking structure, plus I don't think he's going the right way, so I walk across the ramp to the stairs at a different corner than that guy.
And I get to street level, I'm farther away from the Sports Pavilion than I would have been if I follwed that guy. My sense of direction blows.
As loudly as possible to show my disgust at his disrespectful act, from behind I shout, "After you." And I didn't make a point of picking up the glove he dropped.
So he gets to the front of the line and he waits over by the side, along with the kid who picked up his glove and a couple others. Another guy in front of him, an older gentleman, puts his hand out toward this group, as if to say, "Wait here." Oh. The asshole who cut in front of me is just a kid; he was trying to catch up with his family.
The young man who picked up his older brother's glove glowered at me.
---
After the loss was over, I had the worst thing I could possibly have at that point: Free time. I didn't know if I should get coffee at the mall or closer to the U. (I was going to make a tripleheader of games in which I have a rooting interest in -- Minnesota-Creighton tournament volleyball, then USC-UCLA.) Complicating things is that both places, while easy to reach campus from, take different places to reach from St. Paul.
However, I don't know if I thought that part through. Instead, after closing my eyes in my car for about half an hour, I drove out of the parking ramp and was immediately confronted with a choice: straight ahead or take a left? My decision would basically alter what I do until the game. But I have my dick in my hands, therefore I have no idea what to do, therefore I just keep going straight because I'm in that lane and I haven't put my turn signal on.
I then get lost for a good 20 minutes finding my way to the mall.
---
So I get into the parking ramp for the volleyball game. (And by the way, I spent $15 on parking last night, and almost $30 this weekend. I still hate paying for parking. And I despise the fact that there was a goddamn snowstorm that forced me to pay for parking.) I parked in the basement, so I have no idea where to go. But I don't want to follow the guy who also is leaving the parking structure, plus I don't think he's going the right way, so I walk across the ramp to the stairs at a different corner than that guy.
And I get to street level, I'm farther away from the Sports Pavilion than I would have been if I follwed that guy. My sense of direction blows.
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Poor Bastard Of The Moment: Alex Zendejas
For the second week in a row, a kicker screws the pooch.
Last week it was Boise St.'s Kyle Brotzman who failed to make a field goal to win the game in regulation and again in double overtime that could've won the game versus Nevada, gave the Broncos a second consecutive undefeated regular season, and supplied more ammunition that they deserve to be in the Mythical National Championship Game.
Well, substitute "extra point" for "field goal," and "would've" for "could've," -- and x out everything after "won the game" -- and you have the plight of Alex Zendejas, second generation of a brotherhood of NFL kickers who seemingly doesn't have the ability that his forebearers do.
In Friday's Territorial Cup versus Arizona St., the PAT that should've given Arizona the lead in the fourth quarter was blocked by some guy leaping into the stratosphere; guess you can't blame Zendejas for that, or at least all of that. But the one in the second overtime, the one the Wildcats needed to send the game into a third overtime, was kicked low and thus easily deflected past the right goalpost. Watch it here.
Poor bastard.
Last week it was Boise St.'s Kyle Brotzman who failed to make a field goal to win the game in regulation and again in double overtime that could've won the game versus Nevada, gave the Broncos a second consecutive undefeated regular season, and supplied more ammunition that they deserve to be in the Mythical National Championship Game.
Well, substitute "extra point" for "field goal," and "would've" for "could've," -- and x out everything after "won the game" -- and you have the plight of Alex Zendejas, second generation of a brotherhood of NFL kickers who seemingly doesn't have the ability that his forebearers do.
In Friday's Territorial Cup versus Arizona St., the PAT that should've given Arizona the lead in the fourth quarter was blocked by some guy leaping into the stratosphere; guess you can't blame Zendejas for that, or at least all of that. But the one in the second overtime, the one the Wildcats needed to send the game into a third overtime, was kicked low and thus easily deflected past the right goalpost. Watch it here.
Poor bastard.
Friday, December 3, 2010
The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey
Positive Numbers: Gopher volleyball (Last Week: 0). There have been few weeks where the program has been this high as these women are now.
Let's go back first to last weekend and the end of the regular season. I was at Friday's four-set win over Ohio St. -- nice victory, but they still have that damn nasty knack of dropping the third set, what's up with that? But then -- oh my fucking God then -- came Saturday's five-set, come-from-behind win over first-place and longtime nemesis Penn St. Looking at the boxscore, despite getting in an 0-2 hole, the Gophers started to right themselves after a disastrous 25-14 first-set defeat. After getting 21 points in the second-set loss, they finally nipped the Nittany Lions in the third, 26-24. They didn't even need to go into extra points in the fourth, winning that one 25-23.
The thrilling final set featured seven lead changes and 14 ties. The two squads virtually played a full fifth set. But when Lauren Gibbemeyer slammed back an overpass off a viciously hot serve, the 23-21 result gave the Gophers their first win over the threepeating champions for the first time in a half-dozen years. I saw the highlight of match point; the scene of the team on the court, kneeling down and huddling together while the crowd roared over this improbably comeback win -- man, it must've been pulsating. Sure wish I was there.
So the team ties with Illinois for second in the Big Ten (Penn St. wins the regular-season crown, again.) After a .500 start in conference play, they finish the season winning nine of ten. Libero Jessica Granquist was named Big Ten Defensive Player Of The Year, and she and Middle Blocker Lauren Gibbemeyer were named to the conference's first team. And they wind up 12th in the last regualr-season AVCA Top 25 poll.
And they are the 10-seed in the NCAA Tournament and get to host the first two rounds at the Sports Pavilion today (Friday) and tomorrow (Saturday) -- and I get to go, whee! (While in the middle of another hellacious snowstorm, but I already bought the tickets, so. ...) The bracket has them in the Seattle Regional, potentially facing in the Sweet 16 a 7-seeded Cal team that garnered some first-place votes in the AVCA Top 25, and then, in the Elite 8, the 2-seed Nebraska Cornhuskers. But it first starts off with North Dakota St.; the Iowa St-Creighton winner would be next. Good luck, ladies!
#0: Wrestling (Re-Entry!). You know, I have no idea when a wrestling season begins. Looking at their schedule, it's possible I should've put the Gopher grapplers on two weeks ago. But they seem to be multi-team meets that may or may not be the equivalent of a non-conference portion of a season. Well, it's too late now.
I started the season for these guys this week because on Saturday they faced three individual schools. And the third-ranked Gophs started the season with three dual wins, including a tight 21-17 win over ninth-ranked Central Michigan. Just like the Minnesota men's basketball program, I want to parcel out special accolades for these guys, so putting them above negative numbers seems right.
They, however, have a very tall task ahead in their next game: second-ranked Oklahoma St. comes to town Sunday afternoon. The program hasn't done so hot lately beating teams ranked above them since their championship years, but this should still be a tight matchup. They then travel to face Nebraska Thursday.
#-1: Gopher women's hockey (Last Week: -2). A very impressive sweep of ninth-ranked Harvard at Ridder last weekend by a combined score of 7-2. They have now won four in a row and five out of their last six, and sit seventh in both women's college hockey polls. The only drawback I see right now is a familiar one: Because they reside in the powerful WCHA, they still sit behind both dynasty program UMD and, at least for this year, Wisconsin. Being third in a beast of a conference sucks. They return to conference play with a pair at Bemidji St., both afternoon games today (Friday) and tomorrow (Saturday).
#-2: Gopher women's basketball (Last Week: -3). A good week, sort of. They lost in all three tournament they were in this year, the last being a 61-59 loss (where they were trailing by a lot more for much of the second half) Friday to San Diego St. in the opening game of the Nugget Classic. (At least they didn't lose a tournament they hosted, unlike both the Best Buy Classic and the Subway Classic. And by the way, how are "classic" can these tournaments be? I've never heard of them, and if I haven't heard of them, how can they be classic?)
The Gophs rebounded to win the third-place game over N.C. St., 71-67, Thanksgiving Saturday. They then followed that up with a 63-58 victory over Virginia Tech last (Thursday) night at Williams as part of the women's ACC/Big Ten Challenge; at least the women won their game. So, as part of a "series" meant to showcase teams from different conferences against each other, the squad is 2-0. The Big Ten should set up a series with, say, the Southland Conference for next year.
But maybe they won't have time to do that since they seem to have scheduled teams from every single conference this year. There is such a thing as the Big Ten/Big 12 Challenge, and they visit Baylor -- second-seeded (?) Baylor, with superstudette Brittney Greiner -- Sunday afternoon. They then come home and face tomato can Southern Thursday.
#-3: Vikings (Last Week: -6). Yes, it's a win. We're happy for interim Head Coach Leslie Frazier for winning his first game and in his first game as a head coach. But from what I've heard about the game and what I saw on the sports segments, this was the ugliest way you can win imaginable. In fact, Washington was a block in the back call -- replays, according to those who saw, are phantom; there was no block in the back -- away from exposing all of these guys as too old or too dumb. But, because of Washington's similar production problems, the win only provokes the question about whether they didn't play like that last Sunday only because they wanted Brad Childress out.
Everybody seems to be injured this week. And the Buffalo Bills come into town this Sunday. Although these guys are 2-9, they have come very close the past few games, culminating with their heartbreaking loss to Pittsburgh at home last week where Steve Johnson dropped a game-winning touchdown pass in overtime and later blamed God. At this point, if they're not going to make it into the playoffs (forget winning the Super Bowl), I really want them to tank so they can secure a high draft pick. They're are a couple of highly touted cornerbacks, and the Vikes could really use some of those.
#-4: Gopher men's hockey (Last Week: -1). A split Thanksgiving Weekend, ugh. On Friday, they lost 5-2 at Mariucci to Michigan St., a team that has a record of 5-6-3. But possibly embarrassed by that loss, they prevented getting swept in the College Hockey Showcase for the first time since the 2000-1 season by upsetting then-eighth-ranked Michigan, 3-1, on Sunday. Goaltender Kent Patterson starred in the loss; Alex Kangas -- the much-maligned Alex Kangas -- got the nod in the win. This thus blows my goalie plan all to hell.
And yet, somehow, the Gophs remain ranked 15th in the nation! They resume WCHA play by visiting MSU-Mankato this weekend.
#-5: Wild (Last Week: -4). Their splash page is an offer to buy tickets; for an organization that up until this season crowed about how they sold out every game, this is a new low. Anyway, they went a pretty miserable 1-3 this week, and they have lost three in a row and five of six. And the three losses weren't even close; the aggregate total is Others 14, Wild 6.
A troubling trend has emerged; this club plays shittily in the second period. Not the first, where you can say they're off to a slow start. Not the third, where you can say they don't know how to finish. The second. What's the deal with that? That sounds so stupid. Does their focus just meander when they can't look back or look forward and see any light? So weird. Anyway, they have three games this week: home to Calgary, at The Team That Was Stolen From Us, then at the Bastard Winnipeg Jets.
#-6: Gopher men's basketball (Last Week: Positive Numbers). And the promising start comes crashing down to a crushing end. The Gophs held a 13-point second-half lead against Virginia on Monday and pissed it away. The Cavaliers actually won going away; keyed by a 20-6 run that wiped out the lead, they defeated Minnesota, 87-79. They are no longer undefeated. And by the way, doesn't it seem like they always lose their game in the Big Ten/ACC Challenge? They have two games this week: home to Cornell Saturday, at St. Joseph's Wednesday.
#-7: Timberwolves (Last Week: -5). Oof -- now this is the Timberwolves franchise we're familiar with. An 0-2 week now runs their losing streak to five games. Worse yet, their margins of defeat are increasing; whereas many recent losses were in the single digits, the Woofie Dogs lost at home to Golden State Saturday by ten, then at Dallas Wednesday by 14. They could lost at San Antonio Friday by 20, then, because it's the second game of a back-to-back and they have to travel back to Target Center, completely lose it and get frogstomped by Cleveland Saturday by 25. And then they can get hosed at New York Monday by 30 and then get the shit kicked out of them by the Bastard Seattle SuperSonics Wednesday by 35 -- even five-point increments, y'all. At least Kevin Love's gettin' some love for being a freakish rebounding white guy.
#-Infinity: Gopher football (Re-Entry!). I feel bad for putting these guys down here. I have a rule that once a team's season ends, unless they've won the title in their sport, they go down here with a -Infinity because they failed. And the gridiron Gophs did fail. But did they?
Although Iowa has been mailing it the back half of the year, I feel good for them for their 27-24 victory. It was tough, but, like their win over Illinois, they came back to go ahead late in the fourth and found a way to seal the game. In this case, Cornerback (and All-Big Ten First Team Kick Returner, according to Phil Steele, he of the legendarily long [and grammatically sloppy] football preview magazines) Troy Stoudermire punched the ball out of the Hawkeyes' Marcus Coker to give Minnesota possession and the ability to run out the clock, which they did. They now possess Floyd of Rosedale for the first time in four years. Congratulations to them!
Now, onto the coaching search. First of all, they say they will declare the winner via facebook and Twitter. I don't know how or even if it'll beat a leak to a reporter, but I think this is an acknowledgement of where disseminating information everybody wants is going. Anyway, there has been a long incubation period for the search, and I'm hearing everybody's in and everybody's out. Round up the usual suspects: Brady Hoke (who seems to be Athletic Director Joel Maturi's favorite), Kevin Sumlin, Troy Calhoun, Dan Chryst, Marc Trestman, Kevin Fedora, Dan Mullen, and even Mike Leach, who today openly campainged for the job. (Sorry Mike, we're afraid you'll lock somebody up in a closet.)
I've got a name: Jeff Horton. Who's he? The Gophers' Offensive Coordinator who was named interim Head Coach after Maturi shitcanned Tim Brewster. Horton, who had coaching stints with, get this, Nevada and UNLV (strange times; nowadays, Nevada would be the better job, but back then Horton left the Wolfpack for more money with the Runnin' Rebels), squeezed out two wins, or one more than Brewster did in seven games with this team. Look, there's a chance that nobody cares about the new stadium and sees that this program is a dead-end job. If that's the perception, and therefore no high-profile or up-and-coming coach wants to be stuck here in the middle of winter, why not go with the guy you already have? I mean, he seems nice. ...
Let's go back first to last weekend and the end of the regular season. I was at Friday's four-set win over Ohio St. -- nice victory, but they still have that damn nasty knack of dropping the third set, what's up with that? But then -- oh my fucking God then -- came Saturday's five-set, come-from-behind win over first-place and longtime nemesis Penn St. Looking at the boxscore, despite getting in an 0-2 hole, the Gophers started to right themselves after a disastrous 25-14 first-set defeat. After getting 21 points in the second-set loss, they finally nipped the Nittany Lions in the third, 26-24. They didn't even need to go into extra points in the fourth, winning that one 25-23.
The thrilling final set featured seven lead changes and 14 ties. The two squads virtually played a full fifth set. But when Lauren Gibbemeyer slammed back an overpass off a viciously hot serve, the 23-21 result gave the Gophers their first win over the threepeating champions for the first time in a half-dozen years. I saw the highlight of match point; the scene of the team on the court, kneeling down and huddling together while the crowd roared over this improbably comeback win -- man, it must've been pulsating. Sure wish I was there.
So the team ties with Illinois for second in the Big Ten (Penn St. wins the regular-season crown, again.) After a .500 start in conference play, they finish the season winning nine of ten. Libero Jessica Granquist was named Big Ten Defensive Player Of The Year, and she and Middle Blocker Lauren Gibbemeyer were named to the conference's first team. And they wind up 12th in the last regualr-season AVCA Top 25 poll.
And they are the 10-seed in the NCAA Tournament and get to host the first two rounds at the Sports Pavilion today (Friday) and tomorrow (Saturday) -- and I get to go, whee! (While in the middle of another hellacious snowstorm, but I already bought the tickets, so. ...) The bracket has them in the Seattle Regional, potentially facing in the Sweet 16 a 7-seeded Cal team that garnered some first-place votes in the AVCA Top 25, and then, in the Elite 8, the 2-seed Nebraska Cornhuskers. But it first starts off with North Dakota St.; the Iowa St-Creighton winner would be next. Good luck, ladies!
#0: Wrestling (Re-Entry!). You know, I have no idea when a wrestling season begins. Looking at their schedule, it's possible I should've put the Gopher grapplers on two weeks ago. But they seem to be multi-team meets that may or may not be the equivalent of a non-conference portion of a season. Well, it's too late now.
I started the season for these guys this week because on Saturday they faced three individual schools. And the third-ranked Gophs started the season with three dual wins, including a tight 21-17 win over ninth-ranked Central Michigan. Just like the Minnesota men's basketball program, I want to parcel out special accolades for these guys, so putting them above negative numbers seems right.
They, however, have a very tall task ahead in their next game: second-ranked Oklahoma St. comes to town Sunday afternoon. The program hasn't done so hot lately beating teams ranked above them since their championship years, but this should still be a tight matchup. They then travel to face Nebraska Thursday.
#-1: Gopher women's hockey (Last Week: -2). A very impressive sweep of ninth-ranked Harvard at Ridder last weekend by a combined score of 7-2. They have now won four in a row and five out of their last six, and sit seventh in both women's college hockey polls. The only drawback I see right now is a familiar one: Because they reside in the powerful WCHA, they still sit behind both dynasty program UMD and, at least for this year, Wisconsin. Being third in a beast of a conference sucks. They return to conference play with a pair at Bemidji St., both afternoon games today (Friday) and tomorrow (Saturday).
#-2: Gopher women's basketball (Last Week: -3). A good week, sort of. They lost in all three tournament they were in this year, the last being a 61-59 loss (where they were trailing by a lot more for much of the second half) Friday to San Diego St. in the opening game of the Nugget Classic. (At least they didn't lose a tournament they hosted, unlike both the Best Buy Classic and the Subway Classic. And by the way, how are "classic" can these tournaments be? I've never heard of them, and if I haven't heard of them, how can they be classic?)
The Gophs rebounded to win the third-place game over N.C. St., 71-67, Thanksgiving Saturday. They then followed that up with a 63-58 victory over Virginia Tech last (Thursday) night at Williams as part of the women's ACC/Big Ten Challenge; at least the women won their game. So, as part of a "series" meant to showcase teams from different conferences against each other, the squad is 2-0. The Big Ten should set up a series with, say, the Southland Conference for next year.
But maybe they won't have time to do that since they seem to have scheduled teams from every single conference this year. There is such a thing as the Big Ten/Big 12 Challenge, and they visit Baylor -- second-seeded (?) Baylor, with superstudette Brittney Greiner -- Sunday afternoon. They then come home and face tomato can Southern Thursday.
#-3: Vikings (Last Week: -6). Yes, it's a win. We're happy for interim Head Coach Leslie Frazier for winning his first game and in his first game as a head coach. But from what I've heard about the game and what I saw on the sports segments, this was the ugliest way you can win imaginable. In fact, Washington was a block in the back call -- replays, according to those who saw, are phantom; there was no block in the back -- away from exposing all of these guys as too old or too dumb. But, because of Washington's similar production problems, the win only provokes the question about whether they didn't play like that last Sunday only because they wanted Brad Childress out.
Everybody seems to be injured this week. And the Buffalo Bills come into town this Sunday. Although these guys are 2-9, they have come very close the past few games, culminating with their heartbreaking loss to Pittsburgh at home last week where Steve Johnson dropped a game-winning touchdown pass in overtime and later blamed God. At this point, if they're not going to make it into the playoffs (forget winning the Super Bowl), I really want them to tank so they can secure a high draft pick. They're are a couple of highly touted cornerbacks, and the Vikes could really use some of those.
#-4: Gopher men's hockey (Last Week: -1). A split Thanksgiving Weekend, ugh. On Friday, they lost 5-2 at Mariucci to Michigan St., a team that has a record of 5-6-3. But possibly embarrassed by that loss, they prevented getting swept in the College Hockey Showcase for the first time since the 2000-1 season by upsetting then-eighth-ranked Michigan, 3-1, on Sunday. Goaltender Kent Patterson starred in the loss; Alex Kangas -- the much-maligned Alex Kangas -- got the nod in the win. This thus blows my goalie plan all to hell.
And yet, somehow, the Gophs remain ranked 15th in the nation! They resume WCHA play by visiting MSU-Mankato this weekend.
#-5: Wild (Last Week: -4). Their splash page is an offer to buy tickets; for an organization that up until this season crowed about how they sold out every game, this is a new low. Anyway, they went a pretty miserable 1-3 this week, and they have lost three in a row and five of six. And the three losses weren't even close; the aggregate total is Others 14, Wild 6.
A troubling trend has emerged; this club plays shittily in the second period. Not the first, where you can say they're off to a slow start. Not the third, where you can say they don't know how to finish. The second. What's the deal with that? That sounds so stupid. Does their focus just meander when they can't look back or look forward and see any light? So weird. Anyway, they have three games this week: home to Calgary, at The Team That Was Stolen From Us, then at the Bastard Winnipeg Jets.
#-6: Gopher men's basketball (Last Week: Positive Numbers). And the promising start comes crashing down to a crushing end. The Gophs held a 13-point second-half lead against Virginia on Monday and pissed it away. The Cavaliers actually won going away; keyed by a 20-6 run that wiped out the lead, they defeated Minnesota, 87-79. They are no longer undefeated. And by the way, doesn't it seem like they always lose their game in the Big Ten/ACC Challenge? They have two games this week: home to Cornell Saturday, at St. Joseph's Wednesday.
#-7: Timberwolves (Last Week: -5). Oof -- now this is the Timberwolves franchise we're familiar with. An 0-2 week now runs their losing streak to five games. Worse yet, their margins of defeat are increasing; whereas many recent losses were in the single digits, the Woofie Dogs lost at home to Golden State Saturday by ten, then at Dallas Wednesday by 14. They could lost at San Antonio Friday by 20, then, because it's the second game of a back-to-back and they have to travel back to Target Center, completely lose it and get frogstomped by Cleveland Saturday by 25. And then they can get hosed at New York Monday by 30 and then get the shit kicked out of them by the Bastard Seattle SuperSonics Wednesday by 35 -- even five-point increments, y'all. At least Kevin Love's gettin' some love for being a freakish rebounding white guy.
#-Infinity: Gopher football (Re-Entry!). I feel bad for putting these guys down here. I have a rule that once a team's season ends, unless they've won the title in their sport, they go down here with a -Infinity because they failed. And the gridiron Gophs did fail. But did they?
Although Iowa has been mailing it the back half of the year, I feel good for them for their 27-24 victory. It was tough, but, like their win over Illinois, they came back to go ahead late in the fourth and found a way to seal the game. In this case, Cornerback (and All-Big Ten First Team Kick Returner, according to Phil Steele, he of the legendarily long [and grammatically sloppy] football preview magazines) Troy Stoudermire punched the ball out of the Hawkeyes' Marcus Coker to give Minnesota possession and the ability to run out the clock, which they did. They now possess Floyd of Rosedale for the first time in four years. Congratulations to them!
Now, onto the coaching search. First of all, they say they will declare the winner via facebook and Twitter. I don't know how or even if it'll beat a leak to a reporter, but I think this is an acknowledgement of where disseminating information everybody wants is going. Anyway, there has been a long incubation period for the search, and I'm hearing everybody's in and everybody's out. Round up the usual suspects: Brady Hoke (who seems to be Athletic Director Joel Maturi's favorite), Kevin Sumlin, Troy Calhoun, Dan Chryst, Marc Trestman, Kevin Fedora, Dan Mullen, and even Mike Leach, who today openly campainged for the job. (Sorry Mike, we're afraid you'll lock somebody up in a closet.)
I've got a name: Jeff Horton. Who's he? The Gophers' Offensive Coordinator who was named interim Head Coach after Maturi shitcanned Tim Brewster. Horton, who had coaching stints with, get this, Nevada and UNLV (strange times; nowadays, Nevada would be the better job, but back then Horton left the Wolfpack for more money with the Runnin' Rebels), squeezed out two wins, or one more than Brewster did in seven games with this team. Look, there's a chance that nobody cares about the new stadium and sees that this program is a dead-end job. If that's the perception, and therefore no high-profile or up-and-coming coach wants to be stuck here in the middle of winter, why not go with the guy you already have? I mean, he seems nice. ...
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Father's On His Bullying, Pathetic Rampage Again
It took My Fucking Father two days to completely burn through the high of being in Las Vegas before reverting back to his whiny self. This is the guy who, after I came home from watching the University of Minnesota soccer team get upset and eliminated in their NCAA Tournament game, was back to being a whirling dervish of cleaning parts of the house that didn't need cleaning and sticking his nose into business that wasn't his to mess around with.
I still can't forget him walking around complaining about Grandmother doing this or not cleaning that. Then, while I was "busy working" on their desktop, he comes in and asks me, in his stupid, abusive way, when am I going to get my shit out of my sister's room before she comes. In mid-December. It's typical of him to get on my case for something that's not going to happen for another goddamn month. I told him, in my asshole way, that I'd get it out of there just before she comes, to which he replies, "lazy," as he turns away. It would have hurt my feelings, but I was still frostbitten from my two hours out in the cold and blinding wind, so I can honestly say I didn't give a flying fuck that he called me lazy because I was numb. I did stammer out a "I'll get it done, don't you worry about it," though. That's the best comeback I can come up with.
So anyway, today, after I got home, My Fucking Father didn't speak to me, like he didn't the night before, which was the night just after I picked him up from the airport. I could tell from his body language that he was angry about something and that he wanted to take it out on me. And on Grandmother -- he was complaining to her about something or other she did that he didn't like.
Father and Mother are having a fight. I didn't see her all night. That was the source of My Fucking Father's percolating disdain. It's probably the reason he just went all out and tore into the rest of the family.
He was walking down the stairs when he called for me. He said, in staccato style, as if he's trying to warn me: "You ... have ... sixteen ... days ... until ... your ... sister ... comes ... home ... when ... are ... you ... going ... to ... clean ... up ... her ... room?"
Has that motherfucker seen her room??? Goddamn, I've already moved most of my stuff out of there. (It's in storage, but that's what I need to do, you know?) A pile of clothes that no longer fit me, my PCA stuff, a box of tapes and a box of unopened shoes -- that's it. If he's going to pitch a fit over that shit, I can't help him. Asshole.
When he called out for me I knew it wasn't good. After a stern yes to his call, I answer his stupid and loaded question with: "I did. Have you seen it?" To which his bluster turned into a shrinking violet mien. He also turned back into being Father Two-Times and repeating, "OK, OK, OK," as he continued down the stairs. He turned down to the second set of stairs, but I wasn't done with him. I wasn't going to have this conversation now that I did what he ordered me to do: "Have you?!" He looked at me, winced dejectedly, then walked out of sight.
We didn't talk during dinner. He wasn't a dick, he just waved me off when I volunteered to help him clear the dinner table because Mother wasn't joining us tonight.
So I don't know what the fuck the fallout's gonna be after I went down the creaky stairs not once, not twice, but three times to check on the modem. I wanted to start surfing early, but the modem I know I plugged in was unplugged by My Fucking Father. I don't know if he wanted me not to be online, if the modem wasn't working (that's the reason I went down the stairs twice more), or if he just plain forgot I was going to use it. But it's clear that, once again, a fight with Mother means he's in a grouchy mood.
I need to wake up early. It's recycling day, and I think he's going to get revenge on me by throwing things away I don't want thrown away. Asshole.
I still can't forget him walking around complaining about Grandmother doing this or not cleaning that. Then, while I was "busy working" on their desktop, he comes in and asks me, in his stupid, abusive way, when am I going to get my shit out of my sister's room before she comes. In mid-December. It's typical of him to get on my case for something that's not going to happen for another goddamn month. I told him, in my asshole way, that I'd get it out of there just before she comes, to which he replies, "lazy," as he turns away. It would have hurt my feelings, but I was still frostbitten from my two hours out in the cold and blinding wind, so I can honestly say I didn't give a flying fuck that he called me lazy because I was numb. I did stammer out a "I'll get it done, don't you worry about it," though. That's the best comeback I can come up with.
So anyway, today, after I got home, My Fucking Father didn't speak to me, like he didn't the night before, which was the night just after I picked him up from the airport. I could tell from his body language that he was angry about something and that he wanted to take it out on me. And on Grandmother -- he was complaining to her about something or other she did that he didn't like.
Father and Mother are having a fight. I didn't see her all night. That was the source of My Fucking Father's percolating disdain. It's probably the reason he just went all out and tore into the rest of the family.
He was walking down the stairs when he called for me. He said, in staccato style, as if he's trying to warn me: "You ... have ... sixteen ... days ... until ... your ... sister ... comes ... home ... when ... are ... you ... going ... to ... clean ... up ... her ... room?"
Has that motherfucker seen her room??? Goddamn, I've already moved most of my stuff out of there. (It's in storage, but that's what I need to do, you know?) A pile of clothes that no longer fit me, my PCA stuff, a box of tapes and a box of unopened shoes -- that's it. If he's going to pitch a fit over that shit, I can't help him. Asshole.
When he called out for me I knew it wasn't good. After a stern yes to his call, I answer his stupid and loaded question with: "I did. Have you seen it?" To which his bluster turned into a shrinking violet mien. He also turned back into being Father Two-Times and repeating, "OK, OK, OK," as he continued down the stairs. He turned down to the second set of stairs, but I wasn't done with him. I wasn't going to have this conversation now that I did what he ordered me to do: "Have you?!" He looked at me, winced dejectedly, then walked out of sight.
We didn't talk during dinner. He wasn't a dick, he just waved me off when I volunteered to help him clear the dinner table because Mother wasn't joining us tonight.
So I don't know what the fuck the fallout's gonna be after I went down the creaky stairs not once, not twice, but three times to check on the modem. I wanted to start surfing early, but the modem I know I plugged in was unplugged by My Fucking Father. I don't know if he wanted me not to be online, if the modem wasn't working (that's the reason I went down the stairs twice more), or if he just plain forgot I was going to use it. But it's clear that, once again, a fight with Mother means he's in a grouchy mood.
I need to wake up early. It's recycling day, and I think he's going to get revenge on me by throwing things away I don't want thrown away. Asshole.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Thanksgiving Post-Morten, Part II
Used my parents' minivan two of the four days they were away. In exchange, I usually get it washed.
After I got out of the minivan, I notcied the driver-side front tire was flat. Had I been driving on that all day? I didn't stop the guys before they drove it onto the conveyor belt, so I helplessly honed in on that tire as it the vehicle was pushed through the cleaning process. I hoped to God and Buddha that it didn't pop on its way through.
It didn't, but when it was rolled out for final wiping down, the rim was barely above the ground. The workers there didn't catch the almost-flat tire, but thankfully they had an air pump. One of them was really helpful in pumping up the tire, trying to find any nails jammed into it, and checking if the air came out of it when I backed up the minivan. No air came out; he said it just didn't have air pumped into it for a long time.
I had to go to the hardware store, and I wanted to use the van to drop off my things in storage, but I had to keep an eye out on the tire in case air was coming out of it. So I pressed into the tire when I was out in public and checked the air pressure on it when I was at home. It was the same, blessed be, so I trusted it enough to drive it down to the airport to pick up Mother.
While I was checking the air pressure of the tire in question, I went ahead and checked the other four. They were all different from each other, and all of them weren't close to the recommended pressure. (Although the recommended pressure wasn't exactly listed on the side of the door -- probably because the tires on the van aren't recommended for the van.) I decided I'd normalize them all by going to the gas station and either putting air into or taking air out of the other three tires. I had to gas up the minivan anyway.
So, about an hour and a half before I had to get to the airport (I built in so much time because I wanted to go to the strip club before heading down to MSP), I went to the gas station. I went from tire to tire, saving the problem tire for last. But when I got to it, I didn't see a cap on the valve.
I swore that there was a cap when I checked it. Is a missing valve cap the reason it was losing air in the first place? Did somebody take it like they did my mirror last week? My mind races. It has to make a decision yet doesn't have a lot of time to make it. I have never been good at thinking under pressure, and I cursed God and Buddha for making me do it when I need to pick up Mother and when I want to see some titty.
The decision was: Should I go back to the house and try and look for a cap in the driveway in case I took it off and didn't put it back on, or should I buy one at the store (assuming that there was one to buy)? I hate wasting money on something I already have for the sake of expedience, especially in my financial state. But I gotta go. Besides, it's dark out -- how the hell am I going find a small black cap in the middle of the night, especially since I need to leave?
The overriding factor was that I didn't want to go back. So I bit the bullet and went inside to buy a valve cap -- assuming there was one to buy. I looked around this very small convenience store -- a grocery store this is not; I mean, who comes to a gas station to buy something other than gas? -- and didn't see a valve cap. That's when I steeled myself for the possibility I had no choice but to go back and find a cap on the driveway -- that is, assuming there was a cap in the first place.
The worker there pointed me back to their "automotive" section, and after some stooping, I find the valve caps, only they were in a package with a tire pressure gauge. I had to buy the whole thing, and it was $3. I think there are some people who wouldn't think about buying such a thing on impulse, and more who at least wouldn't mind buying it if they felt they had to. That's just not me. You know, I could do a lot with three bucks. But I bit the bullet, bought the damn thing, took out the valve cap, screwed it on the tire, and away I went.
Checked the pressure at the stripclub, and it was fine. So I felt a tad better as I went to pick up Mother. But I had to know: Did I make the right decision? Am I paranoid in thinking there was never a cap? There had to be a cap -- I remember screwing one on or seeing the guy at the car wash screw it on, I just forgot to screw it on myself!!! So I told Mother about the leaky tire, and even though I did want to check it one last time, I really wanted to say out once I got home to find the goddamn valve cap.
I remembered that I had a flashlight in my room. And it wasn't really trying to find a needle in a haystack; three grand waves of the flashlight on the driveway, and I saw this lonely, erect valve cap, not blown away by the wind like I feared, just standing there right where I left it. So I guess after coming back from the self-storage, I checked out the tire pressure and rushed inside the house without putting it back on. I hate myself when I do that. That justifies all the times I go back to my car to make sure I locked the doors.
And so I wasted three bucks on a cap that I just forgot to put back on a tire. I could have, could have, gone back from the gas station home and looked for it; even with getting a flashlight it wouldn't have been more than, what, five minutes. But no, I panicked and didn't want to go home because it was cold and I wanted to see some titty. And now I need to not spend money on other things to make up for this.
After I got out of the minivan, I notcied the driver-side front tire was flat. Had I been driving on that all day? I didn't stop the guys before they drove it onto the conveyor belt, so I helplessly honed in on that tire as it the vehicle was pushed through the cleaning process. I hoped to God and Buddha that it didn't pop on its way through.
It didn't, but when it was rolled out for final wiping down, the rim was barely above the ground. The workers there didn't catch the almost-flat tire, but thankfully they had an air pump. One of them was really helpful in pumping up the tire, trying to find any nails jammed into it, and checking if the air came out of it when I backed up the minivan. No air came out; he said it just didn't have air pumped into it for a long time.
I had to go to the hardware store, and I wanted to use the van to drop off my things in storage, but I had to keep an eye out on the tire in case air was coming out of it. So I pressed into the tire when I was out in public and checked the air pressure on it when I was at home. It was the same, blessed be, so I trusted it enough to drive it down to the airport to pick up Mother.
While I was checking the air pressure of the tire in question, I went ahead and checked the other four. They were all different from each other, and all of them weren't close to the recommended pressure. (Although the recommended pressure wasn't exactly listed on the side of the door -- probably because the tires on the van aren't recommended for the van.) I decided I'd normalize them all by going to the gas station and either putting air into or taking air out of the other three tires. I had to gas up the minivan anyway.
So, about an hour and a half before I had to get to the airport (I built in so much time because I wanted to go to the strip club before heading down to MSP), I went to the gas station. I went from tire to tire, saving the problem tire for last. But when I got to it, I didn't see a cap on the valve.
I swore that there was a cap when I checked it. Is a missing valve cap the reason it was losing air in the first place? Did somebody take it like they did my mirror last week? My mind races. It has to make a decision yet doesn't have a lot of time to make it. I have never been good at thinking under pressure, and I cursed God and Buddha for making me do it when I need to pick up Mother and when I want to see some titty.
The decision was: Should I go back to the house and try and look for a cap in the driveway in case I took it off and didn't put it back on, or should I buy one at the store (assuming that there was one to buy)? I hate wasting money on something I already have for the sake of expedience, especially in my financial state. But I gotta go. Besides, it's dark out -- how the hell am I going find a small black cap in the middle of the night, especially since I need to leave?
The overriding factor was that I didn't want to go back. So I bit the bullet and went inside to buy a valve cap -- assuming there was one to buy. I looked around this very small convenience store -- a grocery store this is not; I mean, who comes to a gas station to buy something other than gas? -- and didn't see a valve cap. That's when I steeled myself for the possibility I had no choice but to go back and find a cap on the driveway -- that is, assuming there was a cap in the first place.
The worker there pointed me back to their "automotive" section, and after some stooping, I find the valve caps, only they were in a package with a tire pressure gauge. I had to buy the whole thing, and it was $3. I think there are some people who wouldn't think about buying such a thing on impulse, and more who at least wouldn't mind buying it if they felt they had to. That's just not me. You know, I could do a lot with three bucks. But I bit the bullet, bought the damn thing, took out the valve cap, screwed it on the tire, and away I went.
Checked the pressure at the stripclub, and it was fine. So I felt a tad better as I went to pick up Mother. But I had to know: Did I make the right decision? Am I paranoid in thinking there was never a cap? There had to be a cap -- I remember screwing one on or seeing the guy at the car wash screw it on, I just forgot to screw it on myself!!! So I told Mother about the leaky tire, and even though I did want to check it one last time, I really wanted to say out once I got home to find the goddamn valve cap.
I remembered that I had a flashlight in my room. And it wasn't really trying to find a needle in a haystack; three grand waves of the flashlight on the driveway, and I saw this lonely, erect valve cap, not blown away by the wind like I feared, just standing there right where I left it. So I guess after coming back from the self-storage, I checked out the tire pressure and rushed inside the house without putting it back on. I hate myself when I do that. That justifies all the times I go back to my car to make sure I locked the doors.
And so I wasted three bucks on a cap that I just forgot to put back on a tire. I could have, could have, gone back from the gas station home and looked for it; even with getting a flashlight it wouldn't have been more than, what, five minutes. But no, I panicked and didn't want to go home because it was cold and I wanted to see some titty. And now I need to not spend money on other things to make up for this.
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